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Mar. 20th, 2013 10:54 pm
The obligatory "Where is spring?" post
Yeah, I know that "OMG it's the vernal equinox and there's still snow on the ground outside!" posts are tedious, but, really, when the observed high on that date is 7 Fahrenheit (4 Celsius) degrees below the freezing point and you don't live in Canada or Alaska, I think that's worthy of a mention. Particularly when last year at this time flowering trees were busting out all over and all there is to see now are witch hazel, a couple patches of snowdrops, and the very first winter aconite.
So with no real signs of spring around us,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu and I felt more impetus than usual to mark this meteorological fiction, which is how we ended up at Masouleh for Nowruz. It was pretty quiet when we arrived--just us and two more gay male couples--but it didn't stay that way. As we were finishing up our meal, a dozen female friends and relations of the owners poured in and took up the tables against the opposite wall (and not, as they briefly threatened to, the tables directly adjacent to us).
Our usual table was occupied, so Azim had seated us directly in front of the haft-sin, which looked especially impressive this year. This was primarily on account of the immense platters of sprouted greens courtesy of Azim's sister. "Take a picture!" urged Goly as I was admiring it, so I did.
For once, her warmth didn't feel forced to me. She seemed genuinely touched that the Old Man and I had brought them a potted hyacinth, a traditional Nowruz decoration (sombol in Persian, making it one of the "seven s's" for some Iranians).
The special was a Nowruz standard, sabzi polow ba mâhi (herb pilaf with fried whitefish). I tried to eat it all--plus both my tahdig andmonshu's--and might've succeeded as well if we hadn't been surprised with an extra eggplant appetizer on the house. After a chenjeh kabâb and dish of olives with garlic and pomegranate, the Old Man was so full he didn't even think of ordering ice cream--though he did manage to find room for one of the jumbo-sized macaroons Goly offered us.
So with no real signs of spring around us,
monshu and I felt more impetus than usual to mark this meteorological fiction, which is how we ended up at Masouleh for Nowruz. It was pretty quiet when we arrived--just us and two more gay male couples--but it didn't stay that way. As we were finishing up our meal, a dozen female friends and relations of the owners poured in and took up the tables against the opposite wall (and not, as they briefly threatened to, the tables directly adjacent to us).Our usual table was occupied, so Azim had seated us directly in front of the haft-sin, which looked especially impressive this year. This was primarily on account of the immense platters of sprouted greens courtesy of Azim's sister. "Take a picture!" urged Goly as I was admiring it, so I did.
For once, her warmth didn't feel forced to me. She seemed genuinely touched that the Old Man and I had brought them a potted hyacinth, a traditional Nowruz decoration (sombol in Persian, making it one of the "seven s's" for some Iranians).The special was a Nowruz standard, sabzi polow ba mâhi (herb pilaf with fried whitefish). I tried to eat it all--plus both my tahdig and
monshu's--and might've succeeded as well if we hadn't been surprised with an extra eggplant appetizer on the house. After a chenjeh kabâb and dish of olives with garlic and pomegranate, the Old Man was so full he didn't even think of ordering ice cream--though he did manage to find room for one of the jumbo-sized macaroons Goly offered us.