Almond&Fig

Almond&Fig Hi I am Mai, writer, cook, & photographer around here. I cook to remember my home in Palestine & to pass that connection on to my children.

For recipes and stories visit my website and Instagram

04/22/2026

As I enjoy these tart spring fruits, I’m taken back to Palestine …
to trees we climbed before the fruit was ready,
to fuzzy green almonds, sour plums, and tiny green apricots sour enough to make your eyes close with the first bite.

They are more than just a snack.
They are a ritual. A feeling. Half craving, half comfort each bite a small cure for homesickness,
carrying the joy and the unmistakable taste of spring.
They are a connection to the land, to the season, to something rooted deep inside us.

Today is Earth Day
a reminder that land is not just soil;
it’s memory, identity, and survival.

Despite the continued genocide, Israeli violence and occupation, Palestinians continue to plant and harvest.
From gardens our families are planting in makeshift tents in Gaza to olive, almond, and citrus groves in the West Bank, there is a powerful bond between our people and the land.

And sometimes…
it tastes like something sour, dipped in salt,
under a spring sky that calls you home. In Palestine, a tart spring fruit plate like this is always served with strawberries—often from Gaza.

02/26/2026

Palestinian dates are more than a seasonal treat — they are grown by farmers resisting land confiscation, restricted access to their water supplies, and violence that targets life and agriculture itself.

When flour and food supplies are weaponized to starve an entire population in Gaza, bread is no longer just food.
It is survival.
It is resistance.
It is dignity.

As I’m making a simple date bread —
soft, slightly sweet, studded with chewy, plump Palestinian dates,
warmed with crushed cardamom and cinnamon —
I want to remind you that dates are political.

Israel supplies roughly half of the Medjool dates around the world, and a significant portion are grown in illegal agricultural settlements in the Jordan Valley near Jericho, in the occupied West Bank.

So sourcing matters.

Each ethically sourced Palestinian date represents years of care, heritage, resistance, and resilience in the face of occupation.

So when we break bread, when we consume the date — especially in seasons like Ramadan and Lent —
we choose what we nourish.

is offering Ramadan boxes with ethically sourced dates from Palestinian farmers in occupied Palestine

02/18/2026

This year, Lent and Ramadan begin side by side.
Across Palestine — in churches and mosques — prayers rise with heavy hearts.

And yet, traditions and hope remain.

In our kitchens, the seasons still guide us.

This is khoubezeh — common mallow — a wild winter green that grows freely across the hills and valleys of Palestine. It isn’t sold in markets. It’s gathered by hand from the land itself.

In our homes, it’s cooked many ways.
But the simplest is my favorite — onions softened in golden olive oil, khoubezeh folded in until tender, finished with a bright squeeze of lemon. Eaten with warm, charred khoubez.

At the start of Ramadan, many families prepare something green or white — a symbol of renewal and blessing as the fasting month begins.
During Lent, Christian communities fast for forty days before Easter, refraining from animal products in devotion and reflection.
Even in the heaviest seasons, the land still gives.
And we will gather.

01/06/2026

In the heart of a snowy January, I became a mother For the first time —young, scared, and far from my home, learning how to recover and care for a newborn in the quiet of winter.

My mother flew from Palestine. In those tender days after birth, her love showed up in the everyday acts—in warm meals, comforting hands that knew exactly what to do. She fed me with intention and care, not just to restore my body, but to heal me. A mother’s nourishment is medicine—it reminds a new mother that she is held.

We grew up cooking with the seasons—simple food from the land.
Sautéed greens in good olive oil, a squeeze of lemon, pine nuts if we had them. Eaten with warm bread—sometimes a side, sometimes the whole meal.

One dish she made for me almost daily was sautéed greens, stewed in Palestinian olive oil she carried with her, finished with a generous snowfall of Parmesan.

Today, I’m making it again with Swiss chard, on my daughter’s 25th birthday.
A reminder that we become the mothers who loved us—and we give our children the kind of love that once held us together.
Happy Birthday Neda and شكراً ماما 🤍

12/01/2025

اللي يفرط لك رمان لا تفرط فيه
There is a Palestinian saying that goes, “Whoever takes the time to seed pomegranates for you, cherish them.”
These days we can buy pomegranate seeds ready to go in neat little containers.
Still, here I am at my kitchen counter, hands stained red, seeds flying everywhere.
Love isn’t always loud.
Love is the quiet work no one notices.
The slow, patient things our mothers and grandmothers gave without asking for anything in return.
It is the kind of love you only begin to understand as you grow older.
With every seed I think of my grandmother’s hands.
How she separated each pomegranate with care, how she tucked blessing into every small bowl.
She taught me that food holds memory.
That home travels with us in small containers and familiar flavors.
Today I prepared this for my daughter as she headed back to college.
So she carries more than fruit.

She carries the comfort of home.
She carries a piece of me.
She carries the women who came before us.

Almost two years into a genocide, and thousands and thousands of children, mothers, fathers, students, nurses, doctors, ...
07/27/2025

Almost two years into a genocide, and thousands and thousands of children, mothers, fathers, students, nurses, doctors, journalists, and grandparents have been killed.

An entire population from the infants to the elderly are being systematically and forcibly starved in Gaza.

No Food. No medical supplies. No clean water. No electricity.

Hospitals, bakeries, schools, mosques, homes, and churches have all been targeted.

Families are living in makeshift tents under Gaza’s brutal summer sun — steaming, suffocating, as if trapped in greenhouses. And this after surviving a harsh winter, floods that collapsed their tents, and nights spent sleeping on soaked floors.

There’s no formula for babies, mothers milk dried up. No access to fresh fruits, vegetables, eggs, dairy, or meat.
No one can live on flour alone. And now, even flour is scarce and attempting to get it can cost our people their lives.

And after all this… people are only now waking up.

Is it too late?
Who will forgive this brutal world?

"Now that there’s no personal downside to saying what this is —
Now that it’s safe to speak —
Everyone will have always been against it."

Thank you for your voice glad to have you

But speaking isn’t enough.
Posting on stories isn’t enough.
People of conscience must organize, protest, unlearn the propaganda, listen, boycott, and demand justice — for Gaza, for all of Palestine.
Demand change. Take action.

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