Beyond Dates and Coffee: Culinary Pilgrimage Through Mecca and Jeddah

In Mecca, mornings begin early—especially during Hajj season—with families gathering for a breakfast that's remained largely unchanged for generations. My first morning, I joined a local family who insisted I experience foul mudammas (stewed fava beans) prepared the traditional way: mashed with olive oil, lemon juice, and cumin, then topped with diced tomatoes and a sprinkle of tahini.

The patriarch explained how this protein-rich meal sustained pilgrims through centuries of arduous journeys. Alongside came shakshuka—eggs poached in a spiced tomato sauce—served with freshly baked tamees, a flatbread that's simultaneously chewy and crisp, perfect for scooping up every last morsel.

What struck me most was the ritualistic preparation of Saudi coffee (qahwa). Unlike the hurried coffee culture I'm accustomed to in Fort Worth, Saudi coffee is a ceremony unto itself. The beans are lightly roasted to preserve their golden color, then ground with cardamom and sometimes saffron before being served in small handleless cups called finjans. The eldest family member pours, and custom dictates you use your right hand and consume at least one cup but no more than three.

After breakfast, I found myself reaching for my travel water bottle, which proved invaluable throughout my trip. Mecca's heat is formidable, and staying hydrated between culinary adventures is essential—especially for families with children.

While the imposing structure of the Grand Mosque dominates Mecca's skyline, it's the narrow alleyways radiating outward that reveal the city's culinary soul. In my experience studying ancient marketplaces across the world, from Andean highlands to Ethiopian historical sites, I've found that food markets often preserve traditions that grand monuments cannot.

The Souq Al-Zaher, located about two kilometers from the Haram, offers families an authentic glimpse into daily Meccan life. Unlike tourist-oriented markets, this is where locals shop, and the difference is palpable. Vendors call out their wares in melodic Arabic, and the air is thick with the perfume of spices piled high in colorful mounds—cardamom, saffron, sumac, and za'atar.

I spent an afternoon with Umm Khalid, a grandmother who's sold her house-made spice blends for over four decades. She insisted I try her signature baharat—a complex mixture of seven spices that forms the backbone of many Saudi dishes. "Every family has their own recipe," she told me through my interpreter app (I recommend the language translator device for families traveling in Saudi Arabia—it handled Arabic beautifully and facilitated countless meaningful interactions).

For families visiting the market, the date vendors offer a particularly engaging experience. Children are often invited to sample different varieties—from the caramel-like sukkari to the more complex ajwa dates, believed to have been grown from seeds planted during the Prophet Muhammad's time. The vendors explain each variety's origin and unique properties with passionate detail that transcends language barriers.

"Food is meant to be shared," my host Faisal insisted as his family welcomed me into their Meccan home. This sentiment echoes across Saudi Arabia, where the communal meal represents the pinnacle of hospitality. For families traveling together, experiencing a traditional Saudi meal offers both cultural immersion and a powerful lesson in community values.

The centerpiece of our feast was kabsa—Saudi Arabia's unofficial national dish. A fragrant mountain of spiced rice topped with tender lamb, it arrived on an enormous platter placed in the center of our floor seating arrangement. Eating kabsa properly is an art form: you gather rice, meat, and vegetables into a ball using only your right hand, then pop it into your mouth in one fluid motion.

Watching Faisal's children demonstrate with practiced ease, I felt transported back to archaeological sites I've studied where communal eating vessels revealed similar dining customs across millennia. These continuities in human experience—the ways we gather and share sustenance—often tell us more about cultural identity than monuments ever could.

For families with younger children, many restaurants and homes now offer utensils upon request, though I'd encourage embracing the traditional approach when possible. I found the antibacterial hand wipes I'd packed to be essential before and after these meals—they're perfect for quick clean-ups without disrupting the flow of the dining experience.

Beyond kabsa, our meal included jareesh (crushed wheat with meat), harees (wheat porridge), and matazeez (vegetables and meat in dough). Each dish represented a different region or season, demonstrating how Saudi cuisine adapts to environmental constraints—something I've observed in ancient food preparation sites across multiple continents.

The 80-kilometer journey from Mecca to Jeddah traces an ancient pilgrimage route that's been traversed for centuries. Today, it takes just over an hour by car, and the culinary landscape transforms as dramatically as the topography—from Mecca's hearty inland fare to Jeddah's fresh seafood bounty.

As a coastal city on the Red Sea, Jeddah's cuisine bears the unmistakable influence of its maritime position and history as a trading port. Here, Saudi traditions blend with influences from across the Islamic world, creating dishes that reflect centuries of cultural exchange.

Al-Balad, Jeddah's UNESCO-listed historical district, offers families a fascinating culinary walking tour. The narrow streets, lined with coral-stone buildings featuring intricately carved wooden facades, house some of the city's most authentic eateries. I found myself particularly drawn to the seafood restaurants near Bab Makkah (Mecca Gate), where the day's catch is displayed on ice for customers to select.

At one such establishment, I watched in fascination as the cook prepared sayadieh—a complex fish and rice dish seasoned with cumin, coriander, and caramelized onions. The technique reminded me of archaeological evidence I've studied showing how coastal fishing communities across different civilizations developed remarkably similar preservation and cooking methods.

For families with varying taste preferences, Jeddah offers more international options than Mecca, though I'd encourage even hesitant eaters to try local specialties like samak harra (spicy fish with red pepper and cilantro). Most restaurants are accustomed to accommodating children and will gladly adjust spice levels.

I found my compact food thermometer particularly useful when dining with families concerned about properly cooked seafood. This small tool provided peace of mind, especially when trying unfamiliar dishes or eating at more rustic establishments.

If there's one aspect of Saudi cuisine that instantly bridges cultural divides, it's the elaborate world of sweets and desserts. In both Mecca and Jeddah, I discovered that dessert isn't merely the final course—it's an art form that reflects regional identity and family heritage.

In Mecca, particularly during Ramadan, streets near the Grand Mosque fill with vendors selling kunafa—a cheese pastry soaked in sweet syrup. The contrast between the crispy shredded phyllo top and the soft cheese filling creates a textural experience that's utterly unlike Western desserts. Families gather around these stalls after evening prayers, the children's faces illuminated by both street lights and evident delight.

Jeddah offers its own sweet specialties, particularly basbousa—a semolina cake soaked in rose water syrup that reflects the city's historical connections to Egypt and the Levant. What fascinated me most was how these desserts preserve cultural memory. When I asked one bakery owner about his basbousa recipe, he explained it had remained unchanged for four generations, despite the dramatic modernization occurring just outside his shop windows.

For families with a sweet tooth, I recommend visiting Bab Makkah Sweets in Jeddah, where you can watch artisans prepare traditional confections behind glass partitions. The theatrical element of stretching dough for kunafa or drizzling honey over freshly-baked baklava captivates children and adults alike.

I found myself returning to these sweet shops repeatedly, not just for the flavors but for the social atmosphere they foster. Unlike the rushed coffee chains of Western cities, Saudi dessert cafes encourage lingering conversation and multi-generational gathering—a living example of how food traditions serve as cultural anchors amid rapid change.

To capture these sweet moments, I relied on my pocket-sized tripod for low-light photography in cafes and night markets. It allowed me to document these culinary traditions without disrupting the authentic atmosphere.