Eating our memories, giving them shape, holding them in something tangible, bringing them back to life, more alive than ever.
The jar was a distant dream I kept picturing, born from the memory of those zaatar jars I’d see in every home I visited in Lebanon, always sitting beside the olive oil, quietly essential.
They weren’t there to look pretty, but for that everyday ritual of serving zaatar.
Then came Manon, as if the project had been waiting for her to give it shape here in Marseille. Together we imagined this jar: simple and familiar, yet filled with memory and stories to share.
