Soboor – A Fishy Tale!

Like all Scots, I do like a good “fish supper”. So, during our recent trip to Khuzestan Province, I was very excited when we were invited by friends to try the local dish of soboor – which is a type of shad fish grilled in the traditional manner with a deliciously coriander-based sauce.

Eating soboor, is an art form in itself and I was forewarned that I would have to eat it with my fingers. Having lived in India for almost five years, I knew this would not prove a problem.  And, as luck would have it, I was also given a personal demonstration on the skills required for this feast from a new acquaintance whose name was Mola Soleh.

Mola Soleh demonstrating how to eat soboor

Mola Soleh is an Iranian gentleman who was once stigmatized by his countrymen for collaborating with Saddam Hossein by serving – himself a prisoner of Iraq – as an interpreter for the dictator. However, the true story behind his heroism – and how he managed to save many Iranian prisoners from certain death in Saddam’s dungeons – has only emerged in recent years and the record has been put right.

This man was my teacher on eating soboor. 

Now no longer a “caged bird” as he had been in prison, Mola Soleh took great joy in everyday things – including demonstrating the fish-eating technique. The soboor arrived flat on the plate, smothered in a thick green herby sauce consisting of onion, coriander and spices. According to Mola Saleh, the soboor starts its journey as a young fish in east Africa and then migrates to the Persian Gulf. The more mature fish is then caught, grilled and eaten on Fridays.

The key to eating soboor is to pull it apart by taking one end of the spine of the fish and tearing it in one smooth move.  You discard the spine and pop the fish on your plate, already filled with a mound of rice. Mola Saleh did this with consummate ease, and then quietly tucked into his lunch.

Well, that looks easy, I thought. And so, with the delicacy of a dancing bull, I managed to plaster the green sauce up to my elbows, with a disobedient little blob landing on my headscarf. With even less finesse, I scooped up some of the tender white flesh and dropped it on top of my rice, hoping that no one really noticed the proper mess I had succeeded in making.

A sudden silence overtook the lunch table as all the soboor eaters busied themselves with the next step in the consuming process – removing the bones from the now-spineless fish. And here was where my fingers came in very handy, as there were lots of bones. It was hard work, but worth it for the tasty experience.

As soon as Mola Saleh finished his soboor, he immediately picked up a plate of fresh Bam dates and munched away peacefully. I asked if this was the normal accompaniment for this particular repast, and was immediately inundated with an Iranian culinary history lesson on hot and cold food.  The fish, I was informed was cold, and the dates were hot!

I was puzzled.  I pondered over the fact that the fish had just come from a hot grill.  The dates, on the other hand, seemed a tad on the cool side to me. This led to further explanations.  The term “hot and cold” food has nothing at all to do with the temperature the food, but with harmonious bodily balance. My friends told me that Iranians believe food is fuel for the body and that each food item has its own nature. The key to healthy eating is balance.

Freshly Grilled Soboor

This concept of “hot and cold” food piqued my culinary imagination and so after a little digging around I found some possible origins. 

Although some sources claim the origin is with the ancient Persian religious philosophy of Zoroastrianism, the jury tends to weigh more on the side of ancient Greek origins.

Iran has been host to many “visitors” throughout its history and the invasion around 326 B.C. by Alexander, brought with it more than battle-weary soldiers. The ancient Greeks had further developed the medical theory for a healthy body by their famous physician, Hippocrates. This science proclaimed that our good health was the result of a balance of the four bodily “humors” – earth, water, air and fire.

While we in the West still spout out the old line that “an apple a day keeps the doctor away”, modern Iranians continue to believe in keeping sickness at bay by controlling the diet. My reliable source of all Iranian information, Mr. Rashidi, informed me that if you don’t eat the correct balance of “hot and cold” food every day, you can just feel that your body is not right. I experimented with the theory by eating too much shrimp and rice in Abadan and, yes, I think it’s true.

So, I will leave you with a brief list of hot and cold foods.

Try it for yourself and see!

Hot Food

Chicken, animal fats, eggs, honey, dates, wheat, sugar, dried fruit and vegetables, walnuts, banana, mango…

Cold Food

Fish, most beef, rice, dairy products, pomegranates, most fresh fruit and vegetables…

Abadan: Curry Capital of Iran

“We have just driven exactly 1000 kilometres from Tehran!” beamed a satisfied Mr. Rashidi as we slipped into the bougainvillea-skirted driveway of the Hotel Caravansera in Abadan last weekend. 

The drive from Tehran to Abadan was indeed long, but certainly worth every kilometer. Rangelands, snow-capped mountains, fertile valleys – a geologist’s wonderland of rock formations and lots of sheep passed us by until we finally reached the hot lowlands of Khuzestan and followed the Arvand River to our destination near the Persian Gulf.

Gary enjoying ghalieh meigoo at the Pakistan Central Restaurant

As we drove into the hotel, Gary jumped out to greet our good friends Shahriar from the Tehran Peace Museum and Habib Ahmadzadeh, a war veteran, award-winning author and documentary film-maker. Habib had invited Gary, Phoebe, Sarah and myself to visit the battlefields and memorial sites from the Iran-Iraq War (1980-1988). Of course, we jumped at the chance. 

In a short, but jam-packed two days, we met veterans in Faw, Shalamcheh, Khorramshahr and Abadan. It was a fascinating, whirlwind, personalized history tour of a dramatic and grim period that defined a generation of Iranians. We were utterly moved by the experience. Gary and I are both of this generation ourselves and we were speaking with our contemporaries about a conflict which we followed on the radio from the safety of lands far away. The stories we were told attested to the tragedy of the conflict and the pain, but also the ingenuity of Iran’s defenders and the pride they take in telling how they defended their homeland.

The trip is something which I would certainly recommend.

Yet, despite the intermittent reminders of former conflict and the heady aroma of the oldest petroleum site in the Middle East, the air in Abadan is full of spices. Close to the Persian Gulf and with Iraq just across the river, the city is bustling and diverse, and tends to come alive around 5pm. Walking along the streets of the bazaar, the tempting smells of freshly baked baklava, deep fried samosas and barrels of pickled vegetables swirl around in this intoxicating desert climate.

After a busy morning of memorable sightseeing, we found ourselves in the rather surprising Pakistan Central Restaurant on the corner of Pahlavi Street. Reputed to be a very famous establishment, with its own Facebook page, we were most excited to venture forth for a good curry. 

Now, truth be told, Iranians are not lovers of very hot or spicy food. Iranian food is made up of delicious blends of flavours with fruit and nuts being very much a part of a good meal. A hot and spicy curry is not something one generally finds on the menu. So, in we went, tummies rumbling and minds open.

The Pakistan Central Restaurant is a busy little place crammed in with long tables and tightly squeezed in chairs. What it lacks in atmospheric décor, it certainly makes up for in chattering customer noise and tempting smells emanating from the kitchen. The menu comes on one side of a laminated sheet – in Farsi. But, don’t be put off by the brevity of the menu, as less, in this case anyway, is certainly more. The handful of dishes on offer was clearly tasty enough to keep loyal patrons returning.

We smiled inwardly as our friends implored us not to burn our mouths on the hot curries, and decided that we would live dangerously and go for the famous ghalieh meigoo – shrimp curry with tamarind. Well, it was, without doubt, the spiciest curry I have ever eaten in Iran! The blend of the turmeric based curry powder and the sour yet tantalizing tamarind made it a most delectable dish. 

Curry powder on sale at Mr. Jalali's Spice Shop

Even Gary, not one to venture into the “unexplored” where his lunch is concerned, ate the lot. In fact, we loved it so much, that Gary insisted we go back the following night for more. Which we did.

The question did have to be asked however. And the question was, where do you get the curry powder for such tongue tantalizing curried shrimp in Iran? The answer was provided easily as it was on sale in the very same bazaar, just a few shops along at Mr. Jalali’s famous spice shop. Before we left Abadan, I made a beeline for Mr. Jalali’s shop, a quaint establishment with spices piled in pyramids in large steel basins and fused exotically with wands of burning incense. I opted for a half-kilo of the house special and a bottle of their own brand of tamarind sauce. It is indeed fabulous curry powder, and if nothing else, you should go to Abadan to get some.

Scrumptious!

Ghalieh Meigoo (Shrimp Curry with Tamarind)

Ingredients:

500 grams of shrimp

500 grams of coriander

2 cloves of garlic

1 or 2 onions

2 or 3 medium potatoes

2 to 3 tomatoes

2 tablespoons tomato paste

2 tablespoons tamarind paste

2 heaped teaspoons curry powder (or just turmeric if you don’t want a lot of spice)

Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Oil for cooking

What to do:

1.  Chop the onion & garlic into small pieces.

2.  Fry onion and garlic gently in a pan with the oil.

3.  Add the curry powder, black pepper and salt.

4.  Fry gently for 2 to 3 minutes.

5.  Chop the coriander until it is very fine, or grind in a blender.  Add this to the pan and fry gently for about 5 minutes.

6.  Add the tomato paste.  If the consistency is too dry, add some more oil.

7.  Add the shrimp and mix until all the shrimp are covered in the curry paste.

8.  Add about 2 cups of water, cover the pan and bring to the boil then add the potatoes.  Lower the heat slightly and cook until the potatoes are done.

9.  Add the tamarind paste.

10. Add the diced tomatoes and simmer for a further 10 to 15 minutes.

Optional: dice and fry some garlic and add just before serving.

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.