Melon Sorbet
In the UAE, summer can be… well, a little dull. Probably duller than I’m letting on. There’s just not much you can do outdoors — no cycling, no hiking, no long meanders or cozy walks in the park without feeling like you’re melting. Sure, you could escape to the mountains in the east, wander through a small village, or visit a green farm, but the heat and humidity make it feel like a mission. So most of the fun happens indoors.
When I get bored, I sometimes lace up my shoes and head to the mall for a long walk — half for the exercise, half for the excuse to window-shop. Most days, though, it’s about staying home: reading, watching TV shows, playing video games. I don’t feel guilty about it; it’s self-care.
That’s exactly the feeling I get from
Third Culture CookingCookbook It’s full of the kind of recipes you make just for yourself — pure comfort food you don’t feel like sharing. The fish fillet sandwich? Brilliant. I can’t imagine finding a better one in a restaurant, which is… if I think about it, a little sad. The tuna melt is dangerously addictive. Then there’s the date and coffee smoothie, the banana with tahini fudge, the Thai salmon with cucumber salad — all amazing. Every bite feels like a treat you made only for you. And yes, I have shamelessly kept the leftovers for myself, eating them later for dinner… or cold for breakfast.
What I love most is how the book balances recipes for a crowd with recipes for those days when you just want to cook for yourself, curl up on your favourite couch in your favourite pyjamas, and enjoy. For me, Third Culture Cooking is delicious self-nourishment — definitely one not to miss.
I’ve made many of your recipes, and honestly, they feel like they’re meant to be eaten in pajamas, on the couch, alone — with no intention of sharing. They’re that comforting. Do you think about emotional comfort when you develop a recipe?
I started cooking again after a long hiatus, just for me. Cooking with the matriarchs in my family for weddings and large gatherings was such a huge part of my childhood, and so much of the joy in it. As I got older, cooking for others became this never-ending, looming responsibility I wasn’t sure I wanted. So I stopped and busied myself with other things. But I was desperate to reconnect with the joy cooking once offered me. I started making things I wanted to eat for me — metaphorically filling my own cup so I could eventually fill others’ with the same. I love that just by cooking through my recipes, that was communicated and you felt it.
In short, when I develop a recipe, I am guided by my own comforts and intuition. I want it to be accessible and easy, but never devoid of intention. Cooking is fun and can be casual without being mindless.
Is there one recipe in the book that feels like your personal comfort dish? The one you make just for yourself — no styling, no sharing — just you and the food?
I can’t pick just one, because at one point or another every recipe in the book started as just that — a craving to be satisfied. But if I had to choose, it’s definitely between the Pasta Day Pasta and the Iconic Chicken Pot Pie; they’re both cozy and nostalgic, but not overly complicated.
You’ve written openly about the emotional labor of being visibly Muslim on social media. Has the visibility that came with your cookbook made that weight heavier, lighter — or just different?
Lighter. I think I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s no one-size-fits-all, and that dialogue is so important. We can and should always work toward having better understandings of one another and take the time to listen and learn.
Did you ever feel pressure — spoken or unspoken — to dilute or translate your identity for a broader audience, especially during editing or publicity?
I think I’ve carved out a space for myself that allows me to be authentic. I did grow up in America; our family was one of very few immigrants in our town — that is part of me. Pretending to be more “cultured” or, conversely, more “American” isn’t part of how I operate. I am American, and I come from a robust culture — both are true.
Where does your faith show up in your creative process — not just in what you write about, but in how you make things?
I recognize God as the source of all — inspiration, blessings, produce, talent, ability, creativity, etc. I find it comforting to know that the outcome of my efforts is not the point — just that I continue to make an effort.
Were there any stories, memories, or recipes that felt too personal to include in Third Culture — things you decided to hold back?
There was one detail I removed during a round of edits, but only because I didn’t feel it was my place to share it. It was in the headnote of one of the recipes from the women who’ve fed me over the years, and I ended up feeling like it might be too personal and they might not want it out there. I didn’t share the headnotes with them for approval ahead of publishing, so omitting it felt like the right thing to do. I’m more open to sharing than most, but I can definitely understand the desire to keep certain aspects of your personal life outside of a very public eye.
Otherwise, for my own life and points of reference, I don’t feel the need to hold back. Honesty is part and parcel of authentically sharing and facilitating connection.
What kind of boundaries did you have to create while writing — to protect your peace, your family, or just yourself?
I needed to set boundaries with myself. I can’t do it all, even if I really want to. I ended up making the difficult decision to leave my job as an editor at Bon Appétit and slowed down a lot on social posting and collaborations to put my all into the recipes in this book.
After putting so much of yourself into the book, has your relationship with cooking shifted at all? Do you cook differently now — whether it’s for yourself or for others?
I’m cooking for others more than ever before. I think that came from having a recipe index I’m really obsessed with. I want to cook the food in this book, and I’m always cooking from it confidently and wanting to share it with those around me.
Is there a dish you keep returning to lately — one that reminds you why you started cooking in the first place?
Sungold & Saffron Spaghetti (just shared the recipe to Substack) is the epitome of Third Culture Cooking. I made it for dinner last night and was reminded that this kind of cooking is my point of view — it’s flavorful, thoughtful, intentional, and holds a bit of tension inherently.
What’s something about the publishing process that completely caught you off guard? Something no one warned you about?
I think I underestimated how much work it would be to make it the way I wanted to see it. And how lonely it would be. But it is, without a doubt, one of the most fulfilling things I’ve ever done.
How do you balance the urge to educate with the desire to just be — to create without having to explain every part of yourself?
By spending a lot of time offline, which I think is especially necessary for those of us who work in digital media.
This recipe is shared here with permission from Third Culture Cooking by Zainab Issa, published by Abrams. © Abrams Books. All rights reserved.
MELON SORBET
Serves 6 (24 ounces sorbet)
30 minutes, plus 7 to 12 hours chill time
I’ve always loved very cold, icy things like Slurpees, slushies, sorbet, and Italian ice. This melon sorbet was born out of wanting an even colder way to enjoy one of my favorite summertime snacks: ripe melon with chili powder, salt, and lemon or lime juice. This technique for making sorbet is very easy and yields a shockingly ideal sorbet texture, not too hard and frosty but not too wet and melty thanks to the honey syrup inhibiting crystallization when freezing. Choosing to completely freeze only half of the cantaloupe makes the blending process much smoother and keeps things in sorbet territory rather than granita, although that would also be lovely. I find cantaloupe’s firm flesh to be ideal for this, but this technique will work on watermelon, honeydew, and even mango or berries, but manage your textural expectations accordingly (watermelon probably will be a little on the icier side, while mangos and berries probably will be a little softer and creamier); just make sure to keep the ratio as is, starting with 1½ pounds (680 g) of prepared fruit. Freezing tends to mellow out flavors, so when you taste the puree, make sure it tastes a little more intense than where you’d want it to be from a sweetness perspective. This really isn’t an issue when you’re using in-season melon, but since it’s not summer all year round where I live, it’s worth noting. 1 medium ripe cantaloupe* (about 3 pounds/1.3 kg), cut in half, seeded, flesh scooped out and cut into 1-inch cubes, divided
2 tablespoons good-quality honey, plus more to taste 2 tablespoons boiling water, plus more as needed
½ teaspoon Diamond Crystal kosher salt
Lemon or lime wedges, for serving
Flaky sea salt, for serving
Aleppo chili flakes, for serving
Extra virgin olive oil, for serving *
INSTEAD OF . . . Cantaloupe, use another melon or ripe summer fruit
METHOD :
Spread half of the cubed cantaloupe on a baking sheet in an even layer. Freeze until solid, 4 to 6 hours. Set the remaining cantaloupe aside for later. Put the honey and boiling water in a small bowl and stir to combine. Let stand until cooled to room temperature. Put the remaining cantaloupe in a high-speed blender (preferably one with a tamper) or a food processor and add the kosher salt, honey syrup, and frozen cantaloupe. Blend until smooth and Frostee-like in texture and on the sweet side (the sweetness will mellow as it freezes). If it’s not sweet enough for you, make more honey syrup using the same 1:1 honey to boiling water ratio and add it in at this phase. Transfer to a loaf pan. Cover with plastic wrap and freeze until solid, 3 to 5 hours. To serve, scoop into bowls using a warm ice cream scoop. Finish with a squeeze of lemon or lime, flaky salt, chili flakes, and a drizzle of olive oil. Freeze, covered in plastic wrap, or in an airtight container, for up to 3 months. Thaw at room temperature for 15 minutes before scooping and serving.
