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Doc Sarah

@doc.sarah.h

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Dentist with a social life
Russian / Palestinian mix 🕊️

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Closing this chapter with a full heart ❤️

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My love for Italian cuisine didn’t begin in a restaurant.
It began in the kitchen of my Italian childhood friend.

I would sit there quietly,
watching her mother cook.
Her movements seemed effortless.
Calm.
Precise.
And filled with knowledge.

Without even realizing it,
I absorbed all those little details.
And whenever I didn’t understand something,
I simply asked why.

One moment stayed with me until today:
she would lift the pasta directly from the cooking water into the sauce,
then add some of the pasta water as well.

At the time, I didn’t understand why that mattered.
Today I know:
that’s where texture forms.
Where flavor binds together.
Where simplicity becomes craft.

In her kitchen, I also learned how to make friselle —
dishes rarely known in Germany.

And that’s how cooking is truly passed on:
not only through recipes,
but through observation, repetition,
and people who share their knowledge naturally,
without even noticing how much they are teaching.

#freshpasta #italianfood #pastamaking #homemadepasta #italiancuisine

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2

Dive into Arabian staples magic.

Easter is just around the corner,
and in our home that means one thing:
the table becomes colorful.

For the past few years, I’ve been serving traditional Arab dishes
from Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, and Egypt.
Not only because they are healthy and nourishing,
but also because they can serve as staple dishes.

What I didn’t realize for a long time is:
this is exactly how it’s done in many Oriental households.
I came across this while reading Filistin, the cookbook by @sami_tamimi
Families and neighbours gather in one kitchen to prepare and share for their fridges.
This felt instantly familiar to me.

Because that’s how it always worked at home, too.
People would come together
to cook, to prepare, to preserve.
But more importantly,
to talk, to laugh, and to share stories.

With many of these dishes,
it simply doesn’t make sense to cook small portions.
They take time.
They require effort.
And they are meant to be shared.

And yet, I have to admit —
I often prefer being alone in my kitchen.
Without distractions.
Without noise.
It’s where I find clarity,
follow my thoughts,
and allow creativity to unfold.

In this reel, you see a selection of everyday Arab staples:
hummus, baba ganoush, muhammara, and shatta and my homemade yogurt.
Dishes that can be served in many different ways.

At our table, this means abundance —
whether it’s a slow Sunday breakfast,
a quick wrap on a busy day,
or a festive gathering like Easter.

Alongside these, I usually prepare a few fresh dishes,
both warm and cold,
to complete the festive table.

And of course, there is always freshly baked bread.
Focaccia, flatbread and manakish,
or my mother’s bread - Chubz Teta.
My absolute favorite.
Crispy on the outside, soft on the inside. With black or white sesame on top.
A blend of everything I grew up with.

Preparing food like this has always been more than just cooking.
It’s about creating continuity.
About carrying knowledge forward.
And about making sure that something good
is always within reach.

What are the dishes you always keep prepared?

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4

Taste of Childhood

Everyone knows that feeling:
there’s a certain scent,
a specific taste,
and suddenly everything comes back —
the time you associate it with.

Because every phase of our lives
has its own sound,
its own scent —
and yes, its own flavor.

Recently, I decided to cook one of those dishes again
after a long time.

A dish from the Aramaic Tur Abdin,
from the region around Mardin and Midyat:
Dahudiyat.

At home, we also called them in Arabic
Gandarunat —
which simply means “little balls.”
And that’s exactly what they are.

Meatballs,
mixed with rice,
lightly coated in flour,
seared
and then finished in a rich tomato sauce.
Traditionally served with oriental rice.

It’s one of those dishes
that, over generations,
leave no doubt
about whether they are good or not.

And I cook it today
exactly the way I remember it
from my childhood.

But more than anything,
it is a dish that fosters community.
One that brings people together in the kitchen.
Rolling. Shaping.
Talking.

Telling stories.
Listening carefully.
Sometimes marveling.
Often laughing.

And that is what cooking together is truly about:
communication, craftsmanship,
and the passing on of knowledge.

Do you have dishes like this —
ones that carry all of that within them?

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6

Dive into hearty winter flavours.

If you know me, you know this:
I love cooking creatively, without recipes.
And I eat very little meat —
only consciously, and only by choice.

I’m often asked
whether that isn’t complicated.
No — not at all.
Because in almost every dish,
there’s a way to replace meat with something plant-based
without losing depth, flavor, or satisfaction.

This dish is a perfect example.
I’ve cooked it in both versions.

I hollow out the pumpkin.
Its inside is diced together with beetroot, chestnuts, and onions,
then slowly sautéed
before being used to fill the pumpkin again.

When I choose meat,
I add crispy kavurma on top —
slow-braised pulled beef, cooked to perfection.
Everything goes into the oven,
lid closed,
time allowed to do its work.

The same dish works beautifully without meat.
Instead, I use pre-cooked, seasoned chickpeas.
Warm.
Grounding.
Deeply aromatic.
And full of umami.

For me, cooking is exactly about this:
not about restriction,
but about conscious choices.
About flavor.
And about food
that nourishes —
on every level.
#Heartykitchen #soulfood #winterfood #cozyfood #comfortfoods

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7

Dolce Vita in the middle of Germany.

As a teenager, I already knew how to cook,
long before I discovered Italian cuisine.
The foundation was laid at home.
Of course, by my mother.

During my teenage years, Italy entered my life.
Right in the middle of Germany,
this cuisine slowly unfolded for me.
Not in the local pizzeria,
but authentically,
in the home of my Italian friend.

Until then, pasta meant only one thing to me:
my mother’s oriental version of Bolognese
Macarna bil seniye.

Macarna was our Arabic word for all kinds of pasta.

It roughly translates to “macaroni bake,”
because the pasta is actually finished in the oven with the sauce.
Hearty. Spiced.
Classic comfort food.

And suddenly, I discovered that there were many more types of pasta.
Different ways to prepare them.
Different sauces.
And that Bolognese wasn’t the only option.
To this day, Carbonara remains my favorite,
not the German cream-based version,
but the original Italian one with raw egg yolk.

By watching, I slowly worked my way into this cuisine.
With all its small tricks and techniques —
things you don’t learn from books,
but from people.

At that age, cooking Italian food became another act of self-empowerment for me.
Not because I had to start over,
but because I could build on a very strong foundation.
Diving into a new culture through food.

And that has stayed with me until today:
respect for cultures,
a love for simplicity,
and the certainty
that good food is like building strong friendship bonds beyond borders.

It doesn’t need to impress
to make people feel welcome
and happy with just one simple plate.

#italiankitchen #italianculture #cooklikeanitalianmamma

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8

Food is a human right.

Since my childhood,
I’ve known how to feel full with very simple means.

There was a time
when my mother didn’t know
how she would feed us.
Even the beloved bread from the bakery
was no longer affordable.

So she began baking bread herself.
With five children.
And the responsibility
that came with everything.

It was a time
when she had to become creative.
Not just to fill our stomachs,
but to nourish us well.
Sustainably.
And with dignity.

Those years taught me
how to create not only filling,
but also flavorful meals
from very few ingredients.

We all know them —
the dishes born in the world’s soup kitchens.
Italian pasta.
A Eurasian lentil dish.
Arab hummus.

Once created as food for the poor,
they now conquer kitchens worldwide
as signature dishes.
Born out of necessity —
and crowned as lifestyle.

Today, I don’t have to bake bread.
I can.
Just as I could cook
with abundance instead of scarcity.

And yet, simple food
is still the best to me.
Simple ingredients.
No frills.

With full awareness
of what nourishes not only our bodies,
but also our minds.

Because in the end,
that is what carries us.
Not fancy clothes.
Not expensive cars.

Beneath all that pomp,
we are all the same.
With or without embellishment.
White or Black.
Blond or brown.

And so I return to the human right.
The world has enough to feed everyone.
Yet we live in a time
where hunger exists among us —
and in some parts of the world
is even used as a weapon.

Still, I do not give up hope.
For a better, wiser time.
A time when we understand
that a dignified future
is only possible together.

#foodisahumanright #essenisteinmenschenrecht #hungeristkeinewaffe
#cookingsimple #cookingaffordable

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5

Traditions — how do they begin, and how can they contribute to cultural integration?

Especially during holidays like Christmas, we return to these questions.

My mother began merging and expanding traditions long before Instagram or any digital stage existed.
Already in the 1980s, she started integrating German dishes into our celebrations — sometimes even blending them with our own.

It all began with Christmas cookies:
vanilla crescents, macaroons, cut-out cookies, Hilda biscuits —
and her very own version of semolina balls.

She had learned the recipe from a friend and thought:
delicious — but instead of jam, why not fill them with dates and walnuts?
That’s how her oriental semolina balls were born.

And I still bake them to this day.
Just as essential are her roasted salted almonds and hazelnuts —
a savory counterbalance to all the sweetness,
and therefore an indispensable part of our table.

Growing up, openness to other cultures and backgrounds was something I learned early on.
And the kitchen, anywhere in the world, is the first — and perhaps the easiest — place where integration truly happens.

Because everyone has to eat.
And tastes, like people, are wonderfully different.

Our table became a multicultural expression early on —
a place where diversity was visible, shared, and celebrated together with guests.

Which other dishes found their way onto our table very early on
is a story for another time.

#integrationthroughfood #blendingcultures #meltingpotkitchen

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14

Christmas is just around the corner.

The birth of Christ marks the arrival of light, hope, and peace
in a world that can feel dark at times.

That is the true meaning of this season —
not gifts or excess.

In the Aramaic Christmas tradition, this is exactly what it’s about:

less consumption, more togetherness.

Children receive gifts, usually money.
Depending on the society you live in, this may change.

But this is a tradition I have chosen to preserve for us.

So if you celebrate with us, don’t be too disappointed.

Because in our home, the question isn’t
“What did you get?”
but
“Who is sitting with us at the table on this day?”

For us, Advent has always meant one thing:

cooking together,
baking, decorating,
visiting cozy markets,
and planning the Christmas menu.

All without shopping pressure —
who even knows that anymore?

This tradition grounds us year after year
and reminds us of the privilege of being able to live in peace.

Something that should never be taken for granted.

#Christmas2025 #familytraditions #christmaslovers🎄❤️ #aramean #arameanchristians #easternchristianity #churchofantioch

31

4

Traditions shift, circles shrink, and yet the spirit of Christmas stays.

Christmas has always been family time for me.
A time when my mother insisted we all be present.
Her beautifully set table was the center of our conversations —
sometimes warm and gentle, sometimes a little less so.
Who doesn’t know that feeling?
On Christmas, everyone was there.
No questions asked.

With the years, things change.
We grow older, build our own lives,
and suddenly we realize
that not only life itself changes,
but also the way we celebrate our traditions.

Today, our circle has become smaller,
and my university friend Dina now sits with us at the Christmas table.
For eight years, she has been part of our Christmas tradition —
with my sister Marta and with me.
A friend who has long become family.
As if it had always been that way.

This new tradition has made us richer,
our family warmer and more colorful.
Because Christmas means something deeper to me now:
It’s not only about who belongs to our family,
but also about whom life brings to us as family.
People who stay.
People who become part of our world —
not through blood,
but through connection.

And every year, when we sit together,
I feel circles closing:
My mother’s traditions,
the paths we’ve walked,
and the new stories
we are writing today. Together, or each in our own way.

#Christmas2025 #familytraditions #christmaslovers🎄❤️ #newways #familyisnotalwaysblood

41

12

November — the month that shaped my destiny.

I was born in November.
A year later, also in November, my parents discovered my polio.
And again in November, during my early school years, I injured the same leg twice in a row.
Each time, the school authority sent a teacher to our home so I wouldn’t fall behind — something my mother fought for with all her strength. Education meant everything to her.

They sent a Jewish teacher, probably the only one in our small Swabian village.
I was Aramaic, he was Jewish — and beyond homework, we talked about origins, language, faith and identity.
Because in a way, we were connected: both Semitic, both carrying ancient stories in our roots.

Later, during my studies, my closest friend became a Muslim Palestinian woman.
And now, every year, she celebrates Christmas with us.
Her father even insists on exchanging gifts — and gets genuinely upset when someone forgets.

Where we both come from, sharing festive holidays is normal.
All three Abrahamic religions were born in and around Jerusalem, carried out into the world over centuries.

So when I prepare Christmas dinner, I honor my world(s):

the German one I grew into,
the Aramaic one I come from,
and the Arab one that shaped my heart.

At our table, these worlds meet.
What about you — how do you celebrate?
What traditions come together in your home?

64

20

From Mesopotamia to Mannheim – where my story began.

Hi, my name is Yeliz and I come from Tur Abdin, the ancient homeland of the Arameans — a place between the rivers Euphrates and Tigris, where history, faith, and food are deeply rooted.

In the early 70s, my parents left for Beirut, hoping for safety and freedom.
My mother carried me beneath her heart while falling in love with Arabic flavors, spices, and warmth.

When the civil war broke out, she left again — back to Turkey, where I was born in Istanbul.
My father worked far away on construction sites in the Gulf,
so my mother carried our little family on her own.

My earliest memories taste like a mix of worlds —
Aramaic, Turkish, and Lebanese.
Dishes full of herbs, grains, lentils, and the stories told around our kitchen table.

When I was six, we left once more — this time for Germany.
We arrived in the south, in the Swabian region,
where I discovered new flavors and learned to adapt once again.

Today, when I cook, I cook more than food.
I cook memories.
I cook heritage.
I cook home and belonging.

.
.
.
.

@selfmademannheim by Yelo

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