We had a deep, cushy, cream–colored loveseat in our living room. Back in Iran. That’s how I remember it. I was six years old. Luna’s age. And I was notorious for giving my parents a hard time with going to bed.
Author / Naz Deravian
Occasionally I’ll be caught standing in front of the fridge or the pantry – a blank look on my face – desperately staring down the goods – hoping that this time, all the produce, legumes and grains have magically developed telepathic powers to convey to me how to prepare them in a mouth watering, nutritious fashion for the whole family to enjoy. It is a losing battle. As my six year old Luna is quick to remind me.
You never see the sun in the night, but once in an ice cream while, you see the moon in the daytime. – Luna
BBQ sauce and pork ribs are not exactly part of my everyday cooking vernacular. I am not what you might call a BBQ sauce/ribs enthusiast – not even close. I know there are cookbooks, TV shows and competitions dedicated to this mighty American tradition.
What can I get you?
He leans across the bar. Kindly looking into my bewildered eyes. A simple question he has asked numerous times this evening. He expects a simple and quick reply.
It’s 6:30pm on a week night and the place is already buzzing with after-work imbibing. Hipsters and the like winding down the day – or maybe just getting started for the night. It’s loud, the energy of the place palpable.
The salty air. The very salty sea. A warm seaside breeze. Hair tangled and knotted in the wind – sticking to very salty lips.
These are my memories of Shomal – North.
Memories can be very elusive, hard to pin down. They tease us with a hazy snap shot of what once was – a time long since passed. A familiar scent, taste, the caress of a warm breeze.
They gather around me with bated breath. The air is thick with anticipation and hope.If it all goes as planned, the fruits of my labor will be met with thunderous applause and joyous cheers. High fives and high jumps and quasi-cartwheels all around. Maybe even a little impromptu jig.
If it all falls apart (literally), shoulders will slump, and slight groans will replace the cheers. Dissapointed little feet will shuffle back to the table.
Mama, this is the best soup in the whole wild world.
Soleil is right, Mama. Make this soup every day and every night and every afternoon.
Can we have this for lunch tomorrow, Mama?!
Allow me to explain.
Although I’d like to take full credit for all the glowing adulation of my-soup making abilities, I also need to extend a big thank you to my not so silent cohort – sugar. The white, refined, not-so-natural variety.
Nowruz celebrations last for thirteen days. During this time families and friends visit each other and homes are always ready to greet well wishers with hot tea and sweets. It all culminates on the thirteenth day – seezdah bedar – with a big picnic outdoors.
We have had a wonderful Nowruz surrounded by good friends and family.
Mmmm…what’s that smell, Mama?
It’s koo koo again. Do you think you’ll want to have more, Luna?
With that smell all in the house, how can I ever say no!
This was our third batch of herb koo koo in three weeks. After days of koo koo for lunch, dinner, after-school snack; and having exhausted every cuckoo – koo koo joke, I was certain there would be no interest in yet another bite.
We are deep into preparations for Persian New Year.
Nowruz (sounds like know rooz).
We celebrate the first day of spring. New beginnings, new life, new blossoms, fresh green grass – rebirth. Nature – Mother Earth wakening from her deep winter slumber.
Nowruz this year falls on Wednesday March 20 at 4:01:56 am (PST). Vernal equinox. Exactly the moment when the Earth’s axis tilts neither towards nor away from the sun.