I’ve never had a library card that didn’t carry with it fines of some shape. How many other eleven-year-olds have you known to get debt collection letters from Baycorp? That was me, starting as I meant to go on. Some two years ago, Auckland City Libraries — my newish local — stopped enforcing fees, unlocking a new level of relaxation I hadn’t known possible to access. It’s amazing how quickly one adjusts, how quickly things feel normal. I love getting out a stack of cookbooks periodically from the library for inspiration without having to worry that the brisk passage of time will suddenly incur mounting fines; one such book that I rented six weeks ago, and still haven’t quite yet returned, was The Palestinian Table by Reem Kassis.

I’m not trying to do or say anything clever by showcasing this recipe; I got this beautiful book out of the library because I’m interested in different cuisines and had been meaning to blog something from it since I first opened its pages. Posting a recipe won’t materially or tangentially change anything tragic happening — or change what has continually happened — in Palestine, nor does it contribute to their freedom or to peace. At best it’s a simple acknowledgement of this country and its culture. But acknowledge, I do. This recipe, Avocado, Labaneh, and Preserved Lemon Spread, takes almost longer to type out the title of than it does to make. However hard it swings towards simplicity — as if the two factors were scientifically opposed and therefore linked — it also swings just as hard towards deliciousness.

I mean, it really, really is so simple; a case of merely blitzing some already-yielding ingredients in a food processor. If you don’t have one, a blunt butter knife could take care of it. Labaneh — often seen spelled as labne — is yoghurt, strained of its liquid to form a soft, pliant almost-cheese, and here it offers a rounded tang and more full-bodied smoothness to the already celebrated buttery-smoothness of the avocado. But for me, the real star is the preserved lemon. Added to this spread, it’s salty in the way that a sunset is golden — deeply, richly, glowing in a new shade every time you glance at it. The lemon juice on its own wouldn’t do it, you really need the shimmering sourness of a single, intense wedge of preserved lemon. But if you don’t have it, you can’t go wrong with mashed, seasoned avocado, it just would barely constitute a recipe.

Avocado’s gently nutty flavour really benefits from the ebullient flavours here, and I recommend serving this as part of a groaning table of small plates; should you be richly blessed in multiple avocadoes you could consider my Lentil, Radish, Avocado and Fried Potato Salad; my Hands-free Southwestern Brown Rice Casserole, or Nigella’s incredible Pea, Mint, and Avocado Salad. And if your library — or local bookshop — has The Palestinian Table by Reem Kassis on the shelf, I highly recommend it and have another recipe up my sleeve to write about soon.

Avocado, Labaneh, and Preserved Lemon Spread

Fast, deeply-flavoured, unassuming yet so delicious. If you don’t have labaneh, just take a solid spoonful of good, thick yoghurt, drop it into a sieve over a bowl, and wait for about twenty minutes for its liquid to drip away below. That’s what I did, for such a small quantity I feel quite okay about this shortcut. Recipe from The Palestinian Table by Reem Kassis, all I’ve done is scale it down a little.

• 1 perfect avocado
• 1/4 (one slice) preserved lemon, any pips flicked out
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 1 tablespoon labaneh (see intro)
• salt, to taste

1: Place all ingredients in a food processor and blend to combine. You can pulse the mixture for a more textured approach, or completely puree it.

Serve immediately with bread and other dip vessels, although it’s fine in the fridge overnight. Makes enough for two to three people to snack on.

Note: You can use vegan yoghurt here.

music lately:

Till There Was You by Barbara Cook and Robert Preston from the Original Cast Recording of The Music Man. I adore the film and Shirley Jones but there’s something about Barbara Cook’s lofty, liquid soprano. Very happily, I saw an excellent local production of this last week, very mortifyingly I cried (like I always do) during the bombastically cheerful Seventy-Six Trombones (including the finale version AND the refrain from the overture). I can’t explain it! Nor do I think explaining would help!

Hush by Deep Purple. To this day, I don’t know how they made that “na-na-na-nah” section, surely one of the most innocuously wholesome vocal fillers ever invented, sound so danger-filled and cool. Probably the Hammond Organ, the instrument that sounds like Jesus and the Devil themselves are engaged in a lively staring contest.

Licking Creme by Sevendust featuring Skin, this song is so viciously sublime it shocks me every time I hear it.

My Love Mine All Mine by Mitski. I always know that I’m going to adore a new Mitski song but I am never ready for how hard the swooning will hit me. Not once!