Blurb:

At the crossroads of several eastern and western


cultures, Iraq had the ideal ingredients for a multiracial


society. Nowhere was this pluralistic culture more


evident than in the little street in Baghdad where I


grew up. It was a middle-class neighborhood, with


eucalyptus trees lining both sides of the street. In


springtime the air would be filled with the intoxicating


fragrance of the blossom on the citrus trees that were


planted all along the fences. Those shady places were


like magnets for the local children, where we used to


play, fight, reconcile, tell stories, and chatter about


everything and anything. As lunchtime approached, the


main meal of the day, we started playing our guessing


game as the welcome aromas of food drifted out of


the simmering pots and meandered along our street.


We would sniff these floating aromas and guess


whose mother was cooking what that day. Although


the dominant smell would be that of stew and rice,


which were cooked practically every day, the guessing


would still be intriguing, for there were so many kinds


of stews to identify. And almost always there would be the distinctive aroma of a special dish, and we knew


that one of us would soon be called by his or her mother


to distribute samples of that dish for the neighbors. As


the custom had always been, it was not thought right


to send back the neighbor’s dish empty, so it would be


returned with a comparable dish that was equally, if


not more, delicious. Thus, our guessing game was kept


alive by this exchange of hospitality, and from those


little dishes coming and going, we came to learn a lot


about people from all walks of life, and of diverse ethnic


and religious backgrounds. Such diversity was not a


unique situation in the city of Baghdad, which across


the centuries became a melting-pot of sorts for all


these groups.