“Persian rice is hands down the best rice in the world. For me it was a revelation, tender, each grain separate, and saffron makes it over the top delicious.” Suzanne

PROLOGUE

By now I’ve waxed poetic about polo, kateh, and tadig; and have also talked about a few tricks of the trade that would be useful to know before embarking on the Persian-rice-making journey; and believe it or not, this train – slowly chugging along – is getting close to the “Here’s How You Make Polo” station.

But before we choo choo choo to our final (perhaps mythical) destination – let’s linger just a bit at this station and stretch our limbs and get a snack maybe and also quickly go over the first step in making a beautiful polo, namely:  properly cleaning the rice.

It’s practically a ceremonial ritual and here it goes:

1.  RAKE THE RICE!

I can hear you going:  “HUH?”  No worries. The animated Gif (bottom of page) should hopefully shed some light. This is an optional step and it goes thus:

• Spread rice (1/2 to 1 cup per person) in a shallow tray; rake through with fingers to fish out any misfit stray particles — i.e. grit, dried out grains, or anything that is not a rice grain!  Called jooridan in Persian (“raking” is the best translation I can think of) this used to be a prudent necessity in the olden days but may now be a fastidious step considering the quality of modern rice packaging.  For the sake of cultural archival thoroughness (plus nostalgic reasons:  as I recall both my grandmothers doing this and love the comforting white noise the fingers and rice grains make, and mom continues to do it, admittedly by habit even while shrugging in agreement that it honestly no longer serves a practical purpose) I’m including it. Not all that we do has to be driven by logic and this step is the traditional way to begin the process of polo making.  Feel free to skip it entirely if you do not have occasion to suspect alien bits and pieces in your bag of rice and if the sound of rice grains being flicked around in a tray do not move you – not even one bit.

2.  WASH RICE TILL WATER RUNS CLEAR

Here’s how:

• Place rice grains in a big bowl, fill with cold water to cover, swish rice around.  The water instantly turns murky – that’s perfectly normal – and the whole point of this step is to de-murk the water.  (Isn’t de-murking a word?  It should be.  I often have occasion to wish to de-murk my thoughts.)  Place hands inside the bowl, grab a fistful of rice, and scrub grains by very gently rubbing your hands together a few times, then tilt bowl in the sink, drain the murky water, and refill with clean cold water.  Repeat this process until water remains pristine and clear enough to see your reflection!  It usually takes 3 to 5 scrub/drain/refill cycles to get the rice this thoroughly clean.

But you might be wondering – WHY must I wash the rice?  You may be thinking — I have things to do and places to go to – is this tomfoolery truly necessary?  In which case, let’s stress that, yes, you must, and yes, this is not a frivolous step.   Rice grains are coated in starch dust — the very substance that turns the water murky.  Washing rice until it runs crystal clear rids it of this starch allowing for rice grains to keep separated when cooked — thus preventing a sticky-grains polo situation, which as we’ve come to know, is cause for grievous lamentation & dramatic hair-pulling when it comes to Persian rice.

3.  SOAK RICE IN LIGHTLY SALTED WATER

Here’s how:

• Once water runs clear as a mirror when rinsing rice, drain and refill bowl one last time with enough cold water to cover 1″ or more over the rice grains.  (If possible, it would be ideal to use filtered water at this stage.)  Add 2 tablespoons of salt and gently stir.  Soak rice for at least 2 hours and up to 24 hours in the salt water.

Why soak the rice?   Salt water adds flavor, plums up & lengthens the grains, and helps reduce stickiness.  So while some (frankly uninformed) recipes for polo tout it as an optional step, soaking rice is indeed and in fact an essential step in making a good Persian rice by improving the odds of obtaining fluffy, non-sticky, long-limbed beautiful rice.

Tip:  Soaking rice overnight is a good way to get a head-start on the entire polo-making-process and a common practice.)

That’s it for washing rice. This GIF should hopefully clarify any ambiguities:

NEXT STOP

Our final destination — “Making Polo!”  Finally!  ALL ABOARD!

Choo choo choo choo choo choo …

[PS.The title of this post is an allusion to Eat, Pray, Love -- an exuberant book (kind of the exact opposite of Sartre's Nausea!) and a huge best-seller for a long time so odds are you don't need me to tell you to go read it but if you haven't - then go read it.  Really.]

“There is a definite art to making Persian rice & I think it’s the best rice ever.“  Suzanne
“If Minute Rice is a lifestyle choice, then Persian rice is a religion.”  The Washington Post

PROLOGUE

Making the perfect Persian rice is a tall order.  (As illustrated in detail here, here, & here!)  BUT, despair not.  “LET us go then, you and I,” holding hands, step-by-step, and do what it takes to crack this culinary juggernaut.

(“Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit.”)

You’ll Need These Tools:

• A slotted spatula (something that looks like this: kafgir)
• A sturdy colander (with small slots to prevent grains slipping out when drained)
• A roomy non-stick pot with a lid
• A clean kitchen or tea towel to wrap up the lid  (Why? How?)

… AND These Ingredients:

• 4 cups (1 cup per/person) of the best quality long-grain rice (Quality Matters!)
• Saffron – a few pinches
• 1/3 cup plain yogurt (this is for making the tadig)
• 5+ tablespoons olive oil (or ghee if you’re ambitious and driven)
• 2 tablespoons melted butter (optional)
• Use filtered water throughout the process if at all possible

This step is described in exhaustive & illustrative detail here – but in a nutshell:

• Rake rice:   Spread rice in a tray; rake with fingers to pick out unwanted bits or grit – if any.  Skip this step if you have confidence in the quality of your rice.
• Wash rice:  Gently scrub rice with cold water, drain, and refill.  Repeat this process  until rice runs pristine when rinsed – it usually takes 3-5 times.   (Washing rice removes starch and prevents rice grains from getting sticky.)
• Soak rice:  Refill bowl one last time with enough cold water to cover 1″ over the grains.  Add 2 tablespoon of salt and soak rice for at least 2 and up to 24 hours.  (Salt water adds flavor, plums up the grains, and reduces stickiness.)

TIP: Soaking rice overnight is a good way to get a head-start and is a common practice.

1. PREP:  Drain rice once it has soaked for the desired length of time and set it aside.  Place the colander in the sink and have potholders at hand.  Optional:  place a carafe of lukewarm water by the sink (to rinse rice with in step 7.)
2. Bring 8 cups of water + 2 tablespoons of salt to a vigorous boil.
3. Dip bowl of rice into the boiling water:  releasing grains into the pot.
4. Return to a furious boil.  Dip in an empty bowl to remove 2 cups of this boiling water – and set it aside. (Don’t trap any rice grains, don’t burn your hands!) 
5. As rice is boiling, stir a few times, gently, with the spatula to loosen any stuck grains; and also use the spatula to skim & discard the foam.
6. A few minutes into the boiling (3-4 minutes would be good) gradually pour back the 2 cups of water you earlier set aside.  (This is my mom’s technique to mellow the boiling temperature as a safeguard against overcooking the rice.)
7. When rice grains are al-dente drain rice in the colander.
8. Promptly follow by rinsing rice with approximately 4 cups of cool/tepid water.  (Either use the carafe of water prepped for this purpose, or simply use the pot to pour water over the rice.)
9. Sample a few rice grains: if too salty, rinse rice with more water to reduce saltiness to taste.
10. Leave rice to cool its heels in the colander while you attend to the next step. 

When is rice al-dente and ready to be drained in the colander? Rice is al-dente when it’s no longer crunchy but still firm – not soft or mushy.  It can take anywhere from 6-12 minutes of boiling rice to get this desired al-dente texture.  Precise timing varies – depending on: type of rice; geographical altitude & humidity; and a given stove’s heat settings.  TIP:  A test used by the novice and expert rice-maker alike is to to take a few grains as rice is boiling and either bite into or press grains between fingers to test its texture.  If uncertain, best to err on the crunchy side (as it still has a fighting chance to come out alright) than overboiled grains (pretty much done for as far as that whole fluffy business goes.)  But ultimately: No Worries! Practice makes perfect and here’s a huge silver-lining even if you make a mistake:  the rice will still be quite delicious!

1. Combine yogurt and a pinch of ground saffron with 2 spatulas of rice taken from the colander.  Gently mix with a fork.   (Take care not to smoosh the rice grains.)
2. Wash and dry the pot you used to boil the rice.  Combine 3 tablespoons of olive oil and 1/2 cup of water in the pot and heat till ab va roghan (the oil & water liquid, that is) is sizzling hot.
3. Once sizzling, remove pot from the stove and set on a counter. Promptly spoon in the yogurt+saffron+rice mixture, and gently and evenly spread it with a spatula.  This bottom-of-the-pot-mixture (if all goes well and the almighty force is with you) will become your glorious golden crispy (TA-DA!) … TADIG.

The yogurt and saffron and rice mixture is a good and oft-used base for making a nicely-colored, tasty tadig.  It is also common practice to make tadig using either sliced potatoes or lavash bread (a type of flat bread.)  Additionally, there are some interesting albeit off-the-beaten-path tadig bases as well.  Much more to be said on this topic!  The tasty oeuvre and delicate art of tadig-making to be covered with due deference and in loving detail at a later time.

1. With the tadig-mixture in place, layer the rest of the rice in the pot; either spatula by spatula, or by tilting the colander and gradually pouring the rice into the pot.
2. Go around the edge of the pot with the spatula and gently push the rice away and up;  shaping the rice in the form of a hilltop mound or pyramid.   (While doing this, do NOT mix the white rice with the yogurt+saffron+rice mixture on the bottom of the pot that is the base for the tadig.  Leave that layer entirely unperturbed.)
3. Dig several wells in the mound of rice using your spatula’s handle:  one in the center, and a few around it.

1. Wrap the lid with a towel and firmly press down on the pot – leaving no gaps for steam to escape. (Detailed Instruction – Animated Gif.)
2. Cook on *medium-high* heat for 10-12 minutes until steam rises.  (The traditional test to find out if rice has sufficiently steamed is to wet index fingertips and touch the pot:  if the contact touch makes a nice “bizzzzzzz” sound that means the rice is indeed steaming.)  While this is happening, heat 3-4 tablespoons of oil or butter or ghee.
3. Once rice has steamed, reduce heat to low and lift the lid.  Pour the hot oil (or butter, or ghee) evenly over the rice, then replace the lid firmly back on the pot.  (Generally speaking, Iranians favor this practice of adding oil to the rice at this stage as it makes the rice “charbo va narm,” that is:  glistening and succulent.  My mother, however, routinely omits it which results in a drier but healthier and still quite tasty fare. If you wish to similarly skip this part, no need to remove the lid after rice steams, simply reduce heat once rice steams, and proceed to the next step.)
4. Cook rice for 90 minutes over low heat.  (After 60 minutes rice is done -that is if all you want is polo – but if you want the tadig, and you are no fool so OF COURSE you want the tadig, you need to let rice cook  for another 30 or so minutes.)
5. Once the 90 minutes are up, turn off the heat, but leave the pot on the stove for a few minutes  (DO NOT lift the lid, not even a little, not even once.  In fact, you are not supposed to lift the lid until step #4 below.)
6. Meanwhile, rinse a kitchen cloth and spread it out on a counter-top.
7. Place the pot on this damp dishcloth — the contact touch will hopefully make a nice “fiiiiissssss” sound.  That’s a good sign!  Leave pot to cool on this damp surface for 5 minutes.

Persian rice is best served immediately – when it is at the peak of its glory.   Serving rice has its own set of protocol.  Of course it does!  Here it goes:

1. While rice is cooling off, dissolve a pinch or two of saffron in 2-4 tablespoons of hot water in a medium sized bowl.
2. Remove the lid – finally!  Inhale the perfection of your handiwork but don’t get too entranced because there’s still a bit of work left to do.  Namely:  Add a spatula of rice to the bowl of saffron-water you just made and gently mix.   Set this saffron-colored-rice aside for now to use just a bit later as garnish for the rice.
3. Pile rice up in a serving platter – one spatula at a time, working your way from the top of the mound and not disturbing the tadig – and cajole rice in the shape of a hilltop mound.   Now take that saffron-colored-rice-mixture you made earlier and evenly sprinkle it over the rice as a pretty garnish.
4. Optional:  At this point, those wishing for a heightened degree of decadence may douse 2 or more tablespoons of melted butter over the rice.  My mom almost always does this — and her eyes sparkle when she explains how this step gives  “such a beautiful sheen” to the final dish.   
5. Finally, it’s ta-da tadig time!  Use the spatula/kafgir to detach and extradite tadig to its own platter to be served alongside with the fluffy rice.  Try not to crush tadig into too many pieces, if possible.

Plain Polo is meant to be paired and served with some type of khoresh

Final thoughts re polo va cholo and the whole Persian rice making business :

I went into excruciating detail so that you know all the ins and outs (what we Persians call “khamoo va cham”) of the intricately-protocoled-method of Persian rice making so as to increase your odds of success.  For those of you new to this admittedly technique-driven process, I hope I haven’t overwhelmed you — and would like to reassure you that the learning curve is truly not steep.  It’s simply a question of practicing a few times and building expertise and body memory and before you know it, the entire thing becomes second nature to you.  

This brings our Persian rice polo making odyssey (my, it was a long journey) to an end of sorts, but not to “The End” — there’s still the matter of kateh (the easy but non-slutty cousin of polo) and an “All About Tadig” post, and a post about how to hack a plain polo into something quite fancy;  and finally a post about making rice with electric cookers.  But frankly my dears, I’ve had it with writing about rice and need to chillax and take a break from it; and this here is a good place to put up the tent and camp out for a leisurely & thoughtful spell of a “berenj” sabbatical.

Meanwhile, go forth and make polo!

Noosheh Jaan.

I had a different post planned for today but it’ll just have to wait, because, I mean, look at this bunch of glorious sweet basil, thyme and mint!  I don’t know whether to look at it or eat it and I long to do both. A thing of beauty! I was given it by Suzanne – who had just picked them fresh from her garden, rinsed them, and then handed them to me tied up in a lovely bouquet rivaling what one might find at an artisanal flower shop. Just one of the many perks of having such a lovely neighbor. I have to tell you that the absolute pleasure of the surprise receipt of this luscious fragrant bunch of fresh garden-grown herbs was one of the purest delights of this weekend. A further delight to come is the fresh herb salad I’m planning on for dinner. Perfect for a hot summer night. Oh my tummy tum: wait till you see! Thank you Suzanne!

It pretty much kills me to be succinct, so, as long as I’m up here, I’m thinking why not share some other snapshots of this weekend as well:

There may have been some coloring outside the lines.

There definitely were batches and batches of banana chocolate chip mini muffins made to mark the half-birthday of a certain someone whose actual birthday I’d missed. A certain someone who literally “GOBBLED UP” a couple of the muffins until restrained.

Also:

My sweet potato officially turned into a mouse. I now call him Moosh. I wrote a “poem” inspired by this metamorphosis. Will share it once I’ve turned it into an animated GIf.

Moosh has a friend who has sprouted horns and has thus come to be known as Monster. Monster has a heart of gold. He is rarely hungry but usually quite sleepy.

Moosh and Monster mostly just hang out quietly but sometimes engage in heated debates.

For example, Moosh thinks it’s unbelievable that Anthony Weiner, the supreme jerk who literally exposed his weiner, is actually running for mayor of New York City. “It turns my stomach to think that a bozo like him might possibly be the mayor of our awesome city.” Monster meanwhile thinks: “Who gives a rat about politics.” Monster says: “Who cares. Weiner didn’t break any laws. None of it matter anyhow. They are all the same.”

They get entangled in an argument.

Things get a bit dicey, too close for comfort.  There may be kerfuffles. Then they regroup and say: “Let’s not talk about politics.”

Soon they settle back into their friendly and comfortable silence. Monster takes a nap while Moosh quietly worries.

The End

ps Thank you Suzanne for the truly lovely gift of fresh herbs. Love love LOVE!

pps Moosh and Monster are entirely fictitious characters.  Any resemblance to real sweet potatoes, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ppps This post is simultaneously published on my other blog:  7Legs

Also, I’d like to note that:

The Muslim holy month of fasting commences tomorrow. Happy Ramadan & Ramadan Mobarak to all observers.

With a spell of a scratchy throat afflicting yours truly, I was prompted to avail myself of the goodness of shalgham va assal, or “honeypot turnip” as I’ve come to dub it, and it motivated me to finally send this homemade (and I must say charming) cure your way.

You may recall that I had no kind words for turnip as a child, maligning and besmirching its reputation at every opportunity, but through it all, turnip turned the other cheek, never badmouthing me in kind, and then I grew up, developed a more curious palette, tasted perfectly-cooked as opposed to overcooked turnip, and in a shocking yet redeeming twist of fate I’m now rather devoted to the homely sweet fellow.  Picture us — not me and you, me and turnip that is — in a field of golden wheat under a blue sky with a perfect breeze, running towards each other in slow motion.  It’s love!

I mean, do you think it’s a coincidence that I picked a turnip that upon inspection at home revealed itself to wear a heart on its skin?   Granted, I do see hearts everywhere (that’s another story) but this is kizmet.  Meant to be.  (Do you see it?  Top right side.)

But to start at the beginning:

A few months ago, and just before embarking on an ambitious voyage, my esteemed mother developed a mean and nasty cough + chest pain and nothing seemed to help, not even antibiotics.  It so happened that she paid a visit to their local International grocer to stock up on the types of provisions that many Iranian kadbanoos are loath to run out of, but truth be told, to also pick up a copy of the Persian newspaper that she enjoys so much because of its crossword puzzles.  (The lady, I tell you, is partial to her crossword puzzles.  English or Persian, so long as there’s a battle of wits with an ofoghi & amoodi or “Down” & “Across” she is happy. I do not relate to this at all.)

Maman’s fondness of crossword puzzles spills into her artwork!

This particular store (a well-run, well-stocked establishment from what I’ve gathered) is operated by an Iranian gentleman by the name of Aghaye Kazerooni, who is reputed to know a thing or two or three.  As long as she was there, my mom decided to solicit Mr. Kazerooni’s opinion for a possible herbal remedy for her ailment and he said:  “khanoom, shoma shalgham ba assal bayad dorost konid.”  That is:  “M’am, you should make turnip-with-honey.”  But my mom had never heard of such a thing and didn’t know how so he explained it and Maman did it and reported that it didn’t cure her per se but it seemed to have helped quite a bit and we both agreed that as far as homemade remedies go, this is a rather cute one.

Recently I told my mom that I was finally getting around writing this post and asked her to jog my memory about how it came about that Aghaye Kazerooni told her about the honeypot shalgham.  We chatted over the phone to our heart’s content re the subject.  Then afterwards this is what she wrote me in an email:

Azi joon, about the turnip story regarding aghaye Kazerooni I think it would not be a bad idea to mention that he is a nice, considerate guy sharing the wisdom he has gathered from his mother and friends.  HE REALLY IS A SINCERE, WISE MAN !

Isn’t my mom the cutest?  So there you have it.  Mr. Kazerooni, a really sincere and wise man, has endorsed honeypot turnip as a very good homemade cure for a sore throat, cough, or chest pain.  How can one argue with that?  One can’t.

Here’s how you make a honeypot turnip:

1.  Start with a nice, washed and scrubbed, turnip.  Heart-shaped-marked turnips are optional and a matter of rare blessings and pure happenstance.

2.  Mercilessly chop off the poor turnip’s head.  Briefly wonder what it must have felt like to have been guillotined or to have witnessed the act.  Recoil in horror and toss those thoughts aside.  But do not toss the turnip’s head!  Set it aside to later use as a hat.  For the turnip that is – not yourself.  But actually, wait … who am I interfere?  You could start a turnip-hat fad if that’s what you like and it brings you a degree of happiness.

3.  Dig and excavate inside the turnip to create a hollow cavity but leave a 1/2 to 1/4 inch wall of turnip intact.  (If so inclined, execute, oops poor choice of words, I mean conduct, yes, conduct excavation with refined elegance, using a mellon-baller for example, to dig out perfect round turnip balls which you can then put to various most excellent gastronomical use.  I made honey-glazed caramelized turnips with mine that came out like a jam and tasted intriguing and mmm, mmm, mmm good.)

4.  Fill the turnip cavity with the best honey you have at hand.  Cover the turnip’s top with its chopped off head, errr, I mean hat.  Then place the turnip in a container dish, otherwise you’ll literally have a sticky mess on your hands because some of the honey is going to seep out of the turnip later on in the process.  (I used my coffee mug that’s roomy enough to house a turnip.)

5.  Store the turnip in a cool dark place – or inside the fridge -  and give it a timeout for at least several and up to 12 hours.  During this time, the longer the better, the honey and turnip will engage in an alchemical dialogue of rumination, absorption and melange, in the process creating an elixir full of goodness and antioxidants and magic, but no glittery sparkles though, alas.  You can’t have everything!  Unless you are Blake Lively.

6.  Once timeout is up, return turnip to the light of day, remove its hat, and consume the honey that has seeped out into the container as well as the honey that remains inside the turnip.  The consistency of this honey will be much less viscuous, more liquid than it would be in its natural state.  Immediately sense a surge of strong antioxidants flowing through your veins and experience a burst of vitality and well being.

7. With a heart full of goodwill and gratitude tinged with sadness dispose of the sacrificial turnip with as much pomp and ceremony as you can dispense.

Be extravagant.

THE END

I tend to go on and on – don’t protest you know it’s true – but sometimes you just have to get to the point already.  A culinary version of jumping straight to the bottom line is kookoo ‘ye sib zamini – that is: potato kookoo.

Kookoo is one of those things in the repertoire of a Persian cook that is ready to be whipped out for a light lunch or supper, or for picnic food, or to feed an unexpected gaggle of guests.  Of all the many possible kookoo variations, potato kookoo is amongst the least fussy – and whilst the flavor is somewhat one-note, that one note delivers.  Is it a decadent or glamorous dish?  No.  Is it satisfactory, comforting, and deserving of a well-done pat on its back?  Unless you want to hurt the poor potato kookoo’s tender feelings, the correct answer is a resounding yes.

All types of Kookoo are served with flat bread and a plate of sabzi khordan (assorted fresh herbs.)  This so goes without saying (when it comes to serving Persian food) that it’s akin to me declaring:  “Hey guess what?  Squirrels like to eat nuts.”  It’s like: “D’UH!”

Moving on, it similarly goes without saying that you can pair kookoo with yogurt and it will be a sensible and savory union and they will live happy ever after.   (To cut to the chase re yogurt and Iranians and Persian food:  we love it and yogurt is basically the best-friend-forever of practically any and every type of savory Persian dish imaginable and it’s always at hand.  The end.)  Any member of the torshi family (Persian pickles) would also make a fabulous if not extravagant escort for kookoo.  It needs be said that feta cheese would also be a most excellent addition to this dish.

Unique to potato kookoo – due to its somewhat bland, pancake type of flavor – is the distinction of it being amenable to having a sweet companion, something like, I don’t know, maybe syrup or powdered sugar or jam.  Or:  candid, I mean candied, turnips!  Candidly delightful candied turnips.

Backtracking here a bit … remember when I made the honeypot turnip homemade cure?  In the process,  I was left with honey and turnip.  Waste not, want not is a golden motto and I ended up making a man’darari (improvised that is) concoction that turned out into a type of turnip jam.   The particular je-ne-sais-quoi flavor of turnip once melanged and mellowed out by the sweet honey has a unique flavor that at least to my palette tastes intriguing, exciting even, and definitely delicious.  I mean, if potato kookoo is a solid but monotonous musical intonation, candied-turnip is an understated but super-cool jazz chord that will make you go:  “Whoa.  Huh! Interesting.”  And the combo of the flavor and texture of potato kookoo and candied turnips is — if I may continue to harp on the music metaphor — cheerfully harmonious.

Mind you, as I am a puritan at heart when it comes to enjoying veggies – liking them most when they are as close as possible to their natural state or else grilled or else in my blender – I ultimately don’t intend to make candied turnips a staple.  But, as mentioned, it goes quite nicely with something like potato kookoo.  With some crushed walnuts and a sprinkling of cinnamon, it is delicious enough to even be a dessert of sorts.  I guess it can also be a good way to trick a child into eating turnips.  Trickery and child-rearing going together like yogurt and Persian food?  That, being sans-child myself, I’ll leave to the discretion of those of you with experience to debate and conclude.

Let’s now jump straight to the twofer (two for the price of one that is, ha ha) recipes.

• 2 medium potatoes
• 4 eggs – room temperature
• Saffron – a pinch dissolved in a tablespoon of hot water
• Baking powder – a pinch
• 1/3 cup walnuts – chopped into small pieces (optional)

Candied Turnips

• 1/2 cup diced turnips
• 2 tablespoons honey dissolved in 1 cup of hot water

1. PREP:  Leave eggs out to reach room temperature.  Dissolve saffron in hot water.  Scrub and wash potatoes but do not peel.
2. Cook potatoes in boiling water till soft and tender.  Allow to cool, then peel and grate into a big bowl. Avoid mushing up the grated potato in the process.
3. In a separate bowl crack eggs, add salt, baking powder, salt and pepper and dissolved saffron.  Optional:  add walnuts.  Stir with a fork – gently and a few times – to combine the ingredients but do not whip.
4. Pour egg mixture over grated potatoes and use a fork to gently mix all ingredients.
5. Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a pan till oil is hot enough that a droplet of batter would puff up.  Pour batter into the pan and evenly spread – but do not press down – with a spatula.
6. Lower heat to medium and cook, with lid ajar, for 9-12 minutes or until the bottom of the batter has cooked.
7. Cut batter into wedges using the edge of a spatula and flip each wedge over.  Cook for another 10-12 minutes with the lid ajar till the other side of kookoo is nicely done as well.

1. Heat 1/2 tablespoon of oil in a pan.  Once oil is quite hot, lower heat to medium hight and saute turnip for a minute or more until it slightly changes color and softens a bit.  Care not to burn or brown them.
2. Add the honey & water mixture to the pan, lower heat to medium-low.  Simmering, cook until syrup has thickened and is mostly absorbed by the turnips.  Thickness of syrup’s texture to taste.
   
   

Serve kookoo and candied turnips while hot and along with some bread and sabzi khordan.  You could also skip the candied turnips and simply serve with bread and yogurt; or with bread and feta cheese.

Kookoo makes a delicious left-over – use it to make a sandwich – but is best used within 24-48 hours.

Make it, enjoy it and noosheh jaan!

Some like it hot.  I definitely and resolutely do not.  People sometimes are surprised that I don’t like the heat.  “But aren’t you from Iran?  Didn’t you grow up in the desert?  Isn’t it really hot there?” And the answers are yes, no, and it depends.  That is, I do hail from a pishi cat-shaped controversial (to put it mildly) country with a heritage as rich as a decadent dessert; and indeed there are deserts in Iran, same as there are four deserts here in the U.S., but people (except for some nomadic tribes) do not live in the desert proper, and yours truly, moi that is, I was tenderly reared in Tehran, the capital of Iran, which is situated at the foot of the snow-capped peeks of mount Damavand.  There were 4 distinct seasons:  lots of snow in winter, very pretty seasons of spring and autumn, and warm summers with a fair number of hot days — but it was dry hot air which is an entirely different ballgame than humid air.

Humidity: it kills.  It limpens the gait and frizzes the hair and deadens the spirit and turns an otherwise breezy joyful walk into a soggy drenched regrettable affair.

It’s summertime in New York and it’s hot!  Times like this, I wonder how people managed without air conditioning.  Thing is, while air conditioning is gaining a foothold as a basic human right, right up there with the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness, it is still a relatively modern amenity (think post 1950s) and certainly a luxury not uniformly available to humanity across the globe, and before there were these heavenly machines that condition the air (oh, the beautiful miracle of it!) people of yore (i.e our grandparents) had to be crafty and inventive to keep cool.

Which brings me to get around talking to you about this post’s featured “gadget” — a Persian hand-held fan — that is called bodbezan.   I’m a bit stumped as how to translate it.   Bod means wind and bezan can mean either “that beats,” “that hits,” “that plays,” and as animperative verb can mean:  “beat it,”"hit it,” “play it.”  But I’m not sure how to put these together and translate it into an English name … and the ideas that I have make my inner Beavis and Butthead laugh their crude heads off.  Wind maker? Make wind? Beats wind?  Wind beater?  Please make up a dignified translation in your head.

When I was growing up, everybody had air conditioning but people still kept a few bodbezans tucked in some closet or corner of their homes, I guess to fan oneself indolently when the mood struck or if the electricity went out.  But where bodbezans really came in handy (ha! a pun!) was when grilling outdoors: to fan over the skewered kabob and get those charcoal embers going.  I guess it would not be entirely implausible to advance the thesis that bodbezan is a valued if not indispensable accoutrement of an authentic Persian BBQ.

As a hand-held fan, bodbezan is nowhere as elegant as its beautiful Spanish, Chinese or Victorian counterparts.  For sure I can’t picture Josephine Bonapart holding a bodbezan seductively while making smoldering glances at her next prospective lover nor can I conjure Scarlett O’Hara fanning herself with a bodbezan and saucily uttering “I do declare!”  BUT, it gets the job done!  And it’s kind of cute.  It has charm.

And that’s really all I have to say about bodbezan except for one other thing, a small thing really.  Namely, that in compliance with the FTC rules I have to disclose that this post is sponsored by Agha ‘ye Bodbodi;  a manufacturer and importer of authentic Persian bodbezans.

This gentleman right here:

…

Ok, Ok, I was just kidding about getting paid to write this post.  The fact is, I am paying Mr. Bodbodi for the use of his good name and image.  Money well spent.

And there you have it.  The end of a long-winded post!  Sponsored by my heat stroke.

Now I’ll have to go and fan myself.

Keep Cool!

The End

Some people are immune to the allure of beets.  I do not count myself amongst them.  I like beets cooked, roasted, raw, pickled, diced, sliced, grated, or whole.  I like them in a house, I like them with a mouse.  I would eat them in a box, I would eat them with a fox.  (Name that Dr. Seuss book!)  So yeah … I really like beets!

Come winter time in Iran, street vendors sell steaming hot laboo — peeled, boiled beets skewered one on top of another in a cart — given to you wrapped in parchment, hot to the touch, and you eat it just like that, right there on the street.

My father also told me a story of how when he was a child, he and his friends would buy beets and take it to their friendly local noonva (Persian breadmaker) who would oblige them by roasting the beets in the bakery’s tanoor (huge open fire ovens like this nooneh sangak bakery oven.)  My father and his friends would then let the roasted beets cool off, peel off its skin, and bite into it like a wonderful snack.  (When I try to imagine this scene – it seems quaint and entirely too picturesque & innocent.  Like a charming black and white scene from a Truffaut film.)

A good beet (is hard to find, boroom boom) has an earthy flavor – which makes sense as it is a root vegetable literally dug out of the earth – and it also has a sweetness plus a subtle acidic flavor that makes for an overall mellow and sophisticated taste.

It needs be mentioned that a beet’s green top is edible as well — it tastes like spinach on steroids, leafy but good and nutritious.  You can chop it up into a salad; use it with the herbs-mixture of the kookoo sabzi; add it to an āsh as my dear friend Banafsheh likes to do; or use it to make vegetable stock.  A cautionary note:  consuming beetroot leaves is only a good idea when using organic pesticide free beets.  Otherwise, let it go.

My very favorite beet dish is a very simple, very tasty, quite refreshing, and visually delightful-to-behold Iranian food we call laboo va mast (sometimes called borani ‘ye laboo) that is served year round as an appetizer or side dish, but that come summertime can double duty as a light meal (with some yummy bread.)

Yogurt is an excellent partner for beet: its creamy texture offsetting the earthy sweet flavor of beets in a way sure to delight the taste buds.  (You may recall from an earlier post the story of how the entire vegetable + yogurt genre of borani owes its existence to the finicky palette of Queen Porandokht.  As a devout borani-enthusiast, I am forever grateful to this ancient Persian queen.)

A second and final cautionary note :  beets are colorful.  Literally.  When handling beets, it’s inevitable that you will get your hands and cutting board stained a magenta/red color. Don’t worry though, your hands and cutting boards are safe.  The stains do come off after a wash or two (or three.)  Just enjoy it as an impermanent body art while it lasts.

You won’t need a fortune teller to know that a good laboo va mast makes for a fortunate belly.

Ingredients

• 2 medium-sized beets
• 2-3 cups of thick creamy yogurt (preferably whole milk)
• a few sprigs of fresh mint (optional for garnish)
• 1/4 cup of roasted walnuts (optional for garnish)
• 2 tablespoons salt (or more to taste)

Direction

1. Wash beets, top and tail, and scrub clean.  Chop off the green tops and stalk.  Peel the clean beets and cut into 1/2″ slices.
2. Place beets in a pot and cover with enough water to cover at least an inch over the beets.  Add to 2 tablespoons of salt.  Bring to a boil and adjust heat so that water continues to boil very gently.  Boil beets in this fashion for approximately 15-20 minutes – or until tender enough to pierce with a fork.  (Do not overcook.)  Drain beets and allow to cool.
3. While beets cool off, whip yogurt with a fork to thicken the texture; then divide amongst two serving bowls.
4. Top each bowl of yogurt with 4-6 slices of cooked beets.  Stir (quite sparingly) with a fork to create a pretty pattern of colorful whirls in the yogurt.  (Do not over stir, else the dish will turn into a dramatically lurid purple gloop that deceptively looks like an ice cream parfait than a savory food.  Hey, wait … and that’s a problem, why?

Serving

Garnish with fresh mint springs and/or coarsely chopped walnuts if you wish.

Serve as an appetizer, a dip, or a light meal with some type of flat bread.  Perfect fare for a hot summer.

Beet borani also makes a lovely side dish for rich meat-centric dishes as well.

Dig in and nooseh jaan!

Plain Persian rice or polo is almost always paired with a type of khoresh, thus forming a formidable entity known as polo-khoresh. Just think of the pair as the Brangelina A-list power couple of Persian cuisine.

There are many different types of khoresh – one more delicious than the next – and according to my mom, they are “one of the easiest things ever to make. ” Easy for you to say, mother!  But seriously, it’s true that typically, the hardest part of making a delicious Persian stew is the prep work. I guess khoresh, easygoing and magnanimously forgiving of faults, makes up for Persian rice being such a temperamental … let’s say diva.

A very delicious khoresh, one that I recall being on heavy rotation in our household, chock full of herbs and with that typical Iranian food signature flavor of bright tangy notes plus savory succulence is khoresh ‘eh karafs or celery stew. True to my mother’s word, it is  easy to make. Just chop chop chop; sautée; simmer. Basically.  Pretty much.

In a stunning display of brevity, I’ll now cut short the banter and point you to the recipe where all is explained. I will only add one other thing:  this is worth making. Trust!

Ingredients

• 1 pound stewing meat (lamb, beef, or veal) washed, pat dried, and cut into 1-2 inch cubes
• 2 stalks Celery – cut into 2 – 2 1/2 ” pieces
• 1 cup chopped parsley = 1 small bunch (washed, dried, and finely chopped)
• 1 tablespoon dried mint (or sub 3 sprigs of fresh mint, finely chopped)
• 1 medium or large onion (chopped or sliced)
• 1 clove of garlic, crushed or minced
• 4-5 limoo amani aka dried limes (or sub 1/3 cup fresh lemon juice)
• 1/2 lemon, juiced (optional – my mother’s signature touch even when she uses limoo amani)

• a few pinches of  turmeric
• a pinch or two of saffron dissolved in 1 tablespoon hot water
• a pinch of cinnamon (optional – my mother’s signature touch)
• salt and pepper and olive oil

Notes re the celery:  a)  Pick pale green stalks that are ripe and tender and not too tough, or too dark green in color.  b)  The tender leaves and very delicate inner stalks of the celery, finely chopped (2-4 tablespoons) will be a wonderful and quite delicious optional addition at the end of step 3 below.   (In the Azarbaijan region of Iran, people customarily use the baby celery leaves instead of parsley because it’s milder in flavor.)  c) Cut celery either into 1″ pieces, or, 2″ inch pieces which are then cut into matchstick-shaped halves.

Note re limoo amani:  Traditionally, this stew does not require limoo amani but it is a delightful optional ingredient.  Delightful in that it adds a mild, refined, yet distinct tangy sourness to the khoresh; and once cooked, the limoo itself can be eaten.  For the uninitiated, proceed gently when eating the limoo amani as its flesh is quite sour and sometimes even bitter — be sure to cushion it with rice and stew in a given spoonful.

Direction

1. Rinse the limoo amanis; puncture each thrice with a fork.  Set aside for now.
2. In a roomy pot, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil till sizzling hot. Add onions, turn heat to low, and caramelize onions till significantly reduced in size.  A minute or so into this, sprinkle with salt, turmeric and pepper.  (The caramelization & bulk-reduction of onions if done right can take 8- 10 minutes.)
3. Once onions are done, add meat and garlic, stir a few times, then season with a bit more salt and turmeric and pepper, and continue to saute.  Once meat is slightly browned (it is no longer pink/red) add 2 cups of tepid water to the pot and bring to a boil.   Then lower heat and simmer, covered, for a total of 45 minutes (if using veal) or 1 hour (if using beef or lamb) or until meat has fully cooked.  15 minutes into this, add the herbs and celery as prepared below:
4. Heat 2 tablespoons of oil in a skillet till sizzling hot, reduce to medium heat and saute celery, parsley, and fresh mint for 2-3 minutes, adding a tiny pinch of turmeric and salt for color and seasoning.  If you are using dried mint instead of fresh mint, saute celery and parsley on their own and add the dried mint at the final minute.  If you are using the optional 2-4 tablespoons of chopped up baby-celery-stalks and leaves, saute those at the final minute as well.
5. After meat has stewed on its own for 15 minutes, add sauteed herbs, dissolved saffron, the limoo amanis, and one cup of tepid water to the pot. Continue to cook on low heat.
6. At some point while stew is simmering, taste and adjust seasoning.   If there’s not enough broth, add a cup or more lukewarm water. Don’t overdo it or you’ll end up with a watery stew.  If by mistake your stew is too watery, simmer until broth is reduced.
7. Once stew has cooked completely (45 minutes to one hour depending on type of meat) do a final tasting and adjust to taste.
8. Final step:  combine juice of half a lemon and a pinch of cinnamon and mix into the stew. This is optional — but a signature of my mother’s cooking.

Serving

Pour khoresh ‘eh Karafs into a roomy bowl and serve hot.  Khoresh on rare instances may be served with bread but it is really meant to be served with perfect fluffy Persian rice.  Typically, either self-served or dished out by the host/hostess, each person at the table gets at least two ladles of khoresh to pour over their plate of rice and tadig.  Second helpings are inevitable and encouraged.

If you don’t want to eat it with rice, guess what?  It’ll be delicious with bread and yogurt as well.  So no problem.

All types of khoresh, including khoresh ‘eh karafs, will keep for a maximum of 48 hours in the fridge and can be frozen as well.

Make it, and enjoy it, and noosheh jaan!

Note to new readers: The Persian Rice 101 series explains the intricate process of making polo with clear, detailed descriptions, pictures and comprehensive tutorials.   For more info check the relevant following posts:

1. Persian Rice 101 | An Introduction to Polo & Tadig
2. Persian Rice 101 | Tools & Trade Secrets
3. Persian Rice 101 | Rake, Wash, Pray
4. Persian Rice 101 | How to Make the Perfect Persian Rice

A Persian wedding with all its intriguing conventions and mores is a festive topic replete with stunning visuals; delicious food; and cultural and historical notes of interest. I’ve long pined to cover the subject and it is one that merits more than a superficial glance – so it is destined to be a series of posts instead of a singleton. (And that’s not a threat, it is a treat! Trust me!)

Consider this a clinking-the-glass-making-an-announcement post, so no tackling anything of substance just yet. For its first installment, I think it will be fun to kick off this “Iranian Weddings” series with a picture-story post chronicling the historic and glamorous weddings of the last and late king of Iran. (Yes, weddings, as in plural. The Shah married 3 times. Consecutively – no overlaps!)

As a teaser and to get you in the mood, I’ll leave you with this wedding-party group-shot of the Shah’s first matrimony, when he was not yet 20, to the absurdly beautiful Princess Fawzia Fuad of Egypt, who was herself barely 18. Their wedding took place in the Abedin Palace in Cario, Egypt, and was followed up with a Persian wedding ceremony back in Iran. (I hope it won’t be a spoiler to tell you that their marriage ended in a divorce a few years down the road.)

Image SOURCE

Next up:  The complete picture-story post of the royal Persian weddings and the profile of the three distinctly different yet equally intriguing (each in their own right) women who went on to become queens of Iran.

[Note to those of Persian persuasion:  If any of y'all irooniha or half irooni or irani by marriage or proxy care to share your pix of sofreh 'ye aghd that could potentially be posted to the blog, I'd love and appreciate it. If so, please contact me!]

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This series is dedicated to my lovely friend: Nirvana

You may remember that shirin (as in shirin polo ) is an adjective meaning “sweet” in Persian. Perhaps you even recall that Shirin is also a popular name for girls in Iran.

Torsh, in turn, is an adjective that means “sour” in Persian, and to the best of my knowledge, there are no Iranian girls running around who are named Torsh. Although, if you are an unmarried female of a certain age, some may call you a dokhtar torshideh, which stands for a spinster but literally means a “soured girl.” That certain age, by the way, used to be twenty at one time — to wit, this witty ditty:

dokhtar ke resid be bist
bayad be halash gerist

which loosely translates to:

if a girl is still a maiden by twenty
you should cry for her and plenty

And of course a girl was supposed to remain a maiden until lawfully wed. Ahem.

But back to our story!

Torshi – as in “something sour” – is what pickles are called in Iran. They can be made with cooked or raw fruits, or vegetables, or herbs (or a combination thereof) preserved in vinegar and salt, and jazzed up with spices. Some types of torshi are ready to eat immediately after being prepared, while some require being aged (as little as a week or two to as long as seven years for a particular type of garlic torshi) before they are ready to be served.

A good torshi is a tangy, tasty, textured condiment that enhances the pleasure of the main dish. Iranians can’t get enough of torshi: it is an oft-present presence at sit-down family meals, and at least one type if not more variations of it are certain to be offered as part of the accoutrements of a typical festive Persian dinner party.

Torshi ‘ye bademjan is one of my favorite homemade Persian pickles. I appreciate the eggplant flavor and its soft yet slightly crunchy texture. It is by no means an effortless relish to prepare, but on the other hand, it does not require a panoply of ingredients and spices as some high-maintenance types of torshi are known to demand. Aside form vinegar, all you will need are a few good eggplants; plus a little bit of turmeric, black seeds (they look like black sesame seeds and are also known as black cumin or nigella seed), angelica powder, and corriander seeds, and you are good to go.

If you like eggplants and tangy condiments, you will very much enjoy this.

Ingredients

• 3 eggplants
• 2+ tablespoons turmeric
• 1 tablespoon black seeds
• 1 teaspoon angelica powder
• 1 teaspoon coriander seeds
• White vinegar (enough to moisten and get absorbed by the eggplant mixture)

Optional

• 1 teaspoon dried mint
• 1-2 cloves of garlic

Direction

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degree.  Wash and dry eggplants & puncture each a few times with a fork. (This prevents them from exploding while in the oven.)  Roast in the oven until the skin is crispy-crinkled and the flesh is fully cooked.  (Approximately 30 minutes.)
2. Allow to cool to touch. While still warm, peel the eggplants, leaving the crown intact for the moment.  (It will be harder to peel them if they get cold.) Make 4 diagonal cuts in the flesh of each eggplant, pull open the sections (but do not disembowel) and discard as much of the seeds as possible.  Sprinkle eggplants liberally with salt.  Place in a colander above a big bowl allow to drain for at least 3 hours or even overnight.
3. Discard the crown and remove any remaining seeds.  Chop eggplants into small pieces. In a bowl mix eggplants with turmeric, black seeds, coriander seeds and angelic powder. Stir with a fork and mix well, but gently.  (Don’t smash the eggplants.) It is normal if the mixture produces a bit of juice.  Simply stir to mix in the juice with the mixture.  Add more turmeric if necessary to get a nice color.
4. Transfer seasoned eggplant into a sterilized jar and fill nearly up to the lid, leaving an inch. Add just enough vinegar to moisten the mixture and be absorbed by it, but not so much that will cover the mixture.  (You don’t want the mixture to swim in vinegar, just for it to be plumped out-moistened by the vinegar.)
5. Optional finishing touches: add dried mint and a clove or two of garlic; stir to mix.
6. Seal and refrigerate.

Serving

This torshi can be served immediately but it really comes into to its own and its prime (ja miyofteh) after 10-15 days.  If refrigerated, it will keep for a long time.

With Persian food, this torshi goes quite well with various types of kotlet and shami and goosth koobideh and abgoosht.  It will also be nice with herb-infused types of rice like bahgali polo and sabzi-polo.

To enjoy with Western dishes, torshi bademjoon is best enjoyed with rich and meat-centric dishes like pot roast which it will brighten; or with dry, somewhat bland types of food like chicken cutlet, which it will enliven.

Explore the possibilities!

I’ll give you a few hints about what’s in the bag …

• First hint: it’s not a sheep that will eat baobab tree shrubs.
• Another hint: it’s edible.  At least, it’s supposed to be.
• Third and final hint: it’s in the bag for a purpose and not as an idle loafer.

So! Any ideas?  What in the world do you think is in the bag?

Ready or not …

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here it comes

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TA DA!

Now that you see what’s in the bag, do you know what it is?

If you do, you have one on me. Because until last week when I traipsed over to Sahadi’s (to buy chickpea flour, I’ll tell you another time why) I had never laid eyes on such a thing. I thought maybe they were plums at first.The nice dude working there joked that they were olives (I believed him!) but then confessed they were dates. Dates! Young fresh dates – grown in California and imported to Brooklyn.

He invited me to sample a taste and I happily took him up on it and bit into one and it was … not good! Raw and sour and that astringent type of taste that makes your mouth pucker, just like an unripe persimmon might. Still, how could I go home without my very own super-cute twine of dates? As a garden-deprived urban dweller, any hint or simulation of proximity to nature and our mother earth is a beguiling prospect. Plus, the guy told me I could put the dates in a paper bag and let them ripen, just like you would with a banana.

This is how the dates look after hanging out in their paper bag cocoon (tight dark quarters but rent stabilized) for 7 days:

a little bit wrinkly,

a little bit softer,

and frankly (but sssh, don’t tell them I’m saying this) a little bit worse for the wear;

and when I bite into one: still astringent and puckery! DARN IT!

Even though dates are used in Iranian cooking, I’m stomped as how to use these tart young ones. We do have a yummy lentil rice called adas polo that can be layered with sauteed raisins and dates; and there are these Kermanshahi soft-cakes called “kooloocheh” (isn’t that the cutest word?) that have a date paste filling (God do I miss eating those; when my father’s family visited Tehran they’d sometimes bring some as soghati aka gift ); and of course there’s a delicious and simple Persian sandwich or loghmeh called noon va panir va khorma that’s made by pairing dates and feta and a soft lavash type bread that goes oh so nicely with hot tea and is a perfect winter time lunch fare; and there is an almsgiving tradition of donating trays filled with pitted dates stuffed with almonds; and awhile ago I found a very interesting Iranian recipe for a date torshi (alas it entailed a deal-breaking step so thank you but no thank you) but I can’t think of any Persian recipes for fresh dates.

Internet to the rescue! I Googled “what to do with young dates” — a search query that seems rather perversive and suspect, ha ha — and landed on a cool Taste Spotting blog post with a recipe for candied dates with cardamom, which actually sounds quite awesome but more suitable for winter and also I’ve been making a ton of moraba and sharbat recently for an upcoming non-profit event and I am kind of over making syrupy things for the moment and instead would vastly prefer to make this fabulous-sounding Asian pear, fresh date and pomegranate salad - that is if my dates play along and go ahead and ripen. I’ll give it a few more days.

So, as of now, the dates go back to their paper bag residency and their future is in limbo. Any tips or tricks for encouraging the dates to mature and grow up already and/or recipe suggestions are most welcome.

Meanwhile, dates do their daily cardio.

Dates need their endorphins too after all.

ps My mom tells me that in the olden days people would give these yellow dates to babies as a teething toy! Were they trying to kill the poor babies with the astringent puckery taste?  I wonder out loud.  My mom gives me a negaheh aghel ander safih (the look one gives when dealing with a particularly foolish person) and says:  “Azita ‘ye azizam (which means ‘my dearAzita’ and oops, I’m in trouble when she calls me that) ours tasted very good and was soft and sweet.”  OK! This fool stands corrected! But California dates can learn a lot from their Persian cousins is all I’m going to say.

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The other day in Manhattan (in the Washington Heights neighborhood to be precise) I saw this nice guy with a cart filled with colorful bottles that stopped me in my tracks.  He said they were flavorings for the “delicious” shaved ice he sells — everything from mint to coconut to mango.  We chatted a bit, he offered me a gratis shaved ice which I regretfully had to decline, and he gamely let me take a few pictures of him.  A really good and friendly guy.  The encounter one of the million reasons why I LOVE New York.

Speaking of love and colorful things, here’s a striking sunflower detected blooming in a community garden just a kitty corner from BAM — that is the Brooklyn Academy of Music for those of you who don’t live in these neck of the woods.

I love how in the photograph the colors of this beautiful flower are in perfect harmony with the colors of the dance poster in the wall behind it. And even the leaves of the flower seem to pantomime the gesture and movement of the dancers in the poster.  Could the flower possibly be cognizant of it? Well, to slightly paraphrase Papa Hemingway in The Sun Also Rises: “Wouldn’t it be pretty to think so?”

Here are a few other pretty things growing in that small but beautifully landscaped and cultivated community garden that harbors the sunset-colored sunflower:

Azita & The Magic Beanstalk | Who knew that green-bean stalks have red blooms?

Blackberries! | Figs

One of the very many pretty flowers growing there

And finally, now that we all know what’s in the bag, here’s a date update.  Ha ha, get it?

After a few more days – out and about, I didn’t feel like putting the poor dudes back in the paper bag – most merely grew more wrinkly and in dire need of a good moisturizer, but 3 dates ripened and turned brown.  I gobbled one up and I’m very happy to report that its skin was translucent and the flesh was soft and sweet and tasted like candy!  The two remaining ripe brown ones are on the vine as you can see.  At this point, I’ve nixed plans of doing anything to the dates save for gazing at them, waiting for the rest to ripen, and once ripened, popping them in the old pie hole as a little sweet snack.

Young naive date posing resignedly for a still life with some odd berries & things

And on that note, signing off and wishing you a sweet-as-ripe-Bahari-date weekend.

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Left to Right: Sharbat, torshi, moraba, marmalade. Made with foraged zoghal akhteh.

Recently, a dear and too-long-no-see cousin (my pessar amoo to be exact) came for a visit to New York and after a day of expedition in the city thrilled us all by showing up with a foraged harvest of the beauties you see in the picture below. Leave it to an out-of-town explorer to unveil the secret delights of your city!

Washed Cornelian Cherries – About to be Preserved

If you have to ask, “what the heck are these?” you are certainly not of Persian persuasion. If, however, when looking at this picture your mouth waters and you are all at once covetous, excited, and deeply curious as where this loot was found – you are almost certainly a hyphenated or sans-hyphen-Iranian in diaspora.

zoghal akhteh – a treat for birds and for Iranians

A popular summer fruit called zoghal akhteh in Iran, this berry-like fruit (dubbed “Cornelian Cherry” in the West) is rarely if ever eaten in the U.S. — and then, mostly by the birds! Unless foraged by Iranian, Russian, Turkish, or Eastern European enthusiasts who have since the ancient times enjoyed its goodness.

Cornelian Cherry’s taste is a combination of tart and floral – hard to describe. The less ripe it is, the harder the flesh and more astringent the flavor, but when dark red and ripe, it is more sweetly floral than tart and has a soft mushy texture.

In Iran, zoghal akhteh is mostly enjoyed as a fresh fruit – sometimes sprinkled with salt; and it is also sold dried (tasting like a tangy combination of raisins and cranberry) which is a very popular snack to munch on. Zoghal akhteh is also preserved and turned into sharbat (floral or fruit-based Persian syrups that are diluted with ice cold water to make fabulous summertime drinks) and moraba (jam) and marmalade and torshi (pickles.)

The zoghal akhteh torshi or pickle is exceedingly simple to prepare and does not require a recipe so much as an assemblage direction:

• Fill a sterilized jar 3/4th of the way with berries of (ideally) the same size, color, firmness and ripeness. (Trick: if yours are unripe, puncture berries a few times with a toothpick, they will soften when marinating in vinegar.) Add a pinch of dried mint (optional) and fill with your pickling vinegar of choice. (The plain old Heinz white vinegar I used works fine, although it’s a tad too harsh for my taste.) I added a very small clove of garlic as well, but in hindsight advise against its use, as even that little amount of garlic dominated and diminished the aroma of the Cornelian cherry.
• Seal and store in a cool dark place. Best after 1-2 weeks but it can also be enjoyed within a day. Makes a good sidekick for rich & robust meals or sandwiches.  (Note: Cornelian cherry has a good sized pit. Exercise caution and contain exuberance when enjoying the pickle.]

With the remainder of my beautiful bounty of zoghal akhteh, I made a divine bottle of sharbat; several jars of meh-but-not-too-bad moraba aka jam; and a batch of pretty, pink, and delicious marmalade.  Respective recipes to follow in separate posts later this week, so keep your eyes peeled.

Thank you Khashayar!

Doves in front of a blue domed mosque are fed dooneh. (Tabriz | Iran)

Saffron is harvested. (Khorasan | Iran)

Someone weaves a carpet. (Isfahan | Iran)   Photo Credit: The Atlantic

Someone watches the sun set. (Tehran | Iran)  Photo Credit: Niall Doherty]

Cyrus the Great rests. (Pasargad, Shiraz | Iran)

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Note: The photographs (none are mine) are credited & linked back to the source, except where it was not possible to identify the copyright-holder.

Making jam & syrup & marmalade with cornelian cherry

The other day I shared the foraging tale of Cornelian cherry (zoghal akhteh) — a cranberry-lookalike savored in many countries but left to the birds & foragers in the U.S. The delightfully tart yet sweetly floral Cornelian cherry is very popular in Iran as a fresh fruit snack – a treat that is sometimes enjoyed sprinkled with salt.

Cornelian cherry is a fruit that also lends itself quite nicely to being preserved. The simple pickle recipe (torshi ‘ye zogahl akhte) is where I left it off the last time, but because of its pretty color, pleasant scent and unique flavor, zoghal akhteh is favored for making sharbats and moraba and marmalades as well. The recipes follow below, but first, here’s a glossary of what may be unfamiliar terms:

Cornelian Cherry Persian Sharbat (sharbat ‘eh zoghal akhteh)

Sharbat is a Persian type of syrup (floral, herbal, or fruit based; or a combination thereof) made in a number of flavors with various gorgeous colors, that is diluted with cold water and savored as a refreshing thirst-quenching drink. During summer in Iran, making bottles of various types of sharbats is a long-held tradition of good housekeeping; and offering guests a tall glass of aromatic, colorful sharbat to ward off the heat of the summer is an expected trademark of up-to-par hospitality.

Give me a sun, I care not how hot, and sherbet, I care not how cool, and my Heaven is as easily made as your Persian’s. — Lord Byron ,1813

The sharbat made with Cornelian cherry comes out a very pretty and bright red color;  naturally and beautifully fragrant. The first batch I made was my very first experience partaking of this sharbat and it was a pleasant revelation. I can say with candor that I would like to partake of it again.  And again.

Cornelian cherry jam (moraba hasteh dar zoghal akhteh)

Moraba is basically nothing more than good old-fashioned jam. Persian jam-making’s major points of distinction from its Western counterparts being: an inclination towards using fruits whole or in big chunks whenever possible; a more eclectic selection of things that are turned into jams (i.e. watermelon rind or flower blossoms); and the potential use of ingredients such as rosewater, cardamom and cloves.

Cornelian cherry jam is tasty and the extra syrup made in the process of its creation can be turned into a sharbat – a good culinary shortcut and windfall! The downside is that since the pit to flesh ratio of Cornelian cherry is high (kind of like an olive) and it is nearly impossible to pit this fruit without destroying its delicate flesh, this jam is made with un-pitted fruit.

Cornelian cherry marmalade (marmalad ‘eh zoghal akhteh)

If spitting out pits isn’t your idea of a merry jam, you may want to give Cornelian cherry’s marmalade a go instead. I used (and slightly revised) a recipe from Turmeric & Saffron‘s stellar Persian food blog and ended up with a pleasantly tart and delicious marmalade-type of spread with a very appealing color.

In conclusion …

Cornelian cherry is not a fruit you’ll see in the markets, true, but just in case you ever find yourself with a bounty of its harvest and would like to know what to do with it aside from enjoying it as a vitamin-packed fresh fruit snack, I do give the thumbs up for the effortless pickled Cornelian cherry (torshi ‘ye zoghal akhteh) and heartily recommend the pretty and fragrant sharbat ‘eh zoghal akhteh as well.  Equally enthusiastically, I endorse the well-worth-the-effort marmalade -  it is basically like a novel version of cranberry sauce – I’m saving some of my stash to serve at Thanksgiving.

The jam (moraba‘ye zoghal akhteh)  … I hesitate to recommend this to the world-at-large — primarily because the pits do pose a problem to some, but hasten to add that personally, I enjoyed spoonfuls of it as a satisfactory treat for sweet-tooth cravings; and a jar of jam that I took to a family dinner was polished off with enthusiastic mutterings and positive relish as a dessert.

still life with unripe zoghal akhteh & misc oddities

Cornelian Cherry Jam & Sharbat (sharbat va moraba ‘ye zoghal akhteh)

Ingredients:

2 cups Cornelian Cherries (washed and dried)
4 cups sugar
2 cups water
1/4 teaspoon cardamom powder
juice of 1 small lemon

1. Bring sugar and water to a gentle boil (small bubbles) on medium heat & boil thus for 5 minutes.
2. Add the berries, bring the mixture back to another small-bubble boil, and boil thus for 10 minutes (if berries are somewhat ripe) and for only 3-5 minutes (if the berries are ripe and soft.) A minute before taking the pot off the heat add the ground cardamom and lemon juice; stir to mix.
3. Remove pot from heat and allow to cool. With a slotted spoon, transfer berries to sterilized airtight jars, adding just enough syrup to slightly cover the berries. (Use the leftover syrup to make sharbat as instructed below.) Seal the jar and store in a cool, dark place.

For the sharbat:

1. Bring the remaining syrup in the pot to a slow boil and boil thus for 15 minutes, until syrup somewhat thickens. (Sharbat  is not supposed to be very thick or sticky; also it thickens a good bit once it cools off.)
2. Remove pot from stove. Once syrup has cooled, filter through a sieve into a sterilized airtight bottle or jar. Refrigerate.
3. For individual servings, pour 1/4 cup or more of the syrup in a tall glass; add a few ice cubes; and dilute with iced water to taste, stirring with a spoon to mix. (Add more syrup for deeper color and extra sweetness if so desired.) Enjoy!

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Cornelian Cherry Marmalade (marmalad ‘eh zoghal akhteh)

Cornelian cherry marmalade

Ingredients:

2 cups Cornelian Cherries (washed and dried; over-ripe ones would be perfect)
2 cups water
1 cup sugar (I used 3/4 cup which made it decidedly tart, which I like.)
a pinch of ground cardamom
juice of 1 lime

1. Combine zoghal akhteh and 2 cups of water and gently boil for 15-20 minutes, until berries are nice and soft.
2. Remove from heat.  Once cooled, strain contents into a mesh colander placed above a bowl and use a wooden spoon to crush the berries and push as much of the mashed berries as possible into the bowl through the colander. (Or, use a food mill and remove the pits.) Either way, you should end up with a pit-less puree of Cornelian cherries.
3. In a pot, combine the puree with sugar, lime juice, and cardamom and bring to a small-bubble boil on high heat. Once boiling, reduce heat to medium and boil for 5-7 minutes.
4. Remove from heat. Once cool, transfer to a sterilized air-tight jar and refrigerate.

Note:  For best results use berries that are as uniform in size, color and ripeness as possible; applicable to all recipes, including making the pickled Cornelian cherries.

making syrup and jam with Corneian cherry (sharbat va morab zoghal akhteh)

Jars of Cornelian Cherry Jam (moraba ‘ye hasteh dar ‘eh zoghal akhteh)

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Noosh ‘eh jaan!

Persian Serving Tray

Recently, the wonderful editors of Mashallah News — an online publication devoted to shaking up Middle Eastern stereotypes — asked me to contribute to their “food” theme series. I was only too glad to do so, and a nostalgia-filled rhapsody of the poetics of Persian food was thus born! I would be delighted if you would read it, so, begging your kind indulgence, it follows in its entirety below.

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Eyes are the windows to the soul, per an old English proverb. In a similar vein, it can be proposed that a nation’s cuisine is the window to the heart and soul of its countrymen. Praise be, then, for much like its people, Iranian food is sensual and oft poetic.

That Iranians are sensual and romantic at heart may seem a preposterously incongruous claim at odds with the image of the country, mired as it is in polemics and controversy, but only if one overlooks the fact that the ancient and majestic tree of Iranian culture is branched out of thousands of years old roots that bear solid testament to a heritage of lyrical and aesthetic nourishment, accomplishment and sensibility. A sensibility reflected in everything from a proclivity to the arranging of beautiful, elaborate and symbolic celebratory tableaux vivants for weddings, Norooz (New Year) and the fete of Yalda (winter solstice); to an inordinate fondness for gardens and fountains and flowers and nightingales; to a talent for creating delicately charming ornate design in painting, carpets, textiles and architecture; to a coquettish flair for flirting; and to an unabashed affinity for and partiality to poetry.

Rice meatballs – Persian style (koofteh berenji)

In some cultures a love of poetry is the true sign of the dork, the nerd, the socially clueless and inept. But in Iran, appreciation of poetry—far from branding one as “uncool” and banishing one to social Siberia—is not only accepted but is even taken for granted and reciprocated amongst people of all ages and walks of life. It is not unusual to find groups of friends or family sitting around eating, drinking and making merry while chewing the fat or playing backgammon all while trading lines and verses of the poems of Hafiz and Sa’adi and Khayam and Rumi and Ferdowsi as the muse inspires and circumstances dictate. A cantankerous shopkeeper may quote a poem to site his ire; a grandparent may well call on one of the epic poets to drive home a moral lesson to a grandchild. After all, poetry is what saved the Persian language—the epic poem of Shahnameh, to be precise, is credited with this historical accomplishment—and that may explain why a love of poetry flows in the veins of most warm-blooded Iranians, whatever their walk of life, instead of being the rarefied passion of elite intellectuals and cultured intelligentsia as it is in most other places in the world.

People unfamiliar with Iranian food often assume it is hot and spicy, much like its politics or its perceived climate, but it is not. Iranian food—fragrant and pretty with its signature playful combination of sweet and tart and savoury—is downright poetic at heart.

L to R: pistachios, black seeds, saffron, dried mint, cardamom, berberis, turmeric, rice

After all, how many cuisines count rosewater, cardamom, pistachios, rose petals, dried mint and saffron as staple pantry provisions? How many have a dish called jewelled rice, so named because barberries, pistachio slivers, and candied orange peels peek out of a nestling pillow of aromatic saffron rice gleaming, much like the gems one would expect to find spilling out of a treasure chest if one perchance happened to abracadabra open the door of Ali Baba’s fabled cave?

How many cuisines have since the ancient times revelled in the glory of the pomegranate, a fruit that is a testament to a divine design, bearing a crown with a charming disarray of tendrils and jewel-like seeds. Pomegranate is a mainstay symbol of the Yalda celebration spread, in which a bowl of its seeded ruby arils, sprinkled with a touch of ground angelica or salt, forms a refreshment to offer guests, or else its nectar turned into a paste brooding with ground walnuts to make the chocolate-coloured stew of Fessenjan, which some call the khoresh of kings?

And, probably more than any other cuisine in the world, Persian food harvests flowers! Countless bushels of Mohamadi roses are every year distilled into aromatic rosewater; red and pink rose petals are dried so that they can be crushed and used as a pretty and aromatic sprinkled garnish for food. Vast fields of purple crocus are harvested for the long, fragile, burnt amber threads of saffron that turn an effervescently sunny golden shade when ground and touched by hot water, a drop of it turning a bed of steamed rice into a pretty sunset. A bevy of fragrant herbs and blossoms are distilled to make aragh—a refreshing and medicinal beverage—with mint, chicory, musk willow, sweet briar, palm pods, citrons and orange blossom. So many flowers, the very names of which are not merely mellifluous but also summon up an instantaneous sense of delight and pleasure.

Persian Rice Pudding (Shir Berenj)

Sometimes, the seductive charm of Iranian food is overt but guileless, like a yogurt and cucumber soup, garnished with inter-crossing paths of crushed rose petals and dried mint; or overt and artful like a dark amber halva infused with saffron, rosewater and cardamom, sprinkled with pistachio powder in a curlicue design.

Sometimes, it is covert, like a Salad Shirazi, a salad that is beautiful because it is stunning and is stunning because it is the epitome of simplicity—an edible haiku—nothing more than a choir of cucumbers and tomatoes and onions, singing with lemon juice and olive oil and crushed dried mint.

And sometimes, the disarming charm of Iranian food is downright lyrical, because if fluffy and fragrant saffron rice made moist with a stream of succulently savoury khoresh is not transcendental lyricism in a spoon—then, pray tell, what is?

Khoresh Kadoo Halva ‘ye with Persian rice & tadig

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Plain Persian Rice with saffron

Va Va Voom Persian rice with berberis & candied orange peels

I hope you’ve been practicing the art of making Persian rice, because it is time to amp up the volume and foray into the eclectic wonderland of Persian mixed-rice, and making a good bed of fluffy white Persian rice (polo sefid) is its delicious prerequisite.

I’m excited to finally share with you the afore-promised “how to hack a plain Persian rice” installment of Fig & Quince’s “Persian Rice 101 series” — so named because my mom has a simple, genius method of hacking a plain Persian saffron rice into an impressive, gorgeous and sublime mixed-rice dish that is fit for any festive occasion:

What my mom does is to layer spatula-fulls of the plain rice with a mixture of sautéed berberis and candied orange peels when plating the rice on the serving platter. Sometimes, she also likes to add candied & spiced matchstick-cut carrots to the mix as well (to wit, see the sunset-colored spectacle of the rice dish below.) Optional final touches are to garnish the pyramid of rice with slivers of almond and/or pistachio, and no matter what, she always ends with a devastating coups de grâce flourish of dousing the platter with a couple of tablespoons of melted butter.

The end result is basically a modified and hybrid zereshk polo (berberry rice,) shirin polo (sweet rice,) javaher polo (jeweled rice) and havij polo (carrot rice) all in one. A stunning crowd-pleaser. Something that makes you happy to be alive when you look at it and inhale its fragrance, and the kind of food you close your eyes when you eat it.

Crowned with carrots & served for Norooz. I couldn’t take many pictures because: impatient hungry people! The challenging fate of a food blogger

This picture is of the dish my mom made this past Norooz and I swear by all that I consider sacred that it was the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten. I boldly take some of the credit for making the candied orange peels that came out just the perfect cut and texture and taste – slightly sweet but with just the right hint of bitter zing. The combo of the candied peels with tangy berberis and soft, sweet carrots alongside with the fluffy saffron & butter imbued rice and let’s not forget to mention the crunchy tadig and the perfectly roasted rosemary chicken was … honestly: everyone was in a trance!  A truly memorable dish. And so pretty!

Here’s a step-by-step how-to guide to please and entrance a crowd of your own with a gorgeous Va Va Voom Powabunga Persian rice dish:

Step #1  Make polo sefid aka Persian rice.

Follow the directions to make the perfect Persian rice as detailed here.  [Introduction to Persian rice and tadig and pictorial how-to tutorials also at your disposal here and here should you need a friendly reference.]

Step #2  Make Candied Orange Peels. 

Wash, scrub, and dry a large orange.  Score skin with knife in 4 sections and peel out neatly without tearing off the skin. Using a small sharp knife, cut out the white spongy layer of the peel.  Scrape any stubborn white pith clinging to the peel by running the edge of the knife against the peel in a back and forth scrubbing motion. (Do leave a thin film of the white pith otherwise the orange peel won’t withstand the several boiling baths that awaits it.) Cut into even-sized matchstick-shaped, thin, long-limbed strips.

In a small pot bring 1 cup of water to a boil, add orange peels, boil for 3 minutes, then drain in a colander. Do not rinse!  Repeat this exact step two more times, each time using a freshly rinsed pot and fresh batch of water. After the 3rd boiled-water bath, bring 1 more cup of water to a boil in a clean pot, and cook orange peels and 2 tablespoons of sugar on medium heat until all the liquid has been absorbed. Keep a watchful eye to avoid burning the peels. Once finished, sample a taste and if you find it  still too bitter, add more sugar to your liking and stir to mix. Sugar liquifies and it will be absorbed by the orange peels. (A hint of bitterness is a wonderful contrast with the rest of the dish’s ingredients.)

Step #3:  Sauté Berberis.

Rinse 1 cup of berberis several times; then soak in cold water for 5 minutes. After a final rinse, spread on a paper towel and allow to completely dry.  Then sauté for just one minute in a mixture of olive oil and butter with 1 tablespoon of sugar, 1/4 teaspoon of cinnamon and a hint of ground saffron.  Keep a watchful eye as berberis burn easily.

Step #4 :  Make Spiced & Glazed Matchstick-Cut Carrots.

My mom recommends only a store-bought one pound bag of very thinly-matchstick-cut carrots for this technique:

Bring 1 cup of water, 1 cup of sugar, 1 teaspoon of lemon zest and 1″ sized cube of peeled ginger to a boil. Add carrots, bring to a boil again, then reduce to medium heat and cook for 30-45 minutes or longer until the syrup is entirely absorbed. At the last 5 minutes of cooking, add 1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon to the carrots. When done, fish out the ginger and discard.

This step is optional.  If you skip it, you’ll end up with zereshk polo (rice with berberis) pictured on top; which is elegant and delicious in its own right and a classic Iranian rice dish.

Step #5.  Roast a Chicken.

My mom likes to serve this dish with a roasted chicken that she prepares quite simply:

Coat chicken (washed & dried first) with a mixture of lemon juice and grated ginger and let sit for several hours. Just before roasting, pat dry the chicken with a paper towel, rub its skin with olive oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Add a twig or two of a fragrant herb such as sage or rosemary. Roast in an oven preheated to 375 degree.  Depending on the oven, the chicken will be roasted within 30 minutes. Once roasted to your satisfaction, baste it with its own juices and serve alongside with the rice.

Final Step – Putting it all together:

Once rice is cooked and ready to be served, set aside the saffron colored crown portion for a last-step garnish. Plate the remaining rice, a few spatulas of rice at a time, on a serving platter, and sprinkle each layer with a mixture of berberis and orange peels.  Repeat this process till you are only left with the crunchy bottom-of-the pot yummy tadig.  Form the rice plated on the serving platter into the shape of a mound and top it with the saffron-colored rice that was earlier set aside.  If using candied carrots, arrange it in the shape of a thick halo around the rice. Sprinkle the remaining berberis and candied orange peels over the rice. If using slivered almonds and pistachios, artfully sprinkle those on the rice as well. Douse rice with a few tablespoons of melted butter.

As for the tadig, use a spatula to lift and remove the tadig layer out of the pot – ideally in as intact a shape a possible.  Cut the crunchy bottom-of-the-pot tadig into serving wedges. Garnish with berberis and/or candied orange peels.  Serve alongside with the rice and the roasted chicken.

Festive Persian Rice & Tadig

That’s it.  You’re now a Persian-rice-making superstar. Prepare to be adored by all those who get to eat your food.

“From No. 37″ a documentary by Mohsen Shahrnazdar and Sam Kalantari

Sadegh Hedayat was an iconic Iranian writer famous for his modern and dolorous prose. His demeanor, deportment, and the somber shroud of his melancholy remind me of Edgar Allen Poe. Both writers give off that noir vibe in spades. Sadegh Hedayat committed suicide in Paris in 1951 and is buried at the Père Lachaise cemetery.

This gorgeous photograph is the poster of an Iranian documentary film by the name of “From No. 37” by Mohsen Shahrnazdar and Sam Kalantari about the writings and life of Sadegh Hedayat. I really like this poster – especially the expressive calligraphy in the background. I love documentaries and Judging a film by its poster, I hope to find and watch this one.

Great article about the author and her masterpiece Soovashoon at Reorient Mag

This is a photograph of Simin Daneshvar and her husband, Jalal Al Ahmad. A powerhouse literary couple – significant and influential writers of essays and fiction, each in their own right and their own way. They are like the Simone de Bouvoir and John Paul Sartre of Iran. Except that they were happily married; did not have an open relationship; and were decidedly not existentialists. Other than that, separated at birth! (Right after drawing the comparison this occurred to me: Simin and Simone! Huh!)

Simin Daneshvar wrote a book called Soovashoon (often spelled Savushun) which is considered a masterpiece of Iranian literature – beautiful, poignant, tragic – with an engaging and unforgettable narrative. Every time I re-read it I’m enchanted anew and I’m heartbroken anew. She passed away a year and half ago. I can’t believe she’s gone.

How to Groom a Persian Cat | Article & Image Source

Zig zagging away from the literary theme with no rhyme or reason and no concern whatsoever for continuity and coherence, I finally maneuver to the topic of the post:  How to Groom a Persian Cat! Excuse me while I chuckle for a bit.

So here’s the story. I have horrible terrible dreadful impossible dastardly painful torturous and yes dolorous deadlines. I’m stressed out!  So needless to say I value every second and that naturally explains why I spent some of that precious time Googling for images of “stressed Persian cat.” But anyhow, I did it, guilty as charged, and then this image from a pet grooming website popped up, and then I was … in love! Now mind you, I’m not entirely certain this cat is indeed Persian. It does not have that stereotypically Persian cat mien.  But really, no matter, who cares. Just look at that face! Excuse me again while I go chuckle for another bit.

Anyway, so that’s how I found this amazing creature and if you have a Persian cat and would like to know how to groom it, head for this incisive article, from whence this priceless image was sourced. And also:

Have a lovely weekend!

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Awhile ago, I was invited to a potluck. My game plan was to make a bottle of sharbat and a batch of shami. Sharbat, I’ve introduced to you before, and shami is a minced beef & chickpea-flour fried-patty concoction (there are other variations as well) that I’ve been in the habit of eating infrequently here and there – with bread and yogurt and pleasure – but had never heretofore rolled up my own billowing, soozan-doozi adorned sleeves to make myself.

I’d dug up an easy-to-follow recipe and shami itself is quite simple (borderline plain) in semblance, so really, how hard could it be to make? Answer: very hard! At least for moi. A series of gaffes and oopses and faux pas led to a certifiable and somewhat excruciating disaster. In retrospect and in hindsight and in my defense, the recipe was somewhat wonky and I should have looked up Turmeric & Saffron’s recipe or asked for my mother’s instead. This line of rationalization though reminds me of a very awesome Ziggy cartoon when he goes to the “Complaints” window of a department store and says: “I’m too short.” Ha ha! It also puts me in mind of an Iranian proverb (zarb ol massal) which goes: “The bride can not dance and claims the room is crooked!”  (Aroos nemitooneh beraghseh migeh otag kajeh.) Used when one blames circumstances for what is inherently one’s own fault or shortcoming. OK, OK! I admit it! I am a horrible and deeply flawed shami-maker! Are you happy now?

Seriously — who knew it was so hard to make the shami patties look so perfectly round and composed?

Shami as it’s meant to be! Beautifully made by Gholi joon, a dear family friend.

In my hands (too much grated onions were among my other sins so the patties were too loose) instead of turning out as good, solid, well-rounded citizens, the shami patties were coming out lopsided and crooked and entirely strange — looking much like the type of person you avoid sitting next to on the subway. There was no way I was going to show up to a foodie potluck with a plate-full of these creatures.

So as a last-minute panicked plan B, I rushed to make a batch or two of the banana nut chocolate chip muffins that had turned out quite nicely when I’d made some for the half-birthday of a special quelqu’un. I also decided to Persianize the recipe so as to make it a more special and personal offering. That is to say, I added a touch of pistachios, saffron,rosewater, and the teeniest hint of cardamom to the mix; topped with crumbled dried rose petals for a pretty flourish. The original Evelyn’s Coffee Bar / Epicuruios / Bon Appetit recipe for the muffins is a very good one — it’s a keeper, I love it and heartily recommend it — and fortunately, the recipe withstood my glamming up efforts and took well to its Persianization! I was a tad bit apprehensive about mixing milk and mashed bananas and chocolate chip bits with rosewater and cardamom, but ultimately, the Persianizing ingredients were used sparingly enough to just give the entire thing that je ne said quoi air of being Persian without interfering with the natural goodness of these moist, delicious and cake-like muffins.

Gotta love these muffins! They are delicious comfort food and in pinch, when shami shames you, they let you save face!

Since I made truly minor revisions, I direct you to Epicurious for the original banana nut chocolate chip muffin recipe. To Persianize the recipe, however, you will need:

• 1/4 teaspoon cardamom
• handful of coarsely ground pistachios + some to sprinkle on muffins
• a pinch of saffron, dissolved in 2 tablespoons of hot water
• 1 teaspoon rosewater (or a bit less)
• handful of dried rose petals, gently crumbled between palms

And you should do these:

1. Add ground cardamom and a handful of coarsely ground pistachios to the dry mixture of sugar, baking powder and salt.
2. Add rosewater and dissolved saffron to the moist mixture of mashed bananas, egg, melted butter and milk.
3. Halfway through the baking process, top each muffin with a sprinkling of ground pistachios.
4. Once muffins have cooled off on the rack, sprinkle with crushed rose petals.

Note: The baking time for me is around 15-17 minutes and not 30 minutes as indicated in the recipe. Perhaps this is because I preheated for more than half an hour and used a mini muffin pan, but Just to be safe, I recommend you keep a watchful eye when baking a batch the first time around to figure out your optimum baking time.

This Sunday (September 22, from 11 a.m to 4 p.m) the 9th Annual Walk for Children — an event with a lot of fun activities for kids (face painting, magicians, balloon making, etc.) and plenty of amusing activities for the grown-ups as well (DJs, arts & crafts, bake sale, dance performances) — will take place in Bethesda, Maryland.

The event is free and open to the public. The goal is to raise funds to support the charitable programs of Children of Persia in Iran and in the U.S.

Now you may be wondering …

So glad you asked!

Allow me to illustrate the answer:

but you may still be wondering …

Ah, yet another great question.

Here’s the answer:

And there you have it.

It promises to be a fun event and it’s for a good cause.

Why, YES! Thank you for asking, Question Guy! I’ll be there and I’m very happy to participate in a cause that’s near and dear to my heart. 

I’m also pleased to tell you that Fig & Quince is among the vendors & exhibitors of the event. It was a last minute decision, but sometimes you’ve got to take the plunge so I just held my nose and dived in, and we have a table! We are going to have some foodie goodies: a few different types of homemade torshi (Persian pickles); our special house-blend-ajeel (a yummy Persian trail mix); and some awesome sohan ‘eh assal candy (recipe by the incomparable khojee joon, a lovely family friend!) Possibly, perchance and maybe, if time permits, also some of my much touted tut, the Persian-marzipan delicacy. (Touted by me that is, ha ha.) Plus: some show-and-tell art books.

There’s going to be some amazing Iranian food offered by other vendors as well – and this little piggy plans to sample as much of it as possible.

So to recap: Free Event + Fun for the young and the young-at-heart + Charity + Yummy Iranian Food + Fig & Quince!

If you’re in the area, do drop by and say hi. It will be fun, and I’d love to meet some of y’all in real life. I’m also psyched to see some of y’all that I do know in real life — and you know who you are!

Pingy the Penguin plans to march at the 9th Annual Walk of Children of Persia too!

On behalf of myself and Pingy:  Hope to see you there!