The Art of Devouring Dizi

The best way to understand the art of devouring dizi is to persuade your Iranian friends to take you out for lunch.  Having succeeded easily enough in this, I set out with my dear friends from the Tehran Peace Museum to do the devouring.  Shahriar, Elaheh and Fatemeh took me, and our daughters Phoebe and Sarah, to the traditional Azari Teahouse at Number 1 Valiasr Street, right next to the hubbub of Railway Square.

Devouring Dizi at the Azari Teahouse –

 Phoebe, Sarah, Shahriar, Fatemeh and Elaheh.

So, after a morning at the museum, we all jumped into a couple of Tehran’s fabulously green taxis and zipped off to the famous Azari Teahouse. 

Opened in 1948, the original owner’s ambition was to recreate the interior to reflect the customs, art and ambience of traditional Iran.  Walking in to the teahouse, the aroma of fruity tobacco wafted from the countless and precariously placed qaylans (water pipes).  The dimly lit courtyard, covered in a tented roof, was where we chose to sit.  It was very atmospheric.  Our particularly capacious takht, covered in a crimson Persian rug, was backed by a cool, blue-tiled fishpond.

Mention the word dizi to an Iranian, and you can be guaranteed a glimpse into family history and a sparkling discourse on whose grandmother makes the best one.  My good friend, Shahriar, placed the order and we sat down, ready and willing for an interactive culinary history lesson.

Dizi, also known as abgusht, which translated literally means “water meat”, is quintessentially a Persian delicacy.  A traditional Iranian stew, dizi basically consists of lamb, chickpeas, white beans, potatoes, tomatoes, onion, turmeric and Omani (black) limes.  The name, dizi, comes from the stone pots in which this scrumptious stew is cooked. 

There was a lot of “oohing” and “aahing” when the waiter arrived with an enormous silver tray on which were to be found our blue, earthenware dizi pots, steaming hot and sizzling.  The pots were placed on our sofreh with two overflowing baskets of sabzi khordan herbs, yogurt and pickles, and some freshly baked sangak bread.

And so the lesson began.

The dizi pots were scorching hot and we learned that the best way to lift them was to take two pieces of sangak in either hand and use the bread as an organic, edible oven glove.  Then we took a spoon and plucked out the layer of cooked sheep fat off the top and placed it in a separate soup bowl.  The dizi was served with a wooden pestle, which we used to crush the fat and then poured it back into the pot to be mixed with the stew.

Perhaps, for the health-conscious or faint-of heart-this may seem unappealing, but hang in there, it is worth the wait.

Shahriar demonstrating gush koubideh

Next, and here I hope you will have better luck than I did when I splattered a good deal of it all over my feet, the trick was to pour only the broth into the soup bowl.  Tearing our sangak into pieces, the bite size bits were popped into the broth to soak up the juices and using a spoon, we slurped it all up.  Elaheh shared with me her family custom of having a whole raw onion served with dizi and the practiced art of smashing the onion with your fist to break it apart.  For the sake of the other diners, we decided to give that step a miss.

But, you might now be asking, what happened to all those chickpeas, potatoes, tomatoes and lamb?  Well, the next step was to pick up our wooden pestle again, carefully arrange the still hot dizi at arm’s length and grind the remaining ingredients into a mush. 

Apparently, it is traditional when dizi is served at home, for the father of the house to perform the respected duty of the mushing process, known as gush koubideh.  We gave this job to Shahriar, being the only male in the company.

The next and final step was to eat the mush, with the sangak bread, herbs, yogurt and pickles until we couldn’t eat any more.

Everything was washed down with cups of the Iranian fresh yogurt drink called doogh.

For me, it was an amazing learning experience.  And, while extremely tasty, dizi is certainly not designed to make you lose any kilograms.  But before I leave you with the recipe, I have some good news for all the male readers of this blog. 

Reliable sources have informed me that when men get to a “certain age” in Iran, it is expected that they have an ample belly.  It is apparently a sign of a good and respected man.

You go, guys!

Dizi Recipe

1kg lamb shank (or beef)

1 can (425g) chickpeas

1 can (425g) white beans

3 garlic cloves

1 large onion

5 dried (Omani) limes

2 bunches of coriander

5 small potatoes

5 small tomatoes

Salt, freshly ground black pepper and turmeric

What to do:

Soak the Omani limes for about 10 minutes. Before putting them in the stew, prick little holes in the lime with a pin or toothpick. Chop the coriander very finely.

Put the lamb (beef) in a pot and cover with water and bring to the boil.  Remove any scum with a spoon and continue to do this until there is no scum or foamy stuff.

Add the chopped garlic and onion.  Cover the pot, bring to the boil again, lower the heat and simmer for about 2 hours over a moderate heat until the beef is cooked. You may need to add more water.  Add the potatoes and simmer for another 30 minutes on a lower heat. Then add the chickpeas, white beans, tomatoes, coriander, and seasonings.  Pop the limes in the pot and simmer with the lid on but with a slight space to allow the steam to escape. Simmer for another 45 minutes over a moderate heat. Then serve it up with bread, herbs, yogurt and pickles. Remember to take out the dried limes.