The skies have turned grey. The fog is rolling in. There’s talk of rain. Yes, this does happen in Los Angeles.
I need everything to slow down. A break from the daily routine. I begin to yearn for my parallel universe.
That alternate life where I curl up on the couch with my boyfreind – now my husband. Watch a movie at three in the afternoon.
If we were playing that silly “what if you were stranded on a deserted island, what is the one food item you would take with you” game – my answer without hesitation would be yogurt.
Plain, un-adulterated – nothing added – yogurt.
If I were a poet I would compose volumes of love sonnets declaring my eternal love and devotion to yogurt.
It’s time to have a talk. Yes, that talk. I know, we just started this thing. We’re just getting to know each other. It’s been fun. But if this is going to go on any further I need to know that you’re fully invested. Ready to take a chance. Ready to shake things up a little. Ready to commit.
To saffron.
I know, I know, I’m asking for a lot. But we’re worth it. You’re worth it.
Yes. I know. How can dates and walnuts ever be described as sexy.
Well, maybe it’s just time to re-think sexy, and welcome some new players into this exclusive (and elusive?) club. After all, it’s not all about outward appearances. Most of the time it’s about how we are made to feel. And this pie is here to help bring back the inner sexy. Or so I hear.
Recipes are usually inherited.
How has this winter been treating you? We’ve managed to stay pretty healthy. Well, except for that terrible chest cough that everyone seems to be sporting. You know, the one that overstays it’s welcome by about a month. Both girls got it. Soleil was hit especially hard for a couple of days. Each time she coughed she sounded like an eighty year old man who has spent sixty of those years puffing cigarettes.
But you can’t tell people exactly what to use, they have to see what they have in the fridge! – my mom.
When I decided to officially leave home – Vancouver being home at the time – and move to Los Angeles on my own, oh so many moons ago, I knew I couldn’t survive more than a week without a home-cooked meal. One of the downfalls of being raised on home cooking: nothing else will suffice.
I promise every post is not going to be about random fruits and how to juice them. But here’s the thing – these lemons will cure you. Well, so say my parents.
At the first sign of a cold, a random sneeze, cough or sniffle – my dad will run out and return with a four pound bag of sweet lemons.
This pomegranate brought me back to life!
So said my 6 year old daughter Luna when she got through the very last drop of her abeh anar – pomegranate juice. Next came the search for any surviving seeds that didn’t have their juice sucked right out of them. Dainty, stained fingers ripped though the ravaged piece of fruit in hopes of one more little morsel, one more blood-red seed, one more crunch.
Copyright 2021 Naz Deravian. All Rights Reserved.