Sweet rice for sweethearts: A Talk To Muckefuck Story™

[muckefuck]

I'd been thinking about a trip to Massouleh this week even before the eleventh hour invitation yesterday. When weren't able to take it up, I decided that we go today no matter what. Of course, I forgot one thing: Ugly Betty! So I told monshu to sit tight while I dashed over and brought back takeout.

There was one "customer" in the restaurant. I use the scare quotes because Azim, the owner, was sitting at his table when I came to the door and only jumped up when he spotted me. I've seen the portly old man there before and suspect he's an old friend. When I asked Azim about the weekly special, he went into a loving description of the fruit-and-nut-rich polow (پلو) he'll be serving for Valentine's Day. It sounded something like the shirin polow (شیرین پلو) I'd had before at Reza's. "But shirin polow is all mixed together," he told me. "With this, we serve the rice with chicken and then decorate it."

"Come back Saturday," said the man at the table. "And bring your wives!"
"How many do you think I have?"
"However many, bring them all at once!"
"I don't think that's a good idea. You have to keep them separate. Each to their own house. Don't let them meet, that only causes trouble."

I ordered fessenjan, gheimeh bademjan, and maust-o-khiar. Then I turned to your man and asked, "So how many wives do you have?"
"Eight!"
"Eight? I thought four was the limit!"
"I'm Mormon! Unlimited marriage!"
"Four is the legal limit," Azim reminded me. "You can have as many as you can support."

He brought me a cup of tea and insisted I sit down with his friend. I introduced myself and shook hands with "Bruce". Out of nowhere, he asked me, "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" "Ein bisschen," I said modestly, "Und Sie?" Turns out he went to Göttingen to study. He married a woman from there ("So she's Number 8?" "I had to get rid of the others or" *throat-cutting gesture*") and his son speaks five languages--English, German, Persian, French, and Spanish. Lucky bastard!

Bruce filled me in on his educational background, from studying engineering in Germany to sneaking into the Northwestern library and watching the Fall of Saigon at the neighbouring cafeteria. He told me about a good friend of his named "Siavash", "a good old Persian name."
"Like 'Bruce'," I said, grinning.
He made a gesture of resignation. "Behruz, but it gets Americanised."

By now, my food was ready. "I included a new appetiser," said Azim. "When you come back, tell me what you think." I wished them both "!خدا حافظ" Bruce/Behruz replied "Auf Wiedersehn! Schlaf gut!" Somehow, I think we may run into each other again.

Comments

[danbearnyc.livejournal.com]

I have no idea what you're talking about but you can't imagine how hungry reading your post has made me.