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"Knafeh and Country Roads" elevates a domestic memory into a universal meditation on heritage and love. By weaving together sensory richness and cultural symbolism, the piece situates personal joy within a larger narrative of generational continuity. The father’s song embodies not only a celebration of new life but also a transmission of identity, ensuring that the grandchild will inherit both the sweetness of rose water and the soaring cadences of ancestral music.
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Knafeh and Country Roads
By Harry Arabian
It was Easter morning in April 1982—our first wedding anniversary. Marie had invited my parents for breakfast at our apartment on the fourth floor—two cozy bedrooms with plush carpeting and large windows that framed a clear, unobstructed view of the Charles River and the old mill buildings of Waltham. The morning light streamed in, golden and bright, as if it, too, had been invited to celebrate.
My parents, Nick and May, arrived right on time—9 a.m.—bringing with them a cheerful orange tulip plant that seemed to echo the sky outside. Marie met them at the door, smiling as she pulled the last tray of knafeh from the oven.
“Good timing,” she said playfully, wiping her hands on her apron. “Do you need help mixing the sweet rose water?”
My father chuckled. “I’ve done my part already—went to Massis Bakery for fresh sesame loaves.” He held up the warm bag like a trophy.
We gathered in the living room, the scent of toasted sesame and warm cheese filling the air. I poured fresh coffee and tea, then a few minutes later, Marie brought out the plates. She sliced into the knafeh, the pastry strands stretching with soft cheese, and slid generous portions beside the warm sesame bread. My parents leaned in, inhaling the sweetness of rose water as if it were the essence of the holiday itself.
“Our anniversary breakfast has officially begun,” I said.
Her knafeh was a triumph, and I felt a deep pride in my wife—not just for the meal, but for the grace and joy she brought into our home. She made even an ordinary morning feel like a celebration.
After the plates had been cleared and the coffee refreshed, my father stood up, a spark in his eye. Music had always been in his bones—especially the soulful, soaring notes of Armenian folk songs. I teased him as I often did.
“How about Country Roads by John Denver?” I said. “Your favorite ‘Mountain Mama.’ Remember? They used to play it at the factory to signal lunch break instead of the buzzer.”
He waved the suggestion off with a grin. “That song is for work breaks and long car rides. I’ve got a better one for today—Partsr Sarer. You and dear Marie have reached another peak. And I’m not just talking about the knafeh.” He paused, then turned to me, eyes shining. “May told me the good news—my grandson will be arriving in six months.”
Before I could say a word, he lifted his voice and began to sing, full and clear. The sound filled the apartment, soaring and ancestral, carrying a weight no radio tune could match. It was one of those rare moments that hangs in the air just a little longer than the rest—part celebration, part blessing, and all love—as his voice wove with the lingering sweetness of rose water, binding us to both memory and what was yet to come.
Book Club Summary
ReplyDeleteKnafeh and Country Roads is a tender short story set on Easter morning in 1982, marking the narrator’s first wedding anniversary with his wife, Marie. In their small Waltham apartment overlooking the Charles River, Marie prepares a celebratory breakfast of knafeh and fresh sesame bread for the narrator’s parents, Nick and May. What begins as a warm family meal unfolds into a layered moment of cultural tradition, generational connection, and new beginnings.
Food serves as a bridge between memory and identity—the knafeh rich with rose water and cheese symbolizes both continuity and renewal. Music, too, is central: while “Country Roads” represents the rhythms of daily life, Nick chooses instead to sing an ancestral Armenian folk song, Partsr Sarer, blessing the couple with roots deeper than the present moment. The story closes with a revelation—Marie is expecting a child—transforming the breakfast into a celebration of past, present, and future generations.
At its heart, the story captures how small domestic rituals—sharing food, singing together, telling stories—carry profound meaning. It’s about how love, family, and heritage intertwine in unexpected yet timeless ways.
Discussion Questions
Food as Symbolism:
How does the knafeh function as more than just a dish? What does it represent for Marie, the narrator, and the parents?
Generational Bridges:
Nick resists singing Country Roads and instead chooses an Armenian folk song. What does this choice reveal about his values and his hopes for his family?
Heritage and Identity:
How does the story balance cultural traditions with American life (sesame bread from Massis Bakery, John Denver’s song, Easter morning)? Do you see tension or harmony between these influences?
The Role of Place:
The setting—a small apartment with a view of the Charles River and old mill buildings—frames the story. How does the sense of place deepen the themes of family, continuity, and new beginnings?
The Revelation:
How does the announcement of Marie’s pregnancy shift the meaning of the gathering? Does it reframe the father’s song as a blessing?
Personal Reflection:
Have you experienced a family moment where food, music, or tradition unexpectedly deepened the sense of connection? How does that memory resonate with this story?