Amani—a trim, attractive, and now slightly graying woman in her late forties—must have seen her son’s headlights when he pulled in, since she was standing by the large eight-foot sliding glass door leading into the great room from the back deck, just waiting to give her son a big “welcome home” hug. As Ben stepped up onto the deck and headed toward her, she did her best to throw her arms around his strapping six-foot, four-inch frame. “Hi, honey! We’re so glad you could join us for dinner. My goodness, I think you’ve grown another two inches since Christmas! Pretty soon I’m not going to be able to get my arms around you at all!” she laughed. “And you’re so thin too!” she frowned. “Are you getting enough to eat, Benji?”
“Benji” was still her favorite name for their now-towering and strikingly handsome young son, much to Ben’s dismay, as well as that of her husband, Anwar. It had been hard enough for Anwar to concede to the name Benjamin, which he had done largely out of respect for his wife’s Jewish heritage, although he had secretly hoped for a “junior” or at least an Abdul, Abir, Omar, or the like. Now, Margaret’s persistent use of this juvenile abbreviated version was even more of an annoyance to him (and to Ben as well, though he most often just ignored it to humor her). “Benji” was just way too boyish for a young man now about to be a senior in college. Besides, Ben’s distinctively Middle Eastern features—haunting dark eyes, olive-colored skin, dark mustache, and shoulder-length black hair—made him look much more like the popular Greek pianist Yanni than some floppy-eared Hollywood canine superstar.
Nevertheless, Ben just smiled at his mother, knowing that she loved him and that some little things were just better left alone. “Well, I have pretty much stopped eating meat,” he began, only to be interrupted by a booming voice from the top of the stairs.
“Stopped eating meat? Are you crazy? What’s wrong with meat? I’ve been eating it all my life, and it hasn’t hurt me!” Anwar scoffed as he descended the steps into the great room. “It’s all your mother’s doing, I’m sure—first you’re a Benji, now a vegetarian! Pretty soon I won’t even be able to eat what I want in my own house!” he grumbled.
“Anwar, really!” Margaret scolded her six foot six, 280-pound husband. “You look like you could benefit from a few more vegetables yourself! Ease up on Ben, we haven’t seen him since Christmas!” Looking up at her son, she smiled warmly, “Don’t mind your father; he just had a rough day at the pharmacy and hasn’t quite settled down. You know, it seems like we didn’t get to visit much over the holidays. I’ve really been wondering about you—how school is going and what you’re thinking about these days. I’ve made your favorite dinner, too: eggplant parmesan, brussels sprouts, and your special salad!”
“Thanks, Mom! Sounds great, and smells great too! Yeah, I’m sorry about Christmas and all. I was just really busy, and remember, my friends and I left to go skiing on the 26th, so I didn’t get to spend as much time at home as I would have liked.” Ben knew his family enjoyed having him around at holiday times, but he had been looking forward to that ski trip to Whistler for months and no way would he have missed it. He loved skiing, and had a blast in BC—a welcome relief from the pressures of school. In fact, it was just what he had needed to refocus on the important decisions in front of him the next year, decisions that his parents obviously shared his concern about.
The room he had just entered was truly a “great room,” measuring some forty by thirty feet, with a huge vaulted tongue and groove wooden ceiling and a massive stone fireplace almost as tall as the room’s length. The wide-planked pine floors responded with their usual creaks and squeaks as Ben walked across toward a wall of oversized windows and French doors that invited all the dancing lights from the city below to fill the room, giving it a magical quality all its own. The evening was breathtakingly beautiful as usual, and Ben took a moment to soak in the incredible view that was his favorite memory from growing up there. His father’s voice behind him quickly brought him back from his brief reverie.
“Hi son, glad you could make it,” Anwar smiled, extending his arms and giving Ben an affectionate hug. “Even though it looks like I’m stuck with eggplant tonight,” he added while mumbling under his breath, “could have at least been baba ghanoush. Food aside, though,” he smiled, “your mother and I have been looking forward to spending a little time with you, just to get a feel for what you’ve been thinking lately. Lots of important decisions for you to make here pretty soon.” Anwar Amani had never been one to beat around the proverbial bush. His keen mind, bold demeanor, and goal-oriented nature had served him very well in business over the years, but still came across as a bit intimidating to Ben, even at almost twenty-one years of age.
“Yes, sir, there sure are. I’ve certainly been carefully weighing my options for the past few months. You and Mom are always a big help, though, when it comes to providing support for my choices.” Be friendly, act responsible, elicit feedback, but stay in the driver’s seat—that’ll be my strategy here, Ben thought to himself. Don’t want to antagonize them but don’t want them making decisions for me either. I’ll just play along with this and see where it goes, he reasoned.
“Ok, my men…dinner’s ready,” Margaret’s voice interrupted. “You can discuss all this while we eat. I haven’t gone to all this effort just to stand here and let it get cold. Come on, fill up your plates and let’s sit out on the deck and enjoy this beautiful July evening!”
In the Amani home, the great room housed the food preparation, dining, and living areas all under one huge vaulted ceiling. Then, beyond the wall of glass on the east side, was a likewise enormous deck that extended the living area outdoors when the weather was nice, and provided an even more dramatic view of downtown Portland and beyond to Mt. Hood in the distance. The “open kitchen” concept also had other advantages, as the irresistible smells emanating from Margaret’s kitchen inevitably permeated the entire room, as was certainly the case tonight. Ben savored the aromas of his favorite foods as the family filled their plates from the kitchen island and headed toward one of the multiple sets of French doors leading to the patio and their outdoor dining area. Near the table was another beautiful stone fireplace, where Margaret had built a nice, crackling fire just to keep things cozy and comfortable. Evenings on the hill, even in July, tended to cool off quickly, and Ben noticed that the thermometer was already registering 65 degrees, a drop of 5 degrees just since the sun had disappeared. He had many fond memories of dining out there, especially in the summer months, when the evening temperature was cool enough for a fire yet warm enough to make eating outside a delight. The twinkling lights of the city below were even more inviting next to the warm glow of the logs in the fireplace, and he always looked forward to that special ambience, teamed, of course, with his mother’s culinary triumph of the day.
Margaret Cohen Amani was a great cook and took pride in providing her family with delicious and nutritious meals. In fact, she had met Anwar while she was a graduate student in clinical nutrition at NYU and had often bragged that it was her cooking skills rather than her good looks that had won his father’s heart! Needless to say, their cultural diversity (New York Jew weds Iranian Muslim!) posed a particular challenge to her culinary repertoire, but over the years, she had succeeded quite well with integrating Middle Eastern cuisine with the foods she was accustomed to. Not only that, but Ben had fortunately grown up with almost no exposure to the SAD (standard American diet), a benefit that he was only now beginning to realize. In the Amani home, there had been no junk food, no sodas, no overly refined processed foods—really, almost none of the foods he had been barraged with since leaving home. His tall, lean, and muscular body was a testament to Margaret’s insistence on a diet full of organic vegetables, fruits, and occasional wild or grass-fed meats. It was always a pleasure to enjoy one of her meals, and he was grateful that tonight she had selected his favorite foods.
“Mom, I never realized it when I was growing up, but now I really appreciate all the great-tasting and nutritious meals you fixed us. I just can’t believe the stuff the kids at school eat. It’s no wonder that most of them are way overweight. On
