Going to Tanoreen for dinner is like sitting down to eat in Rawia Bishara’s home kitchen. In the restaurant, the cozy dining room is separated from the open kitchen only by a long glass case filled with heaping platters of colorful salads and spreads. If you sit facing the kitchen, you can see pairs of hands deftly preparing dishes, sprinkling parsley, drizzling tahini, or sautéing at the heavy stove. Constantly moving from one place to the next is Rawia, demonstrating to her staff the proper amount of sauce for a certain dish, or the right turn of the wrist to perfectly brown the sauté. Once in a while she circulates around the twelve tables of her dining room, glancing at guests’ plates as if to check that they’ve finished their dandelion greens, and exchanging banter with regulars, her bright eyes flashing as she laughs heartily. To be a guest at Tanoreen is to be at once a guest in Rawia’s home, a child in Rawia’s family, a subject in Rawia’s kingdom.

Rawia left her native Nazareth, in the north of Israel, 35 years ago. Ten years ago she opened Tanoreen to serve her traditional home cooking in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. As my understanding of Arab cuisine extended little beyond hummus, I brought a native Nazarene as my guide. The expert ordered dishes typical of traditional home cooking which were unfamiliar to me, as well as some standards I recognized.

A meal at Tanoreen began with thin and delicate pita, served both fresh and also toasted to a paper-thin crispness and coated with za’atar, an herb with the flavor of thyme and a citrusy tang, sesame seeds, and salt. Next came musakhan, homemade flatbread smothered with a purplish mix of the spice sumac (from the same genus as poison ivy), chicken, and caramelized onions. Tasting a wedge, I was struck by the intense mellow richness of the purple sumac, like a good Barolo wine; and its tartness, like aged balsamic vinegar melded with the sweet aroma of onions. Toasted pine nuts on top and the crisp perimeter of the bread gave a crunchy contrast of texture. Lentil pilaf, a dish typical of home cooking, sounded boring on the menu but was revelatory. Whole lentils had been simmered until their insides were tender and nutty, then mixed with rice and crisp caramelized onions which provided a crunchy counterpart to the softly bursting lentils.

A few more familiar dishes were lackluster. Though the hummus had been raved over in reviews, I found it lighter than average but otherwise unremarkable. The Turkish salad (spicy red pepper spread) and makdous (stuffed and pickled baby eggplant) both suffered from one-dimensionality. The former was a brilliant red in color but tasted disturbingly like pickle relish; in the latter, the acidity of the eggplant so overwhelmed the stuffing that I had to check the menu to determine its contents. My expert companion agreed that these two dishes were not to his taste, but emphasized that each home cook’s blend of spices is like a signature and matter of personal preference.

Cinnamon, cloves, and allspice are seasonings that make me think of pumpkin pie or Christmas, but in the Arabic kitchen they are seasonings for meat, and in our meal, kibbie. To make kibbie, wheat germ is mixed with lamb and spices and baked to a crisp sheet, scored in a grid pattern. A tender mixture of lamb is sandwiched between two sheets, and the cinnamon-clove-allspice mixture brings out a sweetness in the slightly gamey lamb. Kibbie was accompanied by a salad of diced tomatoes, cucumber, parsley, and the pungent green and nutty taste of good olive oil. Lamb is also featured in another main dish, stuffed in baby squash. Here, a yogurt mint sauce provided a counterpart to the lamb. Alongside the squash came another surprisingly delicious pilaf, this one of rice, short vermicelli noodles, and slivered almonds.

Dessert was a house specialty, knafeh, brought to the table while hot. A crisp shell of shredded filo [sic] dough had been drizzled with rose syrup and sprinkled with crumbled pistachios. The waiter ceremoniously sliced the shell in half with a pizza cutter and molten sweet cheese oozed out of the center. With each sublime bite, the filo shell crunched in contrast with the warm soft cheese, and I tasted the perfume of rosewater. Cardamom-scented Arabic coffee and Arabic mint tea were the perfect pairings to cut the richness of the dessert and finish the meal.

To me, the best of Tanoreen’s dishes succeeds in the mix of flavors and textures. Richness and oil are balanced with freshness and acid; dryness and crunch contrast with moisture and tenderness. Spice tames game and enhances sweetness. Sweetness is countered by salt, or met with creaminess. Creaminess is lightened by flowers and herbs. In most cases, Tanoreen gets the mix right, and the interplay balances each element and enhances it.

For familiar Middle Eastern dishes, one need look no further than First Avenue. Ride the subway to the end of the R line in Brooklyn to experience Tanoreen’s unique and superb traditional home cooking. For tastes you would only find in an Arabic home kitchen, you’ll discover it’s worth the trip.