Introduction 7 Iran 10 Nashta, food to begin the day with 27 Everyday comfort food & small dishes 47 The anatomy of an Iranian feast 71 By — or instead of — the tea 99 In Between 122 Recipes from the Levant & Eastern Mediterranean 129 ITALY 172 The market & the pantry: a few simple dishes 179 An appreciation of aperitivo 201 Il pranzo della domenica & other celebrations 223 Coffee, merenda & other indulgences 253 Suggested menus 276 Acknowledgements 278 Bibliography 280 Index 282Introduction 7 Iran 10 Nashta, food to begin the day with 27 Everyday comfort food & small dishes 47 The anatomy of an Iranian feast 71 By — or instead of — the tea 99 In Between 122 Recipes from the Levant & Eastern Mediterranean 129 ITALY 172 The market & the pantry: a few simple dishes 179 An appreciation of aperitivo 201 Il pranzo della domenica & other celebrations 223 Coffee, merenda & other indulgences 253 Suggested menus 276 Acknowledgements 278 Bibliography 280 Index 282Continued overleaf › Iranian rice Chelow | ولچ Iranian rice is the pride and joy of contemporary Iranian cuisine — an art form perfected over many centuries. We fuss over our rice way more than Italians fuss over pasta; we just haven’t been given the chance to tell the world how opinionated we are about it. Different varieties of rice are grown in Iran, mainly in the green line in the north, sandwiched between the Caspian Sea and Alborz Mountains. The best-quality rice is fragrant, and has long grains that don’t break down easily, and lengthen nicely during cooking. There are a couple of different techniques for cooking Iranian rice. The one I describe here is perhaps most commonly used, and although it may sound tedious with two cooking stages, including long, slow steaming, I believe it achieves the best result more easily. Before cooking, the rice needs to be cleaned of small stones. It is then rinsed gently with cold water several times until the water is almost clear; the water will always remain a bit cloudy. Where Iranian rice can’t be found, basmati is an acceptable substitute. It’s best for Iranian rice to be soaked in water overnight with a generous amount of salt, as this allows the rice grains to swell during cooking without breaking (a mark of good-quality rice is that it can withstand long soaking and cooking). For basmati rice, even an hour of soaking is enough, although 2–3 hours is better. Basmati also needs to be properly seasoned with salt, and this is best done during the soaking time. There are two cooking stages. The first, parboiling, only takes a few minutes with the basmati I’ve been using in the West, although the cooking time varies based on the quality of rice, as well as the altitude of the region you’re cooking in, as water takes longer to boil at higher elevations than at sea level. After parboiling you drain the rice; if you want to prepare tahdig — the famous crust at the bottom of the pot of rice that everyone adores — you can make it at this stage. You can make tahdig in several ways — with rice alone; or you can add a few spoonfuls of yoghurt and a dash of saffron infusion for a cakey tahdig quite similar to tahchin (page 72); or using slices of raw potato (my absolute favourite), or pieces of thin flat bread, such as lavash. A generous amount of oil is always required for the bottom of the pot. I suggest using a mixture of a neutral-flavoured cooking oil and ghee (although you can skip the latter), and butter or ghee for the top. Olive oil is not a good choice for cooking Iranian rice as it is too strongly flavoured. The second stage of cooking is steaming (or what Iranians call ‘brewing’). If you steam the rice plain, without any condiments, then the rice is called chelow. If you layer the parboiled rice with a condiment or other ingredients (as you do with the lubia polow on page 48), it’s a polow (pilaf). 22 Pomegranates & ArtichokesContinued overleaf › Iranian rice Chelow | ولچ Iranian rice is the pride and joy of contemporary Iranian cuisine — an art form perfected over many centuries. We fuss over our rice way more than Italians fuss over pasta; we just haven’t been given the chance to tell the world how opinionated we are about it. Different varieties of rice are grown in Iran, mainly in the green line in the north, sandwiched between the Caspian Sea and Alborz Mountains. The best-quality rice is fragrant, and has long grains that don’t break down easily, and lengthen nicely during cooking. There are a couple of different techniques for cooking Iranian rice. The one I describe here is perhaps most commonly used, and although it may sound tedious with two cooking stages, including long, slow steaming, I believe it achieves the best result more easily. Before cooking, the rice needs to be cleaned of small stones. It is then rinsed gently with cold water several times until the water is almost clear; the water will always remain a bit cloudy. Where Iranian rice can’t be found, basmati is an acceptable substitute. It’s best for Iranian rice to be soaked in water overnight with a generous amount of salt, as this allows the rice grains to swell during cooking without breaking (a mark of good-quality rice is that it can withstand long soaking and cooking). For basmati rice, even an hour of soaking is enough, although 2–3 hours is better. Basmati also needs to be properly seasoned with salt, and this is best done during the soaking time. There are two cooking stages. The first, parboiling, only takes a few minutes with the basmati I’ve been using in the West, although the cooking time varies based on the quality of rice, as well as the altitude of the region you’re cooking in, as water takes longer to boil at higher elevations than at sea level. After parboiling you drain the rice; if you want to prepare tahdig — the famous crust at the bottom of the pot of rice that everyone adores — you can make it at this stage. You can make tahdig in several ways — with rice alone; or you can add a few spoonfuls of yoghurt and a dash of saffron infusion for a cakey tahdig quite similar to tahchin (page 72); or using slices of raw potato (my absolute favourite), or pieces of thin flat bread, such as lavash. A generous amount of oil is always required for the bottom of the pot. I suggest using a mixture of a neutral-flavoured cooking oil and ghee (although you can skip the latter), and butter or ghee for the top. Olive oil is not a good choice for cooking Iranian rice as it is too strongly flavoured. The second stage of cooking is steaming (or what Iranians call ‘brewing’). If you steam the rice plain, without any condiments, then the rice is called chelow. If you layer the parboiled rice with a condiment or other ingredients (as you do with the lubia polow on page 48), it’s a polow (pilaf). 22 Pomegranates & ArtichokesThe unthinkable Iranian ‘makaroni’ ینوراکام Some time in recent history, the modern form of Italian-ish pasta found its way into Iran. However, it’s a mistake to think that Iranians have been strangers to noodles and pasta in general. In fact, one of the oldest written records of noodles is lakhsha, known in Eastern parts of Iran and Afghanistan as lakhshak, supposedly ‘invented’ by the Sasanian King Khosrow. The same word travelled to Central Asia and Eastern Europe, becoming lapsha in Russia and laska in Hungary, both meaning ‘noodles’. Perhaps the most famous noodle in Iran today is reshteh (literally meaning ‘string’), which stars in the hearty bean, herb and noodle dish ash reshteh, and reshteh polow (pilaf with noodles). Khingal, a popular dish in Azerbaijan (and one I grew up eating at my grandmother’s house), is made of wide noodles, not unlike lasagne, that are boiled, then dressed with minced (ground) lamb and onion, a lot of yoghurt, and minty oil — a condiment also used for many noodle dishes in Turkey, such as manti (mini dumplings). In Iran, any pasta in general is now called makaroni in domestic use (if we don’t count the new trends of recent years, where you can find penne and fusilli on restaurant menus, complete with amusing Iranian pronunciations). The typical makaroni sauce is definitely inspired by a classic bolognese, but somewhere along the way it’s been tamed and domesticated to fit the Iranian palate, with so much golden onion, a touch of turmeric, cinnamon and saffron, and only just a hint of tomato paste. Remarkably, the method for cooking Iranian makaroni is precisely the same as for Iranian rice (page 22) — parboiled, drained and then steamed under a tea towel–clad lid for too long a time for pasta, which as a reward results in an awesome makaroni tahdig, soaked in the oils and flavours of the Iranian sauce. This was a kids’ favourite when I went to school, and — brace yourself — we ate it with huge spurts of ketchup. However, I have cooked spaghetti (and better yet, its thicker cousin spaghettoni) this way for my Italian friends, and they have approved, as the flavour very much resembles that of pasta al forno, a classic pasta bake. The trick is to undercook the pasta in the first step (the parboiling), so that it won’t be overcooked after the long second stage (the steaming). Expect a final dish a lot less saucy than your average Italian pasta. In fact, I won’t judge you if you put a bottle of ketchup on the table when serving. It’s an Iranian makaroni, after all. Continued overleaf › Iran 61The unthinkable Iranian ‘makaroni’ ینوراکام Some time in recent history, the modern form of Italian-ish pasta found its way into Iran. However, it’s a mistake to think that Iranians have been strangers to noodles and pasta in general. In fact, one of the oldest written records of noodles is lakhsha, known in Eastern parts of Iran and Afghanistan as lakhshak, supposedly ‘invented’ by the Sasanian King Khosrow. The same word travelled to Central Asia and Eastern Europe, becoming lapsha in Russia and laska in Hungary, both meaning ‘noodles’. Perhaps the most famous noodle in Iran today is reshteh (literally meaning ‘string’), which stars in the hearty bean, herb and noodle dish ash reshteh, and reshteh polow (pilaf with noodles). Khingal, a popular dish in Azerbaijan (and one I grew up eating at my grandmother’s house), is made of wide noodles, not unlike lasagne, that are boiled, then dressed with minced (ground) lamb and onion, a lot of yoghurt, and minty oil — a condiment also used for many noodle dishes in Turkey, such as manti (mini dumplings). In Iran, any pasta in general is now called makaroni in domestic use (if we don’t count the new trends of recent years, where you can find penne and fusilli on restaurant menus, complete with amusing Iranian pronunciations). The typical makaroni sauce is definitely inspired by a classic bolognese, but somewhere along the way it’s been tamed and domesticated to fit the Iranian palate, with so much golden onion, a touch of turmeric, cinnamon and saffron, and only just a hint of tomato paste. Remarkably, the method for cooking Iranian makaroni is precisely the same as for Iranian rice (page 22) — parboiled, drained and then steamed under a tea towel–clad lid for too long a time for pasta, which as a reward results in an awesome makaroni tahdig, soaked in the oils and flavours of the Iranian sauce. This was a kids’ favourite when I went to school, and — brace yourself — we ate it with huge spurts of ketchup. However, I have cooked spaghetti (and better yet, its thicker cousin spaghettoni) this way for my Italian friends, and they have approved, as the flavour very much resembles that of pasta al forno, a classic pasta bake. The trick is to undercook the pasta in the first step (the parboiling), so that it won’t be overcooked after the long second stage (the steaming). Expect a final dish a lot less saucy than your average Italian pasta. In fact, I won’t judge you if you put a bottle of ketchup on the table when serving. It’s an Iranian makaroni, after all. Continued overleaf › Iran 61An imitation of traditional Iranian ice cream Bastani sonnati | یتنس ینتسب I love cooking, but I’m also a great sponsor of laziness in the kitchen, whenever possible. Sometimes I’ll go through a labour of love to create something as time consuming and detailed as sartù (page 237), but other times I just want something that quenches a craving without going through the trouble of a long preparation. In Iran, we don’t just enjoy our traditional ice cream, bastani sonnati. Indeed, I was once obsessed with an American ice cream, Baskin-Robbins, that mysteriously appeared in Iran, despite decade- long trade sanctions. (Equally mysterious is how we get the latest iPhones before they make it to Europe, when part of those economic sanctions mean we’re not able to use any credit cards in Iran.) Traditional bastani sonnati, though, is a delight. Its texture is different from regular ice cream, as there are no eggs, and the main ingredient is sahlep, a flour made from orchid roots! This is what gives bastani sonnati its stretchy quality, and it is also present (together with mastic, a tree resin) in bakdash booza, the famous ice cream from Damascus — which apart from being stretchy, is also chewy. Bastani sonnati is often served between two paper-thin wafers, like a sandwich, and it has chunky pieces of frozen clotted cream in it, too. The recipe below is an ode to laziness and a bit of cunning in the kitchen. It’s not the traditional recipe: it’s how to take a tub of plain ice cream and make it as similar to bastani sonnati as possible. No orchid roots, no tree resin, and no vigorous mixing. Unsurprisingly, as with many other Iranian sweets, the ‘secret’ is in the use of rosewater, saffron and pistachios. Easy, floral and impressive. Leave the ice cream at room temperature to soften for about 10 minutes. In a small mortar, bash the cardamom pods to break them open and release the seeds (save the pods to infuse into a tea). Add the sugar, then crush the cardamom seeds into a fine powder. (Skip this step if you’re using ground cardamom, obviously — but apart from giving you a more fragrant cardamom powder, this step would also give you the sense of actually having done something to make this sumptuous dessert.) Prepare the saffron infusion based on the recipe on page 18, but use one-third of the indicated water and dilute it with the rosewater. Mix in the cardamom powder. Serves 4–6 500 g (1 lb 2 oz) plain white or vanilla ice cream 12 cardamom pods (or 1 teaspoon ground cardamom) a tiny pinch of sugar 3 tablespoons saffron infusion (page 18) 2 tablespoons rosewater a large handful of pistachio kernels, bashed into a coarse powder Damascus rose petals, to garnish (optional) Continued overleaf › 104 Pomegranates & ArtichokesAn imitation of traditional Iranian ice cream Bastani sonnati | یتنس ینتسب I love cooking, but I’m also a great sponsor of laziness in the kitchen, whenever possible. Sometimes I’ll go through a labour of love to create something as time consuming and detailed as sartù (page 237), but other times I just want something that quenches a craving without going through the trouble of a long preparation. In Iran, we don’t just enjoy our traditional ice cream, bastani sonnati. Indeed, I was once obsessed with an American ice cream, Baskin-Robbins, that mysteriously appeared in Iran, despite decade- long trade sanctions. (Equally mysterious is how we get the latest iPhones before they make it to Europe, when part of those economic sanctions mean we’re not able to use any credit cards in Iran.) Traditional bastani sonnati, though, is a delight. Its texture is different from regular ice cream, as there are no eggs, and the main ingredient is sahlep, a flour made from orchid roots! This is what gives bastani sonnati its stretchy quality, and it is also present (together with mastic, a tree resin) in bakdash booza, the famous ice cream from Damascus — which apart from being stretchy, is also chewy. Bastani sonnati is often served between two paper-thin wafers, like a sandwich, and it has chunky pieces of frozen clotted cream in it, too. The recipe below is an ode to laziness and a bit of cunning in the kitchen. It’s not the traditional recipe: it’s how to take a tub of plain ice cream and make it as similar to bastani sonnati as possible. No orchid roots, no tree resin, and no vigorous mixing. Unsurprisingly, as with many other Iranian sweets, the ‘secret’ is in the use of rosewater, saffron and pistachios. Easy, floral and impressive. Leave the ice cream at room temperature to soften for about 10 minutes. In a small mortar, bash the cardamom pods to break them open and release the seeds (save the pods to infuse into a tea). Add the sugar, then crush the cardamom seeds into a fine powder. (Skip this step if you’re using ground cardamom, obviously — but apart from giving you a more fragrant cardamom powder, this step would also give you the sense of actually having done something to make this sumptuous dessert.) Prepare the saffron infusion based on the recipe on page 18, but use one-third of the indicated water and dilute it with the rosewater. Mix in the cardamom powder. Serves 4–6 500 g (1 lb 2 oz) plain white or vanilla ice cream 12 cardamom pods (or 1 teaspoon ground cardamom) a tiny pinch of sugar 3 tablespoons saffron infusion (page 18) 2 tablespoons rosewater a large handful of pistachio kernels, bashed into a coarse powder Damascus rose petals, to garnish (optional) Continued overleaf › 104 Pomegranates & ArtichokesNext >