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Sito's Kitchen, Tulare, CA (2026)

05/11/2025

"Immeh" = means "my mom" in Arabic — a word that carries the warmth of home, the strength of generations, and the essence of everything I love about food and family.

On this Mother's Day, I’m remembering my immeh, my Sito (grandmother), and my Nana (great-grandmother), whose hands shaped not only the food I now share with you, but the heart behind it.

These incredible Lebanese women — full of love, grit, and flavor — taught me that food is never just food. It’s how we gather, how we heal, how we celebrate, how we grieve, how we love. It’s the centerpiece of our culture and the soul of our tables. They instilled in me that abundance isn’t just about quantity, but about generosity. In the Lebanese culture, you’ll never find a table with “just enough.” There’s always plenty. It’s our love language — to cook, to feed, to nourish.

It's always so heart filling when I eat food that tastes so much like my mom’s and my Sito's. One aroma, one bite, and I’m back in their kitchens. That’s the kind of legacy they left and what I try to recreate in my dishes.

Today, I'm missing my mom's hummus and how she would always say, "Alissa, can you come taste this for me? Does it need more lemon?" 🤍 To those who are also missing their moms today — my heart is with you. And I hope you’re surrounded by memories that make you smile, and maybe even by food that brings them a little closer.

Image description (from left to right): four Lebanese generations - infant me (Alissa), held by my mom (Patti), seated next to Nana (Stella), with my Sito (Hazel) sitting on the side of Nana's chair.

Please share below: your favorite Lebanese dish prepared by your mom or any food that reminds you of your mom.

04/12/2025

Behebak, Habibi (I love you, my dear)

I'm setting my intentions and gratitude for today's event to my Aunt Nancy () and Uncle Jerry (my Sito, Hazel's, brother). Spending quality time with them yesterday reminded me that love is at the center of it all in our culture and family. Love that transcends time & distance and is handed down through generations.

Undoubtedly, that love makes it way into the food we make and enjoy with each other.

Apologies for the short notice, but Sito's Kitchen is out today at the PPC Memorial Foundation fundraiser event. If you're in Tulare today, stop by centennial park and check us out 🤍 (10am-3pm).

And come try some free samples of bi2lewe - I hope you taste the love. ❤️

04/02/2025

April is National Arab American Heritage Month!

As we celebrate our Arab roots, I can't help but reflect on one of the most cherished staples in Arab and Arab-American households: Man2oushe. In Arabic, it’s pronounced ‘mahn-oo-shay’, or Manakish (pronounced ‘mah-na-keesh’), which is the plural. For us, growing up, we always called it “Zahtah bread” our pronunciation of za’atar shaped by the region of Lebanon our family hailed from.

You see, when our relatives immigrated here, they were treated as "other" — different, unfamiliar. They did everything they could to help us avoid the same hardships they faced, wanting us to fit in, to be part of the American fabric. Yet, at home, it was a different story: Lebanese culture was alive and well in the kitchen, in our mannerisms, in the way we laughed and in the food we ate. The effort to assimilate was there, but so was the determination to preserve our roots. For us, zahtah bread was one of many quiet legacies that connected us to our history. It was a bridge between the old world and the new, even if we weren’t saying it
like they did in “the old country.” I wish the circumstances for my family could have been different. But I understand. Our family did what they thought was best for us, trying to protect us from the hardships they endured while still keeping us tethered to our roots.

Every time I smell zahtah bread/man2oushe/manakish, I’m instantly transported back to my Sito’s kitchen. I can smell the toasted bread, I can see the green laminate kitchen floor, I can hear Sito and my mom laughing, I can feel the wooden table and taste the tartness from the zahtah dance upon my tongue. Oh, what sweet, sweet memories.

This month, I hope you’ll take the time to enjoy some Lebanese food – it won’t disappoint, I promise you! And when you do, you'll be indulging in a rich history and experiences that shaped Arab Americans.

Let me know in the comments: What’s your favorite Lebanese food?

Image descriptions: 1st image: 3 pieces of my homemade zahtah bread stacked upon each other. 2nd image & 3rd video: man2oushe with za’atar and cheese being baked in a brick and metal oven in Lebanon in 2019.

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03/19/2025

Sito’s Kitchen is thrilled to soon share with you our next pop-up event happening in April…stay tuned! In the meantime, let’s dive into something sweet.

One of my all-time favorite Lebanese desserts is Bi2lewe (pronunciation explained below). It’s a yummy little indulgence that never gets old.

Process: The assembly of bi2lewe is mesmerizing, almost like a rhythmic dance. It’s one of those treats that can really put you in a baking trance, much like the flow of a good song. I hope you’ll come experience a taste of it at our next event!

Flavor profile: Bi2lewe is a mouthwatering dessert made from buttery dough, crunchy nuts, and a delicate balance of sweet and salty flavors, layered to perfection. Does it look familiar? The Greeks have something similar & call their version “baklava.” But Lebanese bi2lewe? It’s got its own signature twist that gives it a distinct taste—one you won't forget.

Pronunciation: Bi2lewe is pronounced ‘bit-lay-we’. Some Arabs, and even some Lebanese, call this dessert “baklawa” or “baklava,” depending on their region of origin. My family’s dialect hails from the Zahlé (pronounced “zah-lay”) region. Note: Some Arabic transliterated words include numbers, which represent various sounds. The number 2 represents a glottal stop or a soft /t/ sound or a break in the word.

Image descriptions: Photos 1 and 2 are of my homemade bi2lewe with delicately placed edible rosebuds in the center of, and next to, 4-piece diamond shaped servings. Photo 3 is a photo of bi2lewe in containers we had at our first event in February, with the Sito’s Kitchen red logo on the top of the container. Photo 4 is of a very large pan of freshly made bi2lewe at a bakery in Zahlé during my first visit to Lebanon in 2019.

Let me know in the comments if you’ve ever had Lebanese bi2lewe before!

Sahtein, habibi!

02/15/2025

◇LATE POST◇ Last Saturday, 2/8/25, marked the very 1st vendor event for Sito’s Kitchen!
I didn’t announce beforehand because I knew I'd be a ball of emotions leading up to it. Sure enough, those feelings seeped into my prep, leading to mishaps (i.e. breaking bakeware, slicing my hand, creating not-so-crispy bi2lewe, etc.). I was a pinch close to canceling. But in the 11th hour, I decided to just make it happen. As I reflected about my family, it became clear how much of that 11th-hour decision was
influenced by the lessons they taught me. My Lebanese immigrant great-grandmother, Nana, and my Sito both had no formal education beyond high school, and I'm not sure if Nana graduated high school. Despite the multitude of barriers they faced (incl. that they were Arab women in the 1900s), they were both savvy business women who just *made it happen*. My parents also modeled resilience & persistence. Many of you are already familiar with my dad’s cancer story & his determination. My mom also had her own strength; born with a hole in her heart, she turned that disadvantage into a driving force for advocacy and action. As an educator, she believed in a growth mindset and the power of perseverance. I thought a lot about that last week; when I felt I wasn’t ready, I thought about the power of “yet.” Keep going, even if you’re not ready... yet.
Last Saturday also marked what would have been my mom’s 74th birthday. I cried more tears than any of the recipes called for, imagining how she would’ve loved to join me at the event, especially to be social and chat with anyone and everyone there. I did sense her presence, though: my first customer brought a little girl and said, “Her dad is Lebanese!” Then, at least 2-4 more customers (I lost count!) shared that they, too, had Lebanese roots! One of them even approached my booth and said, “Is this real bi2lewe?” What?! How did anyone outside of my family know that this was called bi2lewe?!? It felt like little visits from my mom, and I'm so grateful. 🤍
Thank you: event coordinator, everyone who stopped by my booth, friends & family, & so many helpful vendors at the event & behind the scenes.
Sahtein!

01/18/2025

Hi! My name is Alissa (‘uh-lee-sah’). Today, I'm honored and humbled to share part of my Lebanese heritage through Sito's Kitchen - a catering & food vendor business, cooking up some Lebanese delicacies for your delight!

Maintaining a connection to my Lebanese roots has always been important to me, but even more so after losing so many family members, especially my mom. Cooking and baking has been one surefire way to harness memories of my family, through the recipes, aromas, and tastes of our culture. On an episode of Anderson Cooper's podcast All There Is, President Joe Biden spoke of finding "purpose beyond the pain" in his reflections on grief. Here’s an update of a piece of my journey after loss.

What began as self-soothing, cooking the food of my family’s heritage, has unfolded into something far deeper. Through the stirring of pots and the mixing of spices, my heart kneaded the sorrow through my days and cooked it into soul-filling intentions. Today, I am both humbled and honored to share a piece of my Lebanese roots through my first business—Sito’s Kitchen—a catering and food vendor service, bringing Lebanese delicacies to your table.

Grief is not just the deep sadness that comes after losing a loved one; it is the quiet transformation that follows. It shapes us in ways we don’t expect—our perspective, our path, and the very core of who we are. For me, this business is not just about food; it is a tangible part of my grief journey, offering nourishment to my heart. I named it Sito's Kitchen not only because my Sito's kitchen was where so many of my earliest memories simmered to life, but because it was there that I learned lessons about culture, resilience, humor, and early grief. It is in her kitchen where I witnessed my family's strength in the face of loss, a strength that lives on in every dish I now prepare.

Through the social media pages for Sito’s Kitchen, I’ll share not only food and events, but also fragments of our history, language, and culture. Each post, each dish, each photo will be a multi-generational memoir—an offering of love, loss, and tradition. Want to know where Sito’s Kitchen will be serving up sweet and savory treats next? Join us on Instagram and Facebook - Sito’s Kitchen.

Thank you for reading, and for the space to share a part of my heart—my purpose beyond the pain.

Note: ‘Sito’ (pronounced 'sih-to') = ‘grandmother’ in Lebanese Arabic. There are variations among regional dialects, transliteration to English, and pronunciations. For example, you may hear other Lebanese and other Arabs say "Teta" or "Sittoh" or "Sittie"...all meaning the same.

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