Breaking Bread in Jericho: A Culinary Journey Through the World's Oldest City

Mornings in Jericho begin early, when the air still carries the desert's nighttime coolness and the call to prayer echoes across the oasis city. My first breakfast experience came through a recommendation from my guesthouse owner—a small family restaurant where three generations work together preparing what locals simply call futur (breakfast).

I arrived just after sunrise to find Abu Mahmoud stretching and slapping dough against the inside wall of a cone-shaped clay oven called a taboon. Within minutes, the bread puffed and developed beautiful charred spots before being pulled out and placed directly on my table alongside small bowls of zeit wa za'atar (olive oil mixed with za'atar herb blend), fresh labneh (strained yogurt), cucumber, tomatoes, and olives.

"This is how we've eaten breakfast for thousands of years," Abu Mahmoud's daughter Leila told me as she poured sweet mint tea into a tiny glass. "The ingredients come from just outside the city—the same fields that have fed Jericho since biblical times."

What struck me most wasn't just the incredible flavors but the unhurried ritual of the meal itself. Families lingered over breakfast, tearing bread and sharing news. Children dipped pieces into dishes of local date honey, their fingers sticky with the sweet amber liquid that Jericho has been famous for since ancient times. I found myself slowing down too, abandoning my typical on-the-go American breakfast habits.

If you want to understand a city's food culture, head straight to its markets. Jericho's central souq has operated in roughly the same location for centuries, though today's version is a vibrant mix of permanent shops and temporary stalls that fill the narrow streets each Wednesday and Saturday.

I arrived early on market day, my camera bag slung across my body, ready to capture the morning rush. The market explodes with color—piles of bright red tomatoes, bunches of herbs still glistening with dew, mountains of spices in every shade imaginable. What makes Jericho's produce exceptional is the unique microclimate of this desert oasis, sitting 846 feet below sea level in the Jordan Valley.

"Our dates are the sweetest in the world," insisted Umm Khalid, a vendor whose family has sold Medjool dates for generations. She pressed one into my palm, insisting I try it on the spot. The fruit was almost obscenely plump, with a caramel-like sweetness that made me immediately purchase a kilogram to snack on throughout my stay.

Families shopping together is the norm here, with children helping carry bags and learning the art of selection from parents and grandparents. I watched as a young boy no older than seven confidently negotiated for a bunch of mint, his mother nodding approvingly nearby.

For families visiting Jericho, the market offers an incredible educational opportunity. My advice? Give each child a small amount of money and let them practice purchasing something—vendors are incredibly patient and often slip extra treats to children. It's a hands-on lesson in both mathematics and cultural exchange that beats any classroom experience.

"You cannot understand Palestinian cooking until you've seen maqluba," insisted Samira, who runs a small cooking class from her family home on the outskirts of Jericho. The name translates to "upside-down," which perfectly describes this dramatic rice dish that's flipped at the table to reveal layers of meat, vegetables, and aromatic rice.

Samira's kitchen became my classroom for an afternoon as she patiently demonstrated how to layer eggplant, cauliflower, chicken, and spiced rice into a deep pot. While we waited for it to cook, she shared stories of learning these techniques from her grandmother, who insisted that cooking was not just about feeding the body but preserving cultural memory.

"During difficult times, our recipes kept us connected to our history," she explained while showing me her collection of hand-written recipe cards, some dating back to her great-grandmother.

The real magic happened at serving time. Samira placed a large round tray on top of the pot, said a quick prayer, then flipped the entire creation with practiced hands. When she lifted the pot, there stood a perfect dome of golden rice studded with tender vegetables and chicken, fragrant with cinnamon, allspice, and cardamom.

For families visiting Jericho, I cannot recommend Samira's cooking class highly enough. Children are not just welcomed but given age-appropriate tasks, from washing vegetables to helping with the dramatic flip. My travel tripod came in handy to capture the perfect time-lapse of our maqluba construction, a video that's become one of my most-requested photography tutorials back home.

The class concludes with everyone eating together, sharing stories across cultures while enjoying the fruits of your collective labor. It's the kind of authentic experience that creates lasting family memories while supporting a local entrepreneur.

Long before it was called "The City of Palms" in biblical texts, Jericho's identity has been intertwined with date cultivation. The ancient Romans prized Jericho's dates above all others, and today, the tradition continues with the prized Medjool variety.

My exploration of Jericho's sweet side led me to the Al-Nakhil Date Cooperative on the city's eastern edge, where multi-generational farming families work together to maintain palm groves that stretch toward the horizon. The cooperative offers tours that are surprisingly engaging for all ages—my guide Bassam had a special talent for keeping children entertained with stories about the "tree of life" while explaining sustainable farming practices.

"Each palm can produce over 100 kilograms of dates annually for up to 100 years," Bassam explained as we walked through groves where some trees have been producing fruit since before I was born. "But they need human hands to pollinate them—it's a partnership between farmer and tree."

The tour culminated in a tasting session where I sampled everything from fresh soft dates (available only during harvest season) to date molasses, date honey (dibs), and even date cookies. For those with a sweet tooth, the cooperative's shop offers ethically-sourced products that support local farmers directly.

What struck me most was learning how date cultivation connects modern Palestinians to their ancient heritage. Archaeological excavations have uncovered date seeds from the Herodian period, and some scientists believe the genetic lineage of today's palms may stretch back thousands of years.

For families traveling with children, I recommend bringing a polaroid camera to capture and share photos with your guides. The immediate physical prints delight local children who rarely see this technology, and it creates an instant connection that transcends language barriers. My collection of polaroids with Palestinian farming families has become one of my most treasured souvenirs.

My most profound food experience in Jericho didn't come from a restaurant or market, but from an unexpected dinner invitation. While photographing the ancient Tell es-Sultan archaeological site, I struck up a conversation with Ahmed, the site's caretaker. After learning I was traveling alone, he insisted I join his family for dinner that evening.

"No one should eat alone in Palestine," he said with finality that brooked no argument.

Hours later, I found myself seated on floor cushions in a modest home on Jericho's outskirts, surrounded by three generations of Ahmed's family. His wife Fatima orchestrated an incredible feast that emerged from their small kitchen: makloubeh (upside-down rice dish), musakhan (sumac-spiced chicken on taboon bread), and a parade of mezze including the best hummus I've ever tasted.

What struck me most was how the meal functioned as both nourishment and social connection. Everyone ate from communal dishes, reaching across the tablecloth spread on the floor. Ahmed's elderly mother insisted on placing choice morsels directly on my plate, while his children practiced their English by asking about America and whether I'd seen their favorite Marvel movies.

For families visiting Jericho, I encourage you to be open to these spontaneous connections. While you can't plan for a private home invitation, you can create similar experiences by booking a meal through the "Diwan: Eat With Palestinians" program, which arranges home-cooked meals with local families. These aren't staged tourist experiences but genuine cultural exchanges centered around food.

One practical note: bring a small, thoughtful gift when visiting Palestinian homes. I always travel with a instant photo printer that connects to my phone. Being able to print photos of my host family and leave them as a thank-you gift has created meaningful connections across language barriers. The children were especially delighted to receive physical photos of themselves—something increasingly rare in our digital age.