We host a Persian feast once a month, on the Eve of the full moon. The dining format is similar to our usual supper club, with one seating a night and a few courses - however the tone is set by the reverence we have for Iranian heritage, the long and valiant history of Iran and the fragrant dishes my mother feeds our family. The menus reflect where we are in the cycle of things, much like the waxing moonlight, and are an ode to the bountiful table I ate around as a kid, with all of the hearty and vibrant breads, stews, herbs, pickles and tea.
Our next Persian feast celebrates “Shabe Yalda”, the winter solstice,
the longest night of the year on Friday December 20th.
Persian food is magnetic — The ochres and sapphires and shocks of mint green, the warm, floral scent of saffron and rosewater, the bitter and tangy and the salty, that satisfying snap of perfectly bronzed tahdig, which without fail, elicits a chorus of coos and claps upon presentation.
Persian food is unifying —— reaching across the table and yanking everyone in. It is certainly the beauty and the care with which ingredients are presented, it’s also the rich history and intense symbolism the ingredients tell of, but mostly, it is how this cuisine exudes a warmth and generosity that has withstood centuries of upheaval and peace and upheaval and peace. There is a profound determination in Iranian people, and it can be tasted in our food.
Persian food is a celebration, it is reflective —- a gospel of sound and scent, worshipped by those keen enough to recognize its power. The dishes of which weaving a thread through time, pulling me closer to my mother and her mother and hers before that. And hopefully, drawing you in, too. It is why we celebrate the full moon by making these feasts, reverence present and spirits high. A holy prayer, to never feel very far away from the natural world, from the seasons, from our roots, from Iran.
It’s very much a celebration: of seasons and family and community and abundance —— Come prepared to feast.
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