When I tell people about our Ramadan tradition, they’re often very confused. Eyes wide open and glazed with bewilderment, they search for a logical explanation. “You actually argue over who slaves away in the kitchen?” they ask, amazed that we all want to do something that so many people consider a chore. I brush it off knowing that, for us, it’s so much more than cooking. Ramadan food is our ritual to reconnect to ourselves, to one another and to fortify our bond.

For us, it ignited a frisson of excitement in completing even the most mundane tasks. We would plan for days, scrolling Pinterest and Instagram for hours, and even turning to old cooking shows for inspiration. In our preoccupation with preparing food, we somehow forgot about the hunger and even the bickering took a back seat during this precious period of intense competition.

My most triumphant iftar had me locked away in the kitchen for what seemed like decades. I’m a chaotic perfectionist; all the pressure with no plan, and I tend to just hope that it works out in the end. On the menu, there were freshly baked bagels, pitta bread, butter chicken, coriander rice, dauphinoise potatoes, baked salmon with salsa verde and lemon cake. Despite the concentrated chaos of creating so much food, though, I always remember that even though a big part of Ramadan is oriented around food, it doesn’t start and end in the kitchen. It’s about putting yourself in service to your family and the people that need it as you chop, knead and stir.

“How an iftar challenge between my siblings during Ramadan changed how I see our relationship”