Zereshk – barberries – like memories – first need to be sorted through. Scatter them on a plate as you would dried legumes, and with a discerning eye pick out the older, shriveled and darker looking ones. Hang on to the bright crimson ones. Occasionally you might come across a small stone, pebble, or something of the sort. Give those the boot as well. While you’re at it remove the little stems too.
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.
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.
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.