The first six jars are coming slowly. For now, we’re meeting.

Spices from Morocco.
Recipes from two cultures.
Art by women.

Hand-blended in a small Manhattan kitchen, into the Persian and Moroccan recipes I cook every day.

Six blendsthree Persian, three Moroccan Original artcommissioned, women painters Small batchhand-ground by a women's co-op
— founder filming this week
Cardamom from Marrakesh
Saffron worth using
Ground in Morocco
Blended in Manhattan
Each jar a painting
"
Don't wait for that special occasion. Use your saffron. She's worth it, and you're worth it.
— from Bottom of the Pot by Naz Deravian
01 Three doors in

The bazaar, the souk, and the attar's cabinet.

Six small-batch blends — three Persian, three Moroccan — hand-mixed in Manhattan from Moroccan spices. And a small cabinet of rare things, kept for those who go looking.

— The Bazaar

Three blends from Iran

Warm Spice Torshi. The Grand Koofteh. Qazvin Offering. Recipes my husband grew up with, ground for the way I cook now.

Enter the bazaar →
— The Souk

Three blends from Morocco

Souk Blend. Chermoula. Tagine Nights. Spices I carry back myself, ground the way my mother taught me.

Enter the souk →
A small cabinet of rare things
— The Attar's Cabinet

Rare things, kept

Argan oil. Dried lemon. Amlou. Mint. Torshi, soups, more — gone when they're gone, back when they're back.

Coming soon
02 Your attar in Manhattan

I'm Moroccan. My husband is Iranian. Our kitchen smells like both at once.

I grew up in Morocco. I left at eighteen for Montreal, spent ten years there, then landed in New York in 2015 and met him. Through him I fell into a second food culture — Persian — and have been cooking my way through both ever since. During COVID it became something I did for other people, and that's how Sookies began.

In Morocco, the neighborhood spice merchant is called an attar — keeper of the spices, the recipes, sometimes the medicine. That's what I'm trying to be here.

Every blend is built from spices I bring back from Morocco, ground into recipes I cook every day — Persian and Moroccan, side by side. Every jar carries original art by a woman painter. Cooking is an art. The jar should be one too.

— Soukayna
Read the full story
03 The artists

Every jar is a painting.

We commission original artwork from women painters — Iranian and Moroccan. Folk-tradition scenes of food, family, and the rooms where meals happen. The jar is a small canvas. Their name is on it.

Original artwork by Atieh Sohrabi (— Iranian, based in New York)
Atieh Sohrabi
— Iranian, based in New York
Tehran-born illustrator and painter, in NYC since 2015. Her work — featured at LACMA's "Women Defining Women" — captures everyday Iranian life in dense, jewel-toned compositions that read like miniatures of a much bigger story.
@atieh.sohrabi
Original artwork by Hafida Zizi (— Amazigh, Aït Benhaddou & Marrakech)
Hafida Zizi
— Amazigh, Aït Benhaddou & Marrakech
Self-taught Amazigh painter from a gallery she built herself — Galerie Tiwirga ("dreams" in Berber) — in the UNESCO heritage village of Aït Benhaddou. Working in the naive folk tradition of Chaïbia Talal, Fatima Hassan El Farrouj, and Fatna Gbouri, she paints the lives of Moroccan women.
@hafidazizi
04 Coming, slowly

Before spice was flavor, it was medicine. Garlic in honey, sealed for months. Black seed paste. Sun-dried figs in olive oil. The old recipes — some from my own grandmother, some still being learned — your attar is collecting them.

— A new chapter, opening soon