I still remember the anticipation of watching the sun sink closer and closer to the horizon. It was Ramadan, the Muslim holy month of fasting. My childhood hometown of Dubai held its breath as the fiery ball dipped lower, lower and then finally into oblivion.
“Boom!” went the cannon, announcing that the day of fasting was over. Across the city, Muslims broke their fast as the Prophet Muhammad did, with a single date and a glass of water. The evening feast, known as “iftar” would only happen after prayers.
There is little resembling those days in my new hometown of Los Angeles except for the palm trees and boxes of impossibly sweet dates at the supermarket. Without thinking, I still reach for them, a shortcut to home.
Dates are revered in the Middle East. References to dates line the Koran, and the tree even sits on the Saudi seal. Nomadic Bedouins depended on its high sugar and fiber to sustain them during their travels. In fact, dates traveled with the Arab empire as far away as Spain, where they are wrapped in bacon and shallow-fried (an incarnation you’re not likely to find on a Muslim table, given the prohibition of pork from their diet!).