You’ll find kibbeh, tabouli, hummus, grape leaves, baklava, and a whole spread of Lebanese and Syrian dishes at most Antiochian parish gatherings. These aren’t just side attractions. They’re central to how we do fellowship.
Walk into coffee hour after Liturgy and you might see platters of stuffed grape leaves (warak enab), bowls of hummus with warm pita, fattoush salad, or someone’s grandmother’s lentil soup. At our annual parish festival, the menu gets bigger: baked kibbeh, shawarma, kafta, rice pilaf, baba ghanoush, and tables full of baklava, ma’amoul cookies, and knafeh. Some parishes serve cabbage rolls, others make man’oushe flatbread with za’atar. It depends on which village in Lebanon or Syria your founding families came from.
Why all the Middle Eastern food?
The Antiochian Archdiocese traces its roots to Antioch, where believers were first called Christians. When Lebanese and Syrian Orthodox families immigrated to America starting in the late 1800s, they brought their faith and their food. Both mattered. The Church gave them liturgical continuity with the ancient faith. The food gave them a taste of home and a way to welcome strangers.
That second part stuck. Orthodox Christianity takes hospitality seriously, not as a nice extra but as a command. We’re supposed to welcome the stranger, feed the hungry, and treat guests as if they’re Christ himself. Food becomes a way to live that out. When St. Elias Church in Syracuse holds its Middle Eastern Festival (now in its 96th year), they’re not just fundraising. They’re inviting the whole city to taste something good and meet the community that made it.
And it works. People in Beaumont who’ve never heard of Orthodoxy will show up for kibbeh. They’ll ask what’s in the grape leaves, why the baklava tastes different from the grocery store version, and eventually, what all those icons inside the church building mean. Food opens doors.
What you’ll actually eat
At a typical parish potluck or coffee hour, expect mezze: small dishes meant for sharing. Hummus, always. Tabouli made with tons of parsley and just a little bulgur. Baba ghanoush if someone brought their A-game. Pita bread, either store-bought or homemade if you’re lucky. Olives, feta, cucumbers, tomatoes.
Then there’s kibbeh, which comes in about fifteen forms. Baked kibbeh looks like a layered casserole, spiced ground meat between layers of bulgur and pine nuts. Fried kibbeh are football-shaped, crispy on the outside. Kibbeh nayyeh is raw (think Middle Eastern steak tartare), and not everyone’s brave enough to try it their first time. You will be offered all of these.
Grape leaves show up everywhere. Rolled tight, stuffed with rice and sometimes meat, cooked until tender. They’re fiddly to make, so when someone brings a tray, people notice.
For sweets: baklava, obviously. Layers of phyllo dough, butter, nuts, and syrup. Ma’amoul are shortbread cookies filled with dates or walnuts, pressed into wooden molds that leave patterns on top. Knafeh is shredded phyllo over cheese, soaked in syrup, and it’s worth the sugar crash.
Fasting changes the menu
Orthodox fasting rules mean no meat, dairy, eggs, or fish (with a backbone) on Wednesdays, Fridays, and during Lent. So if you come to a Lenten potluck, the food shifts. You’ll still see hummus, tabouli, and grape leaves, those are already vegan. Lentil soup becomes a staple. Fattoush salad. Roasted vegetables. Someone usually brings falafel.
The food’s just as good. It’s just different. And that’s part of the point, fasting isn’t about suffering, it’s about retraining our appetites and remembering we don’t live by bread alone. The fact that Middle Eastern cuisine has so many plant-based dishes makes Orthodox fasting a lot easier than it would be if we all grew up on pot roast and mashed potatoes.
You don’t have to be Lebanese to participate
Some people worry they won’t fit in at an Antiochian parish because they’re not Middle Eastern. Don’t. Yes, the food reflects the heritage of many founding families. But the Church isn’t an ethnic club. We’re Orthodox Christians who happen to have a strong Lebanese and Syrian presence in North America. Converts bring their own dishes to potlucks, Tex-Mex casseroles, Mississippi pot roast (on non-fasting days), pecan pie. Nobody minds. The point is sharing a meal together.
That said, if you want to learn to make kibbeh or roll grape leaves, someone’s grandmother will teach you. Guaranteed. Food is how we pass things down, and there’s always room at the table for people who want to learn.
Come hungry. Seriously. Orthodox hospitality means you’ll be offered seconds before you finish your firsts, and someone will send you home with leftovers. It’s how we show love.
