June 2025

22 June 2019 at 23:39.

My wife and newborn son were asleep. I was lying on the couch in the living room. Neck bent 90 degrees. Laptop on my chest. I was browsing books online when a title suddenly grabbed my attention: The Oldest Cuisine in the World: Cooking in Mesopotamia.

I jumped up from my slouching position. Being Assyrian, I knew these recipes had something to do with my ancestry.

In the 1980s, scholar Jean Bottéro deciphered three clay tablets from Mesopotamia—modern-day Iraq and its neighboring regions—dated to 1750 BC. They had gathered dust at Yale University for decades, long mistaken for medical texts.

Bottéro uncovered something else: 35 of the world’s oldest recipes, predating the Roman recipes from the 4th century AD by over two thousand years. And on May 15, 1985, The New York Times ran a headline: Mesopotamia: Cradle of Haute Cuisine?

My first thought was: Why hasn’t anyone made a cookbook based on these recipes?

My second thought: Why don’t I do it?

I didn’t sleep that night.

My first iCloud note—written in English and Swedish—where I brainstormed ideas for what would later become Table of Gods.

It’s been over six years since that night. I won’t go into everything that’s happened since (you can read my past updates here), but in short: what started as a childlike interest in how my ancestors cooked turned into a mission to popularize ancient Mesopotamian history.

My goal is to make people as aware of the Assyrians, Babylonians, and Sumerians as they are of the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans. It matters—because history is what makes us who we are, both as individuals and as a species. And everyone alive today is an inheritor to the cradle of civilization.

But what began as a cookbook inspired by the world’s oldest recipes turned into something I wouldn’t even call a cookbook anymore.

Beyond the recipes, the storytelling, photography, illustrations—even the texture of the book—will bring you into another world.

That’s why, when people ask what I do, I sometimes say I’m building a time machine.

But building a time machine is different from publishing a book.

What I Didn’t See Coming

Imagine climbing a mountain. You’re toiling and pushing and finally reach the summit, only to realize it was obscured by fog—and that you’re only halfway up.

I thought the hard part would be writing the book. And in fairness, Table of Gods is not a small manuscript. It’s recipes, history, and mythology with guides on how to write your name in cuneiform, how to speak in Akkadian, how to play the world’s oldest board game, and much more.

I’ve worked with editors, scholars, chefs, brewers, food stylists, photographers, illustrators, and designers to bring Table of Gods to life—and many of you have helped me test the recipes and read the manuscript. I’m proud of what we've made and can’t wait to share the final result.

But writing this massively researched book turned out to be only about 50% of the project, which also includes:

1. Designing a custom cover and packaging with print engineers and industrial designers.

2. Sourcing art paper from sustainable mills across the world.

3. Finding high-end printers that can handle the production quality I want.

4. Setting up partnerships with warehouses on multiple continents that can store and ship tons (literally) of books.

5. Integrating an e-commerce platform into tableofgods.com with a payment system that works globally.

6. Understanding how VAT, sales tax, import duties—and now tariffs—apply across dozens of countries.

I’ve made a lot of progress on points 1-3 and we’re almost ready to run the first print tests. But I didn’t see points 4-6 coming, and there’s a reason for that.

When I started writing Table of Gods, I didn’t see it as a commercial project. I was ready to lose both time and money to do something important that needed do be done.

I went after it because I wanted to build a bridge to my ancestors, which after the birth of my first child felt all the more important. I never thought of selling the book to people all over the world, which is why the manuscript was still in Swedish by 2023.

But since I went public with Table of Gods on Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, YouTube, and at tableofgods.com, the response has been surreal—not just from Assyrians, but from people of all backgrounds around the world.

It’s become clear: I’m not the only one who thinks it’s a pity that Mesopotamian history isn’t more accessible, popularized, and known in the world.

So what’s the problem?

Until recently, I wasn’t sure how many books I’d sell, which is why I said the price per copy could be several hundred dollars if I only printed a few thousand books.

With 22,285 people on the waitlist and over 170,000 followers across social media (and counting), I’m pretty sure I’m going to sell more than a few thousand books.

Let’s assume I print tens of thousands of books—how do I make sure each one reaches you undamaged and without extra taxes or import duties?

This isn’t impossible to solve. Perhaps it’s not even that complicated. But I can’t ask the printer to send me 70 tons of books to ship from my apartment anymore. My flat would collapse if I stored even a tenth of that.

Since February, I’ve said pre-orders would open on September 2.

I could still do that. The manuscript is done, the cover is almost finalized, and print tests are around the corner.

But if I opened pre-orders on September 2, I’d be asking you to pay for something I don’t yet know how to deliver, or what it would cost to deliver.

I can’t do that and still fall asleep at night.

Since I’ve never worked on points 4-6 before (or related areas—like tax reporting and accounting for point 6), I can’t announce a new launch date right now.

That’s the bad news.

The good news: I won’t let you down. I will solve this. I haven’t come this far to turn around. Either I’ll climb this wall, find someone to help me climb it, or take another path up the summit.

As Friedrich Nietzsche said: ”He who has a why to live can bear almost any how."