Laura’s abroad in Amman, Jordan, until Dec. 19.

My newfound Jordanian friend invited me to her aunt’s house for iftar. Located on the outskirts of Amman, the house was lovely and had a beautiful garden and patio. Tonight’s specialty: munsuf, which is a bed of rice covered with lamb, and janeeb, which is a sauce made from dried yogurt. When I arrived, her aunts had their sleeves rolled up and were cleaning a sheep in the kitchen sink. Cleaning the head properly is the most important task. They washed out the mouth, nose, and ear holes, and then dropped it into a pot of boiling water. Later they put everything in a giant metal vat over a fire outside and boiled it for a few hours.

In the meantime, the aunts asked me to make an apple pie. One of the aunts had lived in the Midwest for a few years and she was hoping to see how I made this quintessential American dish. Without my grandma’s recipe or the familiar U.S. ingredients, I had to improvise a bit. Plus, she handed me a giant 16-inch dish. This was definitely the largest, strangest pie I’ve ever made. The maid went out and picked a giant bucket full of apples, so for most of the afternoon I sat at the kitchen table peeling and slicing while the other women buzzed around me, preparing the feast. They watched as I rolled out the giant ball of dough and helped me shape the crust. By the time twilight fell, I was streaked with flour, but I had a decent-looking pie ready for the oven.

For dinner, all the relatives came over to eat the munsuf. The women and I sat around one table, while the men all gathered around a giant plate of munsuf in another section of the courtyard. This was the first time I had eaten a meal separated by gender, but with so many guests perhaps it was just a matter of practicality. One of the men brought over a piece of the sheep’s brain for me to try. I couldn’t turn it down because it is considered a huge honor to be offered this delicacy. I popped it in my mouth and tried to chew it. It was horribly soft and salty, and it stuck to the roof of my mouth. I started to gag, but forced myself to swallow and smile. Many of the women started laughing and I feared I my face had betrayed me, but then they told me I was brave. Many of them don’t like the sheep’s brain either. My friend, however, licked up her piece of brain happily.

After dinner, the men gathered in one circle to smoke argeela, while the other women gathered in another circle to chitchat and eat qataief. I tried baking my pie in the oven, but I had trouble getting the right temperature. Also, I failed to turn on the top burner in the oven, so only the bottom of my pie was actually being cooked. Eventually, however, I pulled it out of the oven, baked to my satisfaction. In the meantime, the aunts had called more relatives to come over to the house to taste the apple pie. I was very nervous as I carried it out into the courtyard and served it to all the relatives. Of course, they all complimented me and said it was delicious, but when I tasted it I realized the crust wasn’t quite right. Oh well. The uncle who owned the house said to me, “Tonight you are just like my own daughter.” I felt so happy to be welcomed by the family.

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