This is a story about accepting the people we love—the
people we have to love and the people we choose to love, the
families we’re given and the families we make. It’s the
story of two women adrift in New York, a widow and an
almost-orphan, each searching for someone she’s lost. It’s
the story of how, even in moments of grief and darkness,
there are joys waiting nearby.
Lorca spends her life
poring over cookbooks, making croissants and chocolat
chaud, seeking out rare ingredients, all to earn the
love of her distracted chef of a mother, who is now packing
her off to boarding school. In one last effort to prove
herself indispensable, Lorca resolves to track down the
recipe for her mother’s ideal meal, an obscure Middle
Eastern dish called masgouf.
Victoria, grappling with
her husband’s death, has been dreaming of the daughter they
gave up forty years ago. An Iraqi Jewish immigrant who used
to run a restaurant, she starts teaching cooking lessons;
Lorca signs up.
Together, they make cardamom
pistachio cookies, baklava, kubba with squash. They
also begin to suspect they are connected by more than their
love of food. Soon, though, they must reckon with the past,
the future, and the truth—whatever it might be. Bukra fil
mish mish, the Arabic saying goes. Tomorrow, apricots
may bloom.
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