9.02.2010: Why Felines, Lactose and Faucets Are the Same Thing

The 9th is a perfect way to commemorate the 7th, because after all, it’s its 2/365th anniversary. Sadly, I seem to have permanent and terminal memory loss in all things related to the 7th, which was essentially a day spent at home trying to figure out how express myself in a way that, in view of coherence being an unreachable ideal, would at least get some kind of message across. With varying results: the idiot savant within me came up with the Farsi equivalent for “We don’t have lions in Poland,” which incidentally is said and written exactly the same as “We don’t have milk in Poland”, as well as “We don’t have taps in Poland” (Maa dar Lehistan shihr-ha na daarim). I hasten to add that we do indeed have milk in Poland, and the only taps we don’t have are the ones that are likely to play at the next American colonel’s funeral.

Just to fill in the massive wave of passionate readers, in Faro, I’m staying at a friend’s mother’s house, and the only line of communication can be established in Farsi, a language in whose case the entirety of my previous knowledge could be brought down to “one, two, three” and the five expressions Javid hastily wrote down on a piece of paper.

No doubt about it, though: the core, the marrow of the day was definitely the dinner, attended by quite a few people, namely Behrooz’s mom, his brother Mohammad, Nina, Somayeh, Atefeh, Javid, Mosab and a girl from Turkey named Tuba who I hadn’t known before, quite possibly because she arrived two weeks ago. Aside from bits and pieces of my brilliance that shone through such complicated phrases I learned as I am 20 years old, I was notable for being that kid on the sidelines who can but cast furlong glances while everyone else speaks Farsi and Turkish.



Seeing as part of my lifestyle transformation program is paying attention to culture and cuisine, this is also the time to discourage or encourage readers by naming some of the foodstuffs present. Unfortunately, I can name just one: āsh, a thickish soup typical of Iranian cuisine whose main ingredients are almost entirely composed of vegetables and herbs (Aunt Wiki speaks of legumes, onions, meat, parsley, spinach, dill and a host of other delicacies). Another curio was what seems to be called nargesi esfanaaj – fried spinach with eggs and onions. Since Iranian cuisine is heavily based on rice and pasta, both of them were in abundance of course.



But cultural enrichment didn’t stop there, and as Tuba made the Turkish coffee, I learned that Turkish coffee is a method, not a variety, and since a step-by-step guide to the method is readily available everywhere on the Web, I’ll spare myself the anguish of trying to explain. I was the odd man out when Tuba did some tasseography; Javid, Somayeh, Ati and Mosab had their fortunes told instead. I believe some more of my inglorious attempts at Farsi followed, but that with that, the evening concluded. Next time I see Tuba, I’ll ask her to do a quick reading; hopefully the dregs will read “JUMPSTART”. Preferrably in Farsi.