Cooking Disasters

Cooking Disasters is not a normal cookbook. Yes, there are disasters and there are also recipes. None of the disasters take place in the kitchen. I've had very unique things happen to me as I've traveled the world. I should be dead. Instead, I survived and have a collection of miracles and recipes to share. This is a good read, with some of my photographs gathered along the way as well. Even if you don't cook, this is a good cookbook. And, if you do cook, this has some treasures from around the world.

I've traveled the globe and been warmly welcomed in every corner I wander. But, nobody has ever taken me into their home more than the Chakir family in Casablanca, Morocco. Shortly after my arrival in Morocco, I damaged my briefcase and needed a shoe repair shop to fix things. I was given directions, headed off on my own, and then promptly got lost. When I finally found a small shop, I realized I couldn't explain my needs in French, and I certainly didn't speak any Arabic! I stood there speechless until Mohamed said, "I speak English. What do you need?" He fixed my briefcase for free, closed up the shop, gave me a walking tour of Casablanca, and then brought me home to meet my Moroccan family. Yes, they were my family the entire time I lived in their country. When there was a holiday, I wasn't invited to their home. I was expected. I was family. It was a delight to eat with them! Moroccan food looks like artwork when served. Habiba, Fatiha, and Nezha never disappointed. I learned to say shukran (thank you) and bnin (delicious). I've traveled the globe and been warmly welcomed in every corner I wander. But, nobody has ever taken me into their home more than the Chakir family in Casablanca, Morocco. Shortly after my arrival in Morocco, I damaged my briefcase and needed a shoe repair shop to fix things. I was given directions, headed off on my own, and then promptly got lost. When I finally found a small shop, I realized I couldn't explain my needs in French, and I certainly didn't speak any Arabic! I stood there speechless until Mohamed said, "I speak English. What do you need?" He fixed my briefcase for free, closed up the shop, gave me a walking tour of Casablanca, and then brought me home to meet my Moroccan family. Yes, they were my family the entire time I lived in their country. When there was a holiday, I wasn't invited to their home. I was expected. I was family. It was a delight to eat with them! Moroccan food looks like artwork when served. Habiba, Fatiha, and Nezha never disappointed. I learned to say shukran (thank you) and bnin (delicious).

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