♪ 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 ♪
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.
♪ 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.
It’s not a graceful entrance.
We crash/bang/sing/stumble/dance/pontificate/drag/whine/laugh our way into the house. Backpacks hit the the floor with a thunderous clatter. Jackets are tossed in one direction – even though the coat hooks are at arms length – and at kid height. Two sets of shoes fly up and come crashing back down – briefly electrifying the room with a shower of sparkly lights.
He bursts through the front door – unwittingly inviting in the crisp November breeze. Out of breath and on a mission, he spreads out a world map on the kitchen table. An explorer out at sea – years in search of a long-lost exotic land. And now so close to setting his eyes upon it. Almost within reach.
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.
Copyright 2021 Naz Deravian. All Rights Reserved.