It’s been a slow couple days to start; I’m finding out about an embed, getting ready to renew my credentials at the press office in the Green Zone, and getting a feel for the story again.

I’m at the Time house with Franco—an Italian photographer who does a lot of work for the magazine—and Bobby, the bureau chief.  They’re both amazing chefs, and it’s not really fair how well I’m eating.  Tonight was salami and prosciutto served with tomatoes drenched in olive oil and dusted with oregano (I think it was oregano); yesterday was chicken in a sauce made with chili, coconut milk and a lot more.  I’m culinarily disabled, so I can’t even do the food justice in my descriptions.

I can say without hyperbole that it’s about a million times better than the chicken escalope or the beef burger with egg and cheese you can get over at the Hamra.  One of the Iraqi drivers is also a great cook, the best grill man in Baghdad.  I’m certain no one in this country eats better than Time Magazine.

Maybe it’s boring to rave about how well I’m eating, but this is a stressful and disorienting place to be, and anything that makes it more comfortable is welcome.  The quality of the food is part of it, but there’s also the culture of eating real meals cooked by people who know food and take pride in preparing it.  There’s an expectation that the guys in the bureau will get together every night and sit down for a meal.  It’s good company, and makes it tougher to get wrapped up in your own issues, whatever they are.

The house itself is very livable, but pretty basic.  There’s a tough-looking little potted palm in my room, and on one wall there’s a massive map of Baghdad pieced together from four smaller maps that are about two or three feet on a side.  The city’s neighborhoods have been delineated with a pink marker, with labels like “BIAP” for the airport and “Triangle of Death” for Mahmudiyah, Latifiyah and Yusufiyah, just south and west of town.  Some of the neighborhoods have been labeled by which militia is in control (Badr, pesh merga) or where the locals’ loyalties lie (Sadr, Baath).

Just below that map of a divided city someone, maybe someone with a sense of humor, has stacked four cases of Corona.  That might come in handy.

 

What did you think of this article?

Liked
Disliked
No Opinion