Persian Food and Fantasies

Last night, we joined two other couples for dinner as part of our UUVC “dinner for six” involvement. The meal was outstanding: multiple Persian dishes, from appetizers through the main courses to dessert. Our contribution was what I consider a bastardized version of baba ganoush. It included yoghurt, which I think it should not, and the eggplant was baked and not smoked. But it was tasty. I did not make it, but I helped until my wife shooed me out of the kitchen. We learned during our conversation that there’s a fairly large Persian (Iranian) community in Oklahoma. And we learned that one of the participant’s granddaughter is autistic. And we learned (but quickly forgot) the names of several dishes our hosts prepared. And we came home with zip-lock bags full of leftovers, a portion of which I had for breakfast very early this morning.

We have a friend who lived in Iran for a while a number of years ago. We haven’t talked to her about her experiences there in many years, but last night’s dinner made me want to spend time with her and listen to her talk about the food and the customs and the experiences to which she was exposed. She lived there with her ex-husband. I don’t know how long she was married to him; I never knew him, but I knew her before they were divorced. And I have known her and her current husband for many years. It’s hard to believe that it must have been 1977 or 1978 when we met. How could it have been forty years? I’m too young to have known anyone for forty years.

But, back to last night. Because it was late as we drove home through heavy fog, rain, and the sounds of thunder rattling the car as lightning lit up the sky, my wife decided she would rather not drive to her sister’s house to sleep in air conditioned comfort. So, back home, we opened all the windows and doors, turned on all the fans. We didn’t get to bed until after midnight. I slept reasonably well, but was up to pee around 3:30 and then I got up for the day at 5:00. I could have blogged, but didn’t. I could have written, but didn’t. I could have washed dishes or clothes, but I didn’t. Instead, I exposed my brain to the wash of bad news spawned by the fact that Donald Trump was born and later poisoned the minds of easily-manipulated people who feed off of fear, hatred, and xenophobia. But I’m getting off track, I guess. Oh, I did read the local weekly rag (Hot Springs Village Voice) online. And then, at around 7:15, the paper version was finally delivered to our driveway.

I included the name of the paper because I might read this post years hence, the way I’ve read other posts from years ago and realize I mention something in passing that I assumed I would remember later. But the detail is gone. So I try to include more detail than is necessary. But that detail is never enough, is it? So what’s the point? If I’m not going to include enough detail, why bother?

 

The rain has begun again, a steady drizzle that would soak me from head to foot were I to walk outdoors for a minute or two. But it’s not really heavy, pelting rain. Just a solid, soaking, constant drizzle that’s washing the streets of dust. When the rain comes, I feel the cool breeze come in the window and I like where I am, for the moment.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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