I consider myself to be the luckiest person on Earth. I grew up in a Palestinian town in Israel, the youngest of nine siblings. Though our circumstances were humble, we were always well nourished in body and soul. The secret of our family wellbeing lies in my mother, Rasmyee, and her cooking. My mother is a true celebration of the culture of Palestine, our love for food, and taking care of the people around you. She shaped my palette and set the standard for what Qanoon is .
The valley where I grew up is full of apricots, olives, citrus, and almond trees. The temperate Mediterranean climate allowed for us to farm year round. On the farm, we grew anything from cabbage, lettuce, tomatoes, broccolini, peppers, cucumbers, fennel, to even peanuts. My favorite place was working with mom and helping her in the kitchen. I watched my mother turn those vegetables we harvested into mouth-watering meals. With her help and guidance, I mastered the recipes of many traditional Palestinian dishes. At only twelve years old I perfected my first Bamya Belahme, a classic okra and lamb stew.
When I was 17, it was time to find work in Tel Aviv and help my large family. I carried groceries with my cousins and refused to eat till I got home in the middle of the night. After a long day’s work, my mother would be waiting with dishes, such as Makluba, a delicious savory cake made of rice, eggplant and meat, or Molokeya, a nutritious soup made out of leaves picked from our farm. Eating her food after a full day was the joy of my life. Sometimes, she would send me to Tel Aviv with pre-cooked meals, but I would still refuse to eat at my breaks. Instead, I would wait until I finished my shift and then walk for 30 minutes through Tel Aviv, to the fancier neighborhoods that were home to famous Israeli fine dining. I only wanted to eat her food alongside these successful restaurants. Somehow it felt the proper tribute for her cooking.
Every week while I was studying at Hebrew University, I would go home to visit my parents. My mom would send me off with stacks of food to last me and my friends for the week. This tradition carried on throughout my MBA studies. When I was unable to visit, she forced my dad to drive her weekly dishes to us at Tel Aviv University.
I didn’t realize it then, but I was already on the path to becoming a restaurateur myself. I have been away from the farm for nearly 20 year, first pursuing a career in business and finance and later in the restaurant business in New York City. Qanoon is my personal journey to bridge the distance between my birth place and Chelsea, my current home. It’s a place to truly celebrate my mother’s cooking that I cannot find anywhere else. I am eager to bring my 14 years of experience as a successful restaurateur to take on this real challenge. Qanoon will be the destination to taste and enjoy Rasmyee’s recipes.
Qanoon means “grill” in Arabic. We used the grill in our farm for everything, from baking the best pita and Zatar bread to making Muhammra and other dips and spreads to preparing coffee, tea, meat, and vegetables. The proper spelling would ideally be Kanoon but my siblings and I love the musical string instrument Qanun. I love it so much that I felt I should replace the “K” in Kanoon with a “Q”; and this is how the name Qanoon was born.
-Tarek Daka, Chef Founder
