♪ Music we’re cooking to ♪
Mama, can you squeeze the clouds to make it rain? – Soleil
Step outside.
Plant your bare feet firmly in the grass.
Let your toes wander. Let them search and settle amongst the rough and dying blades.
What was once lush and green. What was once childhood. What was once a vibrant summer respectfully fading away and making room for a crisp and most welcome autumn breeze.
Lost.
♪ Music we’re cooking to ♪
It’s deliciously liberating to not have any attachments.
Soak dried chickpeas in plenty of water over night.
To not feel the glare, pressure and judgment of those wiser than you, those that have come before you, searing your back. Those mothers, grandmothers and great-grandmothers, that make a habit of pulling up a stool and comfortably perching themselves on your shoulders, watching your every move.
I am that woman.
You know the one.
You’ve seen her around town.
On the 405 – the 101 – and the 10 sometimes going East – on market days going West.
You’ve waited patiently and sometimes not so patiently for her to pull out of “your” Whole Foods parking spot.
You’ve caught a glimpse of her in your rear view mirror at school drop offs and pick ups.
You’ve pulled up beside her at the stop light.
♪ Music we’re cooking to ♪
Much has been written, said, rumored, about Iran – about Persians. By Persians and non-Persians alike. Some true – some pure fiction – some thoughtful – some ignorant – some just plain uninformed. But the one Persian quality that can be wholeheartedly agreed upon by everyone across time and borders is the generosity and excellence of Persian Hospitality.
“Which of the cities visited did Your Highness enjoy the most?” – Reporter
“Each, in its own way, was unforgettable. It would be difficult to…Rome! By all means, Rome. I will cherish my visit here in memory as long as I live.” – Princess Ann – Roman Holiday
The television set is perched precariously on a make-shift table.
Once upon a time, a long, long, long time ago, there was a bang which wasn’t really a bang but more of a singular moment in time when all the matter in the universe came into laser-sharp focus and all that energy in there shook around and bounced off of each other and contracted and contracted until there was no more room so it expanded and BANG! exploded into tiny particles forming protons, neutrons and electrons – forming The Univ
♪ MUSIC WE’RE COOKING TO ♪
Mama! The radio just said Air Force One landed at LAX. Can the President come over for dinner? Please?!
What’s Air Force One, Luna?
Air Force One is the President’s airplane, Soleil. And he’s here! If Mama says it’s ok then he can come over for dinner. Can he Mama? Please?! You could make Polo with Tahdig. I bet he would love it. Let’s call him.
♪ MUSIC WE’RE COOKING TO ♪
When your bucket is full you’re really happy. And when your bucket is empty you’re really sad. When a person dips into your bucket they’re making you sad and taking some good feelings out of your bucket. When a person says something nice to you or are nice to you, they fill your bucket.
Azadi? What does Azadi mean, mama?
It means Freedom in Farsi, Luna.
The day before Nowruz – Persian New Year. We are at the Persian Bazaar – aka Westwood Blvd. – doing some last-minute shopping. The girls pick out the sonbol – hyacinth – a purple one, of course. Happily they crunch on the ajeel – the nut mix the store owners keep offering them.
I find the concept of an “acquired taste” a very interesting one. Exactly when and how does one “acquire taste”?
Growing up in Vancouver, whenever kashk was supposed to be used in a dish my mom would replace it with either yogurt or sour cream – if we were feeding our Canadian or American friends.
Copyright 2021 Naz Deravian. All Rights Reserved.