Acceptance: A New Season and a Persian Fesenjan-Pomengranate, Walnut Stew

In dreams that day, I chewed on God?s unripe fruits, I drank water without philosophy, I picked a berry without knowledge, no sooner did a pomegranate crack than it became the hand of the fount of yearning. Sohrab Sepehri

Each time I eat Persian food I am reminded of one particular neighbor when I was eight or nine years old. This particular neighbor was not at all popular in the area-to put it kindly. In fact, her family was doomed way before they actually moved into the house. Word had it, at least amongst the older children on my street, that ?communists,? ?refugees?, ?foreigners,? were moving in. These terms were synonymous with ?demons?, ?witches?, or ?extra-terrestrial creatures?-we had no idea, no clue as to what they were saying. The pact was, however, that these new neighbors should, at all costs-be avoided.

When asked why, all sorts of creative stories would be invented to justify the decision to ?avoid?. I remember feeling confused, and simply wrong about this, but did not know what to do and perhaps too weak to say anything.

We learned that the family had two children. They had to flee some ?far-off land?, lived in another ?farther-off-land? and were now landing on our street.

By mid-summer, we noticed that the house was occupied, due to the drapes we saw hanging to cover the windows. But as much as we all observed the house, there were no children to be seen.

People in the neighborhood had created all sort of theories of our new neighbors, and each time they were discussed voices would go down into a whisper, as if someone would come and get us, if heard. I remember begin terribly frightened each time I heard anyone speak of these new neighbors and in my mind, I began to imagine the most hideous of characters who were to become my neighbors.

One of my neighbors-an older girl (who really was the boss of all children on our street), ran back to us one day reporting that she had actually caught sight of the new neighbors-at least two grown-ups. She charged us each a dime to hear the story first-hand (She must be quite a business woman by now!).

We all huddled in excitement to hear about these ?characters?-and each and every one of us wanted to hear all of the ?gory? details. I cannot recall how they were described to me, but I do recall having terrible nightmares that night. We all had our theories as to why we never saw the children-and they were indeed horrific!

Each time my friends and I passed by the ?house?, we would run by-of course peering into the window to see if we cold catch but a glimpse of the inhabitants.

Once the summer had given way to fall and school had commenced, I slowly forgot about the ?horror house?, and the lost children-although we still ran by the house each time-perhaps even forgetting why.

As during the start of any school year, I saw a few new faces, and made friends with one particular girl.

It turns out that this new friend of mine was my new neighbor-THE neighbor, who had lived in THE house!!!! She had been visiting her father and his new wife over the summer in another part of the country, which is why she was not to be seen. This new knowledge had eradicated all of the theories that the kids had cooked up!

I was relieved to no end when I discovered this and most eager to run and tell all of the other neighborhood children the great news (without charging them ! For some reason, however, they wanted to hold onto these ideas in their head that these people were to be avoided, and started making fun of me for becoming friends with her.

How dare I?!

My friend just happened have come from a stigmazied country, a place where most people in our neighborhood knew nothing about, so they made up stories…

-The fear of the unknown-

I really liked this girl and started hanging our with her more and more. As our friendship progressed, I learned so much about the concept of ?home?, family, peace, will-power and faith. Our friendship was short, as my family then left the country. However, it was sweet and full of food!!!.

What I recall most was her mother?s cooking, and our discussions over the meals.

I shall never forgot how welcomed I felt within her home-with its beautifully ornate decor and sweet smells always embracing me. Even the plates were as exciting as the food itself. I remember eating the bread, humus, dolmades, and as far as my memory serves, a stew with a brown thick sweet and sour sauce with walnuts and pomegranate sprinkled on top. The look of this stew was most un-appealing, and I imagined it tasting horribly. It looked like a mass of brown goo with some unidentifiable lumps in it. But once I got over the initial hesitation and took my first bite, I was hooked. The taste was divine and unlike anything I had eaten before that occasion. It was rich, intense, sweet, sour, tangy, nutty, thick and wholesome and I adored it!

The dish features one of my favourite fruits-the pomegranate-a grand, exotic fruit, which is native to Persia. This glorious fruit plays a significant role in ancient texts throughout several religions throughout time. In the bible, it is considered the first fruit of the season, symbolises abundance fertility, knowledge, and peace.

I discovered much later on that that dish must have been Khoresh-e Fesenjan and each time I visit a Persian restaurant, I order it. I remember each time after leaving my friend?s home, wishing that all of the other neighborhood kids could join in to feel and experience the goodness, the honesty, the kindness, and the generosity, which I was lucky to have been a recipient of.

I wished so badly that the other children could see how unfair and unjustified the judgments were. This experience occurred during the time when I read ?To Kill a Mockingbird?, which has had a profound impact on my life, and is still today my absolutely most favourite book. I remember telling those children, that if they could step into their shoes for just a slight moment-they would understand and accept. But the bottom line was that they were simply frightened and ignorant.

I realised then how weak they were, and how easy it as for them to point the finger at ?the other? when really the ?other? is no different than themselves.

My friend, however, really did not care, and said that she was used to it. I admired her strength. I remember telling her that I wish everybody could have had one tiny taste of her mom?s cooking, and they would be completely different. We would laugh and imagine her mother?s food having special ?peace powers? to erase all bad thoughts, prejudices, and judgments from peoples? minds.

If only!

So, to embrace the onset of Fall,  the official closing of Summer (weep, weep), I decided to make a first attempt at my favourite Persian dish to symbolise a new season of peace, love and acceptance. I used the recipe by Najmieh Batmanglij, and I must admit that the dish was much simpler that I had ever imagined.

The most challenging part was juicing the pomegranates-which was simply time-consuming, however the entire process from start to finish was 2 hours and a bit. As I prepared this meal, I smiled with the memories of my first experience of having tasted it and can only hope that I have done it justice!

Allow me to close with an altered-by-me-version of the Rosh Hashanah prayer: ?In the coming season may we be rich and replete with acts inspired by love, peace and tolerance as the pomegranate is rich and replete with seeds.?

Ps. I used Tofu instead of chicken for my meal-

You might also like:Country Captain: Recipe for a southern chicken stew
Persian-inspired-slow-cooked goat shoulder with kumquat sauce
Summer in Berlin: Hackescher Market and Apricot Vinaigrette