Khan - The Saffron Tales

For Pedar Bozorg, my grandfather,
who taught me how to eat.

B EFORE WE BEGIN, Id like to address a sometimes perplexing question: Iran or Persia? Persia was the name given to Iran by the Ancient Greeks several thousand years ago. Since that time, the West has used the term to describe the empire and the country whose inhabitants were called Persians and who spoke the Persian language. However, people inside the country have always referred to it as Iran, a place where Iranians live, who speak their native language, Farsi.

This all changed in 1935 when the Iranian government requested that all foreign embassies refer to their country as Iran.

To Iranians, the name Iran is inseparable from their countrys rich and ancient cultural traditions, which gave rise to one of the worlds most influential civilizationspioneering advances in astronomy, science, and medicine, as well as exquisite art, beautiful carpets, and architectural prowess. For most non-Iranians, however, Iran has no such cultural connotations and these days is more commonly associated with the countrys recent political history. Because of this, some Iranians prefer to refer to their country as Persia when talking to non-Iranians, particularly when they are discussing something cultural, such as food. I use the words Iranian and Persian interchangeably in this book.

Introduction

When I was little and living in Iran, I used to sob my heart out each morning as my mother got ready to leave for work. Clinging to her legs, I would beg her not to go, and, to appease me, Mum would explain that she needed to go to work to earn money so she could buy me some pomegranates. I practically pushed her out the door when I heard this.

My obsession with pomegranates started early, nurtured by visits to my grandparents farm where I could pick the fruit fresh from the trees. I had a knack for vigorously rubbing the leathered skin of the fruit between my hands, listening to its ruby seeds quietly pop and crunch beneath my fingers, until the pomegranate was soft and pulpy enough for me to tear a hole in one end and squeeze its scarlet juices into my mouth. I dont even want to think about the number of outfits I ruined over the years by being too hasty or clumsy in my efforts.

I was born in Croydon, south London, but my mothers side of the family comes from the sub-tropical shores of the Caspian Sea in northern Iran. Growing up in 1980s Britain, I was always acutely aware of the gulf that existed between the Iran I knew and loved and the Iran depicted on the news. As I got older, this gulf turned into a chasm and my frequent trips to Iran to visit my maternal family were greeted with surprise and intrigue from friends and colleagues alike. With raised eyebrows, people would ask probing questions, fascinated to know how an independent Western woman such as myself could take so much pleasure in visiting a country fraught with controversy and turbulence.

My answer was simple. I loved the exuberance, warm-heartedness, and affection of the Iranian people; I loved the dramatic mountains and dazzling scenery of Irans landscapes; and I loved the garlic- and herb-infused food that harmonized sweet and sour flavors so perfectly.

Shortly after I was born, my grandparents moved to a small piece of land outside Astaneh-e Ashrafieh, a small town in the Gilan province of Iran, and began working the land, growing rice and vegetables for sale in the local markets. They grew pumpkins, squash, eggplants, tomatoes, potatoes, peppers, chiles, garlic, spinach, half a dozen different varieties of beans, and countless fresh green herbs, as well as apples, oranges, quinces, blackberries, strawberries, watermelons, cantaloupe, kiwis, greengages, persimmons, and loquat. Needless to say, no one ever went hungry at our house.

I remember sitting with my grandmother, cross-legged on the kitchen floor, making jar upon jar of pickled garlic, and being sternly lectured by my uncle, also a rice farmer, on how important it was to cook rice properly so that all the grains stayed separate. But it was my grandfather, Ahmad Rabiee, who really nurtured my love of good food. Pedar Bozorg (which means grandfather in Farsi) was the kind of man who would drive for several hours just to buy 2 lbs of his favorite oranges when they were in season, or embark on solo hikes through the mountainous terrain of Gilans forests to source pots of his favorite organic honey. One time he poked me and my cousins awake with his walking stick at 6 am to share a basket of figs hed just picked from the tree in the front garden. And we knew if we werent up and at the table by 6:05 am, hed have eaten the lot.

The inspiration behind this book came from my desire to share the Iran I know and love. Armed with little more than a notepad and a bottle of pomegranate molasses, I traversed almost 2,000 miles of the countrys rugged landscapes searching for recipes and stories that captured modern Iranian life.

I traveled from the snowy mountains of Tabriz to the cosmopolitan cafs of Tehran, via the rice paddies of the Caspian Sea and the majestic deserts of central Iran, ending up at the tropical fishing ports of the Persian Gulf. On my journey I visited saffron farms and pomegranate orchards, artisan chocolatiers and ancient tea houses, cooking and eating with farmers, artists, electricians, and schoolteachers. As we ate together, the people I met shared the stories behind the food they love and the country they call home, and it is their stories that are interwoven with the recipes in this book.

Some of the recipes are for dishes that have been cooked the same way for thousands of years, others are modern interpretations of Iranian classics, and others still take inspiration from Persian ingredients. Many reflect my personal preference for moving toward vegetarian and plant-based food. At the heart of all of the recipes though is a common thread: a celebration of a side of Iran that never makes the headlines but that is central to its storyits amazing food.

A taste of Iran

Persian cuisine weaves together a myriad of delicate spices and elegant flavors gathered from Irans position at the heart of the old Silk Road.

Those unfamiliar with the food often come to the sofreh (the patterned tablecloth on which dishes are served) expecting spicy, fiery flavors, perhaps more befitting the countrys climate and politics, and are often surprised to find that the cuisine is gentle and soothinga poetic balance of subtle flavors such as dried limes, saffron, and orange blossom.

Slow-cooked stews known as khoresht and elaborate rice dishes layered with herbs, vegetables, legumes, meat, nuts, and fruit are the bedrocks of Persian cuisine, creating a dazzling mosaic of scents, textures, and colors at the dining sofreh. There are innumerable different types of khoresht, with regional and seasonal specialities, but each will be sure to have a sour and sweet balanceIrans most dominant taste.