A Spoon, a Story, a Soul

For Homam Ayaso, taste is more than flavour — it’s a feeling, a ritual, and a way of moving through the world

What makes life beautiful? 

In this new series, 'In Good Taste', we sit down with artists, designers, writers, and aesthetes to explore the quiet rituals and personal treasures that shape their world. The series is about understanding taste not as a trend, but as an instinctive expression of one's personality and experiences. From the scent they swear by to the book they always gift, these are intimate portraits of taste.

I couldn't be more thrilled that the very first edition of In Good Taste begins with my dear friend, Homam Ayaso. It feels only right. Brilliantly creative, quietly intentional, and endlessly generous, Homam embodies everything this series is about.

Homam wears many hats. He's the Head of Tasty UK and Executive Creative Director at BuzzFeed UK, roles that have honed his sharp creative mind and storytelling abilities. As a chef, he brings a unique perspective to his cuisine, often blending culture, beauty, and meaning in his dishes. His experience as a marketeer also influences his understanding of taste, as he navigates the world with both purpose and pleasure, creating content that resonates with his audience.

We spoke about everything from garlic-scented kitchens to miso, lamps, and the music that scores his mornings. What follows is a detailed mosaic of memories, rituals, and reflections that form the language of Homam's taste: soulful, sensory, and full of life. Each piece of this mosaic, from the scent of jasmine to the sound of his favourite morning music, contributes to the rich tapestry of his taste.

 

"Taste is story over show, depth over dazzle. Less flash, more feeling." — Homam Ayaso

 

What does "taste" mean to you — and how has your sense of it changed over time?

Taste is such a grand word — four letters, five courses. And it goes far beyond the palate. Taste is an aura, a signature, a silent language. It's how someone enters a room. It's the confidence in a well-cut jacket and the whisper of bergamot in the air. It's the song you play on loop because it touches something wordless inside you. It's a spoonful of something slow-cooked and soulful that makes you close your eyes and say, quietly, "OMG."

I used to think that taste was knowing how to pronounce "beurre blanc" without tripping on the Rs, or name-dropping "umami" like a seasoning. But time has ripened my taste — like a rebellious cheese: sharper, funkier, more intentional.

Now, I crave depth over dazzle. Story over show. Not what sparkles, but what stays. Taste, for me, is the pursuit of beauty across all senses — not to impress, but to feel.

 

What's one quiet ritual you return to when the world feels too loud?

 

When life turns up the volume and everything starts to blur, I find solace in two places that ask nothing of me but presence: the kitchen and the sea.

In the kitchen, my hands remember what my mind forgets. The scent of garlic hitting hot oil, the quiet rhythm of chopping, stirring, tasting — it grounds me. There's no performance there, only process. Suppose I'm cooking for someone else; all the better. That's love in its most elemental form.

And then there's the sea. Vast, wordless, steady. I can sit for hours by the water, doing nothing but breathing in the fresh air. Each wave takes something heavy with it. The sea doesn't ask me to be anything but still.

So when the world gets too loud, I return to the stove… or the shore. And in both places, I find my way back to myself.

 

What childhood memory still shapes your sense of beauty or belonging?

My Mum. Always, my Mum.

She's the one who planted in me the seed of curiosity, and watered it with stories, spices, and songs. A woman rooted deeply in tradition, yet with a heart wide open to adventure. She could fold grape leaves with her eyes closed and still tell you a wild story about something she read, tasted, or dreamed of doing. She taught me that beauty wasn't always loud or obvious. Sometimes, it was the way sunlight poured through a window onto a kitchen table. Sometimes, it was in the quiet pride of a perfectly ironed dress. Sometimes, it was the smell of cardamom in the air before guests arrived.

She showed me that you can hold heritage in one hand and possibility in the other. Growing up with her, I learned that belonging isn't about fitting in; it's about being anchored. To your culture, your rituals, your family—and to yourself.

 

What scent instantly takes you home?

Jasmine. Orange blossoms. Turkish coffee with cardamom.

Damascus, where I am from, is "the City of Jasmine", so it's in my bones. However, my mum recreated that scent in Saudi Arabia, where I grew up, with oils and perfumes. Orange blossom was in our desserts, our café blanc. And Turkish coffee? Always brewing, always Fairouz in the background.

These aren't just scents—they're architecture. They built my sense of home.

 

What's the last thing you bought and gifted — and why did it give you joy?

As a gift: A silver spoon, turned into a ring. Unexpected, meaningful. It feels like a tiny sculpture of my personality. It's meaningful not just for what it is, but for what it represents: transformation, beauty, and a hint of everyday rebellion.

For myself: an orange lamp by Edward Barber & Jay Osgerby. It glows like a soft sunset and feels like a reward. I'm in my lighting era. After months of moving, renovating, and working non-stop, I wanted to bring in a bit of warmth. Something that says: you made it, light the way forward.

 

Which city tastes like your soul?

 

It's hard to choose just one, because every city I've landed in has left its mark on my palate, my rhythm, my way of being. Cities, to me, are like ingredients. Some spice you up, some slow you down, some surprise you with a sweetness you didn't expect.

But if I had to name one… I'd say no city is fully my soul. Instead, each one has seasoned it.

Paris taught me elegance. Beirut gave me chaos and poetry in equal measure. Istanbul—that rich stew of East and West—felt like walking through a memory I hadn't lived yet. Hong Kong awakened the adventurer in me, and Dubai shaped the chef I am. London sharpened me, while Seychelles softened me. And Damascus—well, Damascus lives in my bones. It's the base note.

I won't list every city, but I can say this: every place I've been adds a new layer to how I feel, how I create, how I taste the world. So my soul? It's a mosaic of cities. A dish is still being cooked.

 

What dish changed the way you think about food?

Chinese sweet and sour chicken. That sweet, sticky, tangy contrast blew my mind as a child. It challenged everything I thought about ingredients and tradition, showing me food could surprise you, bend the rules, and still feel utterly delicious.

Today, the world is a vibrant blend of cultures, textures, and flavours. Chefs are modern alchemists, weaving together spices from far-flung places, combining techniques, and blending stories into new creations. That's what I crave to eat, and how I love to cook. Fusion isn't just a trend; it's a celebration of diversity, a delicious dialogue between past and present.

 

How do you define generosity in cooking or creating?

Growing up in an Arab household, generosity is a tradition that is loud and proud. It is abundance. Overflowing tables, mountains of mezza, three or four main dishes that cater to every dietary requirement. These days, I try to resist the urge to over-cater... though honestly, I fail most of the time. It's a force of habit, an inherited rhythm that's hard to shake.

Now, I see generosity in intention. It's about heading down to the farmer's market, handpicking the juiciest tomatoes, the freshest cuts of meat, the ripest herbs. It's about choosing ingredients that speak for themselves. Because when you serve quality, when you feed people with intention and care, that is true generosity. It's not just a full plate; it's a full heart.

 

What's always in your fridge?

A tiny tent of caviar, because a bit of indulgence goes a long way.

Half a lemon, because life needs that splash of brightness... also, if you know, you know!

My sourdough starters, alive and bubbling, ready to turn flour into magic. 

And endless jars of condiments — jams and pickled goodness. The secret weapons that bring every dish to life. It's a fridge that's equal parts practical, poetic, and decadent.

 

What's something you make sure you never run out of?

Butter. Because it brings richness and comfort.

Sea salt. Because sometimes what you're missing is just a pinch away.

What's a small, beautiful thing that brings you daily joy?

The smell of fresh coffee. A pastry on the go. My cat, belly up, blocking out the world and lighting a candle and dropping the needle on a vinyl—that moment when everything slows down.

Whose taste do you admire most?

There are many inspirational people out there, and platforms like Instagram have enabled us to discover creatives from around the world who may not make headlines but leave their mark across the web.

If I had to name a few:

My mum, always and forever. She's the blueprint of elegance and heart. She taught me that taste isn't just what you see—it's what you feel when you're in it: the comfort, the intention, the unspoken warmth.

Then there's Ghaith Maatouk, a brilliant interior designer whose aesthetic leaves me in awe. He crafts minimalist yet emotionally rich spaces, rooted in Levant heritage and textured with artisanal craftsmanship. Every detail in his work feels deeply considered, honest, grounded, and quietly poetic.

And you, Ghena El Hariri (I am blushing). I'm dead serious. Not just bold, but intentional. You blend world flavours, thoughtful design, and cultural storytelling—on the plate and far beyond. I admire how your taste celebrates diversity and joy, always with a side of discovery.

Each of these three reminds me that authentic taste isn't about trends or perfection. It's about presence, purpose, and the stories we choose to share. 

 

If your life had a mise-en-scène, what would be on the table, in the air, and playing in the background?

On the table: Mismatched ceramics. Labneh, olives, figs, fresh pastry. A martini beside a half-burnt candle.

In the air: Bergamot, sandalwood, orange blossom. Maybe roasted garlic. And laughter.

In the background: Fairouz in the morning. Erykah Badu at golden hour. Brazilian jazz. Or just the hum of an espresso machine.

It's part home, part passport stamp. Always layered and always lived in.

 

What's your favourite playlist right now?

My taste in music is quite bipolar. It swings with the mood, the light, the time of day, the vibe in the room. Sometimes I need a beat that moves me, sometimes a melody that holds me still.

Lately, I've had Visti's Vinyl Collective on repeat. It's smooth, soulful, and full of layers that unfold with every listen. Alongside that, Soho Home: Morning, Noon & Night has been my go-to. It's easy, elegant, and somehow always fits—whether I'm making coffee at sunrise or lighting a candle after dark.

 

Homam's world is a layered one—lit by orange lamps, scented with jasmine and sourdough, and always set to a soulful playlist. His taste isn't just in the food he creates or the stories he tells; it's in how he chooses to see, savour, and share the world. What a joy to begin In Good Taste here, with him.