🏷️ Etiqueta: Baghdad-nights

I used to think myths were just bedtime stories—until I read the tablets from Lagash, where Inanna rides a pair of lions like she’s late for a glam-rock sound-check. Turns out, the goddess of love and war never traveled light; she carried passion and danger in equal measure, same way a bartender carries bitters and sugar.

When I host my Alchemy After Dark pop-ups, I tell guests that lions still roam Baghdad’s collective memory. We may not hear their paws on the marble of Al-Mustansiriya University, but the roar lingers in street poetry and the way oud players strike that low, growling C-string. My cocktails? They shimmer ultraviolet—pomegranate, date molasses, a hint of dried lime—because a lioness deserves a drink that glows under blacklight.

Fun fact: in Akkadian, one of the words for lion is labbu, which also meant a fierce protector. My grandma called me binti labbu (daughter of the lion) whenever I got sassy about curfew. She said Baghdad needed more protectors who sparkle, not just soldiers with rifles. I took the hint: I protect flavor, memory, and the right to dance even when the power cuts out.

Inanna’s temple priests brewed sacred beer laced with honey and coriander. I can’t legally slip honey-beer to every guest, but I lace conversation with the same ingredients—sweet reminiscence, peppery jokes, coriander-fresh curiosity. People drink stories faster than booze, trust me. By paragraph four, you’ve downed two imaginary goblets already.