For Over 25 Years, Tanoreen Has Celebrated Palestinian Cuisine and Community in Brooklyn

About 25 years ago, on a typical Friday afternoon, Rawia Bishara invited her closest friends to her Brooklyn home for a meal that would change her life. She filled the table with golden fried red snapper, a vibrant tomato salad with jalapeños, and hand-cut fries. These dishes were staples from her Palestinian Arab family in Nazareth, where ‘Fish Fridays’ were treated with great reverence. After moving to Bay Ridge as a young bride over two decades prior, she continued this cherished tradition once a month.

During that gathering, one friend suggested an idea that had been on Rawia’s mind: Why not open a restaurant to showcase your Palestinian cooking to a broader audience? Rawia pondered the notion.

She remembered her late mother, Monira, who had dreamed of a similar path. Monira had passed away 15 years earlier at the age of 59, when Rawia was just 30. Before rushing off to her teaching job in Nazareth, Monira would prepare the table for her children with sweet jams from backyard apricots and creamy labneh made from goat’s milk. For her, cooking was an art, not a chore. Despite her passion, Monira was discouraged from starting her own restaurant, often hearing the refrain that ‘women don’t open restaurants.’ Rawia would later reflect on this limitation.

The chance to pursue her culinary dreams and honor her mother’s unfulfilled aspirations motivated Rawia. However, even after that meal, when she shared her vision with others, most responded with skepticism or outright doubt. Aside from her supportive friends and husband Wafa, family members and acquaintances claimed her cooking style wasn’t suitable for a restaurant, that it wouldn’t sell, and that the challenges were too great. It’ll never work, they said. But Rawia simply replied, “But it did.”

At 68 years old, Rawia is a confident woman with a rich, smoky voice. As she sits in Tanoreen, the 80-seat restaurant she has run since 1998 in Bay Ridge, she reflects on her humble beginnings in the culinary world. Her eyes are framed with indigo kohl, and her simple brown outfit is brightened by striking honey-colored jewelry: a bold necklace, rings, and bracelets.

Most days, you’ll find Rawia overseeing her team of 20 at Tanoreen. While she has a committed crew of cooks, she occasionally jumps in to help prepare dishes like molokhia, a staple on the menu. During my visit, I observe her expertly simmering vibrant jute mallow leaves—common in Middle Eastern cuisine—with coriander, lemon juice, and garlic until the mixture transforms into a rich teal reminiscent of lake water. She then places two roasted chicken thighs on top and serves it alongside a vibrant medley of rice, vermicelli, and almonds. Her effortless confidence in the kitchen makes it hard to believe she ever doubted her abilities.

However, when Rawia was a young girl in Nazareth, her mother discouraged her from cooking. ‘Just focus on your studies,’ Rawia recalls Monira insisting. Despite her mother’s wishes, Rawia was drawn to the women around her who cooked “from scratch, from zero.” During holidays, relatives from distant villages would visit, turning their home into a bustling gathering place. Monira made her own olive oil, fermented sweet wine, and distilled vinegar. Grapes and raspberries thrived in their backyard, which Monira would boil with sugar and pectin to create smooth preserves.

After graduating high school and leaving home, Rawia longed for the familiar flavors of her childhood. At 18, she started teaching fifth graders in Haifa, about 20 miles away. Although she had already been accepted into university with aspirations of becoming a lawyer, everything changed when she met Wafa, who was visiting from America. She fell in love, and the couple moved to New York shortly after marrying in 1974.

Another factor compelling her to the United States was her feeling of being an outsider. Despite the joys of her upbringing, she often felt marginalized because of her ethnic and religious identity as a Palestinian Christian in Israel. “We faced tough circumstances,” she reflects on her homeland. “I am a Palestinian living in an occupied territory that became Israel, and though we hold Israeli citizenship, we aren’t treated as such. I always felt this isn’t how I want to live, nor how I want my family to live. I yearned for a way out.”

Bay Ridge was a neighborhood bustling with immigrants—Greeks, Italians, Irish, and second-generation Lebanese and Syrian families—but Rawia remembers few Palestinians around her to ease her homesickness. (This was before the area earned the nickname “Little Palestine” in the 2000s.) The familiar comforts of her home were absent. “[There was] nothing from my childhood [here],” she recalls. “It was hard.”

In her home kitchen, Rawia discovered comfort and eventually gained self-confidence. She was amazed by the variety she found in American supermarkets. The squash back in Nazareth seemed “small and gray” compared to the larger, vibrant yellow and green varieties available in New York. She was equally astonished by the size of the okra.

As Rawia's culinary horizons expanded, her thoughts frequently drifted back to Palestine. She attempted to recreate her mother's dishes: rolling grape leaves and stuffing squash and artichokes. Once a month, she would call her mother for recipes. “I wanted to taste that food, so I started reaching out to her,” she recalls. With time and practice, she began to find her own culinary style.

Various jobs pulled Rawia out of the kitchen—she worked at Manhattan's renowned bridal shop Kleinfeld and at a supermarket owned by Wafa—but she remained connected to her roots. Their daughter Jumana was born in 1975, followed by their son Tarek in 1978, and Rawia took them back to Palestine every summer.

As her children grew, Rawia volunteered with the Union of Palestinian Women’s Associations, helping Palestinian refugee women adapt to life in the United States. Yet, her passion for cooking never waned. Family members often visited from overseas, and her role as hostess was solidified. They came so frequently that Tarek jokingly named their home “Hotel Bishara,” with guests staying for months at a time. Rawia loved being in the kitchen during all of this.

In these moments, Rawia couldn’t help but reflect on the prejudices her mother faced while caring for so many beyond their immediate family. By the time of the ‘Fish Friday’ discussion, Rawia’s children were in college, and she felt restless at home. Supporting two kids through university was a financial strain, and she needed an income. “I wanted a place, a business of my own. Cooking is my passion,” she states.

Rawia dismissed the skepticism from those who doubted her success and secured loans from friends who believed in her vision. She chose the name Tanoreen, inspired by a Lebanese village whose name is thought to originate from the Arabic word tannour, meaning a clay oven, which resonated with her. Additionally, she wanted a name that would be easy for Americans to pronounce.

Tanoreen was born during a time when Palestinian cuisine was largely overlooked. Rawia recalls that the prevailing American view reduced Middle Eastern food to street fare—shawarma, falafel, hummus. To navigate this landscape, she played it safe when she opened the restaurant in 1998, offering sandwiches and salads.

Rawia quickly learned to trust her culinary instincts. She believed diners would be drawn to the allure of knafeh, a dessert featuring a delicate blend of cheese and shredded phyllo dough, baked to a golden hue, then drizzled with orange blossom syrup and sprinkled with pistachios. She was confident that her customers would appreciate her distinctive cooking and might even take the time to connect with her. “When you eat what someone has prepared, it creates a bond between you and that person,” she explains.

Food has a limited capacity to shift perceptions. In the aftermath of the September 11 attacks, the restaurant faced a significant decline in sales, with customers making derogatory remarks about Osama bin Laden.

However, as time passed, these biases began to fade, and the restaurant made a remarkable recovery; the excellence of its dishes spoke volumes. In 2004, New York Times columnist Eric Asimov, who oversaw the “$25 and Under” segment, extolled Tanoreen's virtues, stating, “In a world where decisions often rely on focus groups and collective opinions, Tanoreen champions artistry over mere products and craftsmanship over mass production.”

Interest in Tanoreen surged dramatically: In its 2008 evaluation, the iconic restaurant guide Zagat declared it the finest Middle Eastern restaurant in the city. The following year, it relocated to a bigger space just a block away, where it continues to thrive. The restaurant garnered attention worthy of its evolution, receiving glowing reviews from the Times' new restaurant critic, Sam Sifton, along with favorable mentions in the Village Voice and the New Yorker, all highlighting Rawia’s engaging personality. Over the next decade, Rawia shared her unique cooking style through two cookbooks, Olives, Lemons & Za’atar (Kyle Books, 2014) and Levant (Kyle Books, 2018), proudly showcased in the restaurant's windows. Her accolades continued as she was recognized as a James Beard Award semifinalist for four consecutive years starting in 2016.

The restaurant's transition to identifying itself as Palestinian, rather than just broadly Middle Eastern, evolved naturally over the years. During this time, perceptions of Palestinian cuisine in America became increasingly sophisticated, according to Palestinian food journalist Reem Kassis.

“Many were likely aware of hummus and various Middle Eastern dishes, as most restaurants categorized themselves as Middle Eastern,” Kassis notes. “However, very few openly identified as Palestinian, resulting in less familiarity.” Gradually, perceptions began to shift. A wave of Palestinian cookbooks emerged, including Kassis’s The Palestinian Table (Phaidon, 2017) and Falastin (Ten Speed Press, 2020) by London-based Palestinian chef Sami Tamimi.

Tanoreen has matured into a multifaceted establishment, mirroring Rawia’s identity as a Palestinian immigrant in the U.S. and managing a kitchen predominantly staffed by fellow immigrants. Jose Alfredo, who hails from Mexico, started here as a dishwasher 15 years ago and is now a key member of the kitchen team. Alongside him is Adrian Vargas, who has been with the restaurant for around 18 years. Initially a dishwasher as well, he moved into the kitchen after a few months, inspired by his fascination with Rawia’s cooking. “I kept watching, and she asked me if I wanted to learn. I said yes, and she began teaching me.”

For Rawia, the mission has always been to share her people’s cuisine with those who recognize its value. Her daughter Jumana, who partnered with Rawia in 2006, is now inspired to contribute. Joining was an obvious choice for her, as she felt it allowed her to “promote our culture, our cuisine.” Jumana has initiated a collaboration with the delivery service Goldbelly to distribute the restaurant’s knafeh nationwide. “My dream is to see knafeh in the frozen food section of every supermarket in America,” she shares.

Today, Tanoreen is an essential part of the city's culinary landscape. Numerous other proudly Palestinian restaurants have emerged across New York City, reflecting Rawia’s influence: Ayat in Bay Ridge, Al Badawi in Brooklyn Heights, and Qanoon in Chelsea, Manhattan. Many of these establishments acknowledge Rawia as a direct inspiration, holding her in high regard.

“I admire Rawia’s dedication to our culture,” shares Tarek Daka, the chef and founder of Qanoon. He recalls his journey to Tanoreen after relocating to New York in 2007, seeking authentic Palestinian flavors. Around the same time, Nasser Jaber—the Palestinian co-owner of Migrant Kitchen, which blends Middle Eastern and Latin American cuisines—had his first meal at Tanoreen. As a financially strapped 19-year-old immigrant from Ramallah living in the Bronx, he traveled for hours by subway to indulge in musakhan rolls filled with tender chicken. “I couldn't afford it,” Jaber remembers, “so she gave it to me.” He now regards Rawia as a “godmother,” and sees her restaurant’s longevity as a guiding light for younger Palestinian chefs like him. “She showed us that we can build a successful restaurant that thrives beyond the five-year mark and becomes an institution,” he notes.