Dallas, Texas

By Jessica Winniford

Edited by Caitlin Clark

On the evening of March 9, 2025, I was on my way to Richardson’s Staycation Coffee for a bedtime snack with my daughter. Nur Ashour, known online as Catastrophic Cook, had been baking cinnamon rolls and blueberry danishes for the coffee shop for some time and had partnered with them to do an evening pop-up during Ramadan. On the way to the event, only feet away from where I planned to park, a black Mustang suddenly slammed headfirst into our car.

Glancing up at the other driver, he looked straight into my eyes and I started crying. Our car was totaled. I couldn’t even open my door. I frantically looked into the backseat to check if my daughter was ok (thankfully she was). Emerging into the dark intersection, people were already gathering around. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Are you okay?” 

A car stopped as it was driving by and a man leaned out the window to ask, “Do you need help?” In the chaos of car bits sprinkled around us like some grand surprise party, I said, “No, it’s okay”. But a few minutes later, he came walking up. This man stayed with us for a long time, simply talking to us, embedding peace into a moment of nightmares. He told us his wife, Nur, was hosting a pop-up at Staycation across the street and that when we were done with getting the car towed, we should walk over so they could treat us to whatever my daughter wanted. The sincerity of his kindness is something I will never forget.

Although brief, my interaction with Nur gave me a glimpse into the brand of hospitality she was building as she moved through Dallas. It wasn’t something offered transactionally. Something that has always struck me about the Muslim community of Dallas is how every act of hospitality is like the mothering hug you’ve needed deep in your soul. It’s a hug that is both healing and filling. You’re filled because food is constantly being set in front of you, and you’re healed because you feel seen as a whole person.

“I’ll never forget that first pop-up at Staycation,” Nur says. “Nicole [Gregory] and I planned it, wondering how many people would actually show up, and I remember being a little scared that no one would. Instead, more than 200 people came.”

Nicole, who opened Staycation’s doors in a historic Richardson house in 2021, worked to foster a space where deep conversations could be had. Treats from local bakers like Starship Bagel graced Staycation’s menu, and eventually, Nur’s handmade desserts became a staple. “That was such a defining moment for me,” Nur adds. “It made me realize there was a community that knew my work, trusted what I was creating, and wanted to support it.” 

Some of Nur’s favorite memories from this time, though, have nothing to do with selling desserts.

“I’d come in before opening to drop off pastries, and that became my time with Nicole,” she says. “I’d sit with her, have her famous mocha, and we’d just talk and enjoy each other’s company. And then there was Joe. He was an older man who was the first customer there almost every morning, and over time he became such a staple of my week. As things unfolded in Palestine, our conversations became even deeper. Those weren’t quick coffee shop conversations—we really got to know each other.” 

Over time, as the war in Gaza tore the world apart and Staycation’s Richardson doors closed permanently, I kept up with Nur’s life on Instagram. The Palestinian community in Dallas was suffering as they watched their home and family be destroyed. I wondered how Nur, as a Palestinian, must be doing with such grief. With Staycation gone, there was a hole in Richardson’s diverse population.

We began texting, and I discovered that, through the horrors, baking had continued to be a centering activity for Nur and the community she’s cultivated online. One recipe she has used to build confidence in amateur bakers is her Classic Cheesecake, the most popular recipe on her social media and website. “I never expected it to take off the way it has,” she says. “Between all the different videos I’ve shared, it’s probably had over 20 million views.”

What makes this cheesecake so perfect is all the tricks she’s developed over the years to make it oh-so-creamy and smooth. And I would know because after photographing Nur making her cheesecake from start to finish (a two-day process), she filled my hands with four slices for my family to enjoy. Her favorite part of crafting this cheesecake has been the feedback. “I constantly hear from people who were intimidated by cheesecake or had never successfully made one before, and then they try mine and it works,” Nur says. “It’s really cool to have something I spent so much time perfecting become a recipe people trust me for.” 

Nur started baking almost by accident. “I was homeschooled during high school, and after finishing my schoolwork for the week, I found myself with a lot of free time. My mom is an incredible cook and baker, but growing up she never really let me make much beyond a boxed cake mix.” She tested recipes from YouTube and food blogs, teaching herself from scratch and learning through trial and error. As her skills and passion for baking grew, she wanted a place to document everything she was making—and Catastrophic Cook was born. What started as a personal recipe archive grew into something much bigger.

“As my social media grew, I realized there was an opportunity to share not just recipes, but the techniques and confidence behind them. I began creating videos that simplify cooking and make baking feel approachable, showing people that homemade food doesn’t have to be intimidating.” Today, that’s still the heart of Catastrophic Cook: helping people create food they’re proud of while making the process feel achievable and enjoyable.

Nur’s home in Richardson is bright, open, and modern, but if you look closely, there’s a connection to her Palestinian roots around every corner. Her entryway features calligraphy from a local artist with important phrases in the Muslim community: “Subhanallah: Glory be to Allah,” “Alhamdulillah: All praise is due to Allah,” “La ilaha illallah: There is no true god except Allah,” “Allahu Akbar: Allah is the Greatest.” A stone calligraphy sculpture sits on her hardwood shelves, a gift from her father-in-law, with “Lā ḥawla wa lā quwwata ‘illā billāh: There is no power and no strength except with Allah” set in cream-colored curves. An engraved wooden cheeseboard patterned with a Palestinian tatreez embroidery motif is perched behind her coffee and tea station. She pulls out a delicate glass cup adorned with a tiny watermelon, the symbol of Palestine.

“I’ve never been more proud to be Palestinian,” Nur says. “Our history, our culture, our food, our language, and our resilience have endured despite generations of displacement and occupation. Nothing will ever erase that identity. If anything, this moment has strengthened my commitment to preserving our culture and sharing it through food so that people see the beauty, warmth, and humanity of Palestine. My hope is that people continue to approach these conversations with curiosity and compassion. I believe understanding begins when we’re willing to listen to one another’s stories, and I’m grateful that food has given me a way to tell mine.”

On March 9, I went out into the night looking for a pastry. I received much more.