The salad that reminds me of us

On my grandmother’s Fatoush, Jewish peoplehood & the beauty of what we carry forward.

I recently had the sweetest opportunity to cook with Batel from Batel’s Kitchen, and share one of my grandmother’s recipes with her: Fatoush.

There was something especially meaningful about making this salad together.

Batel’s Kitchen is rooted in Middle Eastern culinary traditions, bringing time-honoured flavours into simple, nourishing recipes with a modern sensibility. Her approach is about making food that feels both wholesome and joyful — food that nourishes the body and brings people to the table. (Batel’s Kitchen)

And as we chopped, tossed, squeezed lemons and broke apart pieces of pita, I kept thinking about how much a salad can teach us about being Jewish.

We are the Jewish people.

Sometimes Judaism is described as the “Jewish faith.”

And of course, Judaism is a faith.

But I think that description leaves something important out.

We are the Jewish people.

A people with a place.

A shared story.

Generations of memory, tradition, struggle, celebration and love.

A family.

And maybe that’s why I love making food together.

Because a salad begins with all these separate things.

Crisp lettuce.

Juicy tomatoes.

Cool cucumber.

Radishes.

Fresh herbs.

Green onion.

Golden, crunchy pita.

Different colours. Different textures. Different flavours.

And somehow, when they all come together, they become something whole.

Kind of like us.

We don’t all look the same. We don’t all practice the same way. We don’t always agree.

Our Jewish communities have been shaped by different lands, languages, customs and histories.

But underneath all those differences is something remarkably enduring.

We recognize one another.

Meet another Jew somewhere in the world and, sometimes, there is this little feeling:

I know you.

Because somehow, you’re family.

That feeling is part of what I want to preserve for my children.

Not just recipes, but the stories inside them.

The hands that made them before ours.

The flavours that travelled across borders.

The women who fed their families with whatever they had.

The traditions that survived because someone kept making them.

My grandmother’s Fatoush is not complicated. In fact, that’s part of its beauty.

It is made from ordinary things.

But when they come together, they become something greater than the sum of their parts.

And perhaps that is what we do, too.

We take what was given to us.

We add what we have learned.

We make room for one another.

And we keep bringing it to the table.

My Grandmother’s Fatoush Salad

Fatoush is a Levantine salad built around fresh vegetables, herbs, bright lemon, sumac and crispy pieces of pita. It is simple, vibrant and deeply satisfying — especially when the pita is still warm and crunchy.

What you’ll need

For the salad

• Chopped romaine lettuce

• Cucumbers, chopped

• Tomatoes, chopped

• Radishes, sliced

• Green onions, chopped

• Fresh parsley, chopped

• Fresh mint, chopped

• Pita bread, toasted or fried into crispy pieces

For the dressing

• Extra virgin olive oil

• Fresh lemon juice

• Garlic, minced

• Sumac

• Pomegranate molasses, for drizzling

How to make it

1. Crisp the pita.

Tear or cut the pita into pieces and toast or fry until golden and crispy. Set aside.

2. Chop the vegetables.

Cut the romaine, cucumber, tomatoes, radishes and green onions into bite-sized pieces. I love keeping everything fairly uniform so that you get a little bit of everything in each bite.

3. Add the herbs.

Toss in plenty of fresh parsley and mint. This is where the salad really starts to come alive.

4. Make the dressing.

Whisk together the olive oil, fresh lemon juice, minced garlic and sumac.

5. Bring it all together.

Toss the vegetables and herbs with the dressing just before serving.

6. Finish with crunch.

Add the crispy pita pieces right before serving so they stay golden and crunchy. Finish with a drizzle of pomegranate molasses.

And then — bring it to the table.

Preferably with people you love.

Because maybe that is what food has always been doing for us.

Reminding us where we come from.

Reminding us who we belong to.

And giving us a way to carry it forward.