Is there an ongoing rise in the influx of Iranians in town? I’d like to ask the Bureau of Immigration. There must be an explanation behind the sprouting of Iranian eateries around the metropolis.
I never realized I had tried Iranian food before until I remembered that the country called Iran, pre-Shah times, used to be called Persia, which we’ve always associated with ancient, glorious culture and history. Our Iranian experience, however, was limited to the popular kebab places in Quezon City, particularly along Timog and Tomas Morato. I mean, what is kebab to us? It could easily be Greek or Saudi Arabian food. Those places being kebab places, my friends and I unimaginatively ordered kebabs, which came invariably as barbecued beef slices. Pretending to be vegan, I also tried a cucumber-and yoghurt-filled flatbread, which I loved, to my surprise, reminding me of a panini I had tried which contained nothing but tomato and cucumber slices in mayo. Someone equally adventurous in our group also tried a lamb stew, which piqued my interest, but he was seated too far from me.
Last weekend, it was an impromptu date with an old friend that led us to Persian Grill at University Mall beside De La Salle. I ordered a beef stew called abghousht (there was an apostrophe placed somewhere) and she ordered a chicken stew called -- well, I forgot what it's called because I don't take down notes while eating, but I'm sure it has 's' and 'gh' somewhere.
We also shared what they called “Iranian salad,” which like those Greek salads, is a combination of fruit salad and vegetable salad, minus the pine nuts or something.
We were still Filipinos, right?, so we asked for plain rice like it's the most natural thing to do, preferably bottomless. We were shocked to be told it was unavailable. They only had “Iranian basmati rice.” Straining not to roll our eyes, we consented, and we were greeted with a mound each of partly yellow-colored grains. It was rice tainted with saffron and, as though the yellowing was not enough, topped with a thick slice of butter too. I gingerly removed the butter slice, thinking ‘cholesterol’ and ‘trans fats,’ and placed it aside, only to try it later with the basmati rice. The rice grains were utterly beautiful -– I can’t remember whether I had them before, given the 12,345 varieties of rice I’ve tried that the International Rice Research Institute in UP Los Banos has been experimenting on us. Each grain was delightfully long, al dente-firm, immaculately whiter than the Boracay beach strip, and wonderfully did not stick to one another as ants do when they find a body of water. Basmati rice has an individualistic personality.
Before we are distracted by positivity, let’s get back to the saffron and butter combo on the rice, which reminded me of being puzzled by Indian food some years ago, a cuisine which struck me as an enrichment of spices on top of an already rich melange of ingredients, mostly with a tomatoey-creamy base. It felt like being in a chemistry lab solving Sudoku and crossword on the side.
I mean, I don’t need butter on my saffron, right? ...Especially if my beef stew already contained a lot of swimmers of various ethnicities: chickpeas, white beans, herb strips, and a piece of dried lemon floating like a lost whale shark. I appreciate the flavor of sundried tomatoes, but I didn’t get the rationale behind drying lemon, much less throwing a whole piece of it into a simmering stew, but I stupidly bit at it anyway. It tasted bitter, like eating lemon rind.
Being the curious cat, I sliced off some of the chicken off my neighbor’s bowl, and the impression was basically the same: solving a jigsaw or some other brain challenge. There seemed to be an entire kilogram of chopped parsley in it, if not celery, after marinating the meat overnight in what appeared to be soy. (Hmm, Iranian cuisine has Chinese influence too?)
My friend had a medical condition which prevented us from trying the grilled items on the menu. As my mouth watered over the familiar kebabs on the list, my mind was transported back to an organic chemistry class which taught me that burnt protein meant an “intercalation” of benzene rings or something in between the DNA strands. I mean, how’s the rate of this certain unmentionable disease in Iran and the Middle East, if indeed burnt protein causes it?
After our burp-inducing lunch, I spotted something even more curious inside the resto: shisha (?) pipes. I longed to give one a try too after learning about its pleasures from a younger brother, but chose to save that for later.
Back home, I Googled “Persian chicken,” and found a recipe with beguiling ingredients, all in wildly illogical combinations. For example, pomegranate and walnuts? Sounds like poached pear with balsamic vinegar and lychee beurre blanc to me. The Persians, like the Indians, must have long been into fusion cuisine!
All told, we were nicely distracted from our usual fare of jjampong and NFA rice. :p But oh, I just illustrated to you all the tricks of how not to write a food review, including the total absence of tempting pictures (because I didn’t bring a camera, and my cell phone was ‘low-batt’). :D
***
BTW, I noticed a Hungarian restaurant in Magallanes Village, Makati. I hope to find an excuse to get there and write another disparaging post before these foodie bloggers and media peeps beat me to it. :p
I never realized I had tried Iranian food before until I remembered that the country called Iran, pre-Shah times, used to be called Persia, which we’ve always associated with ancient, glorious culture and history. Our Iranian experience, however, was limited to the popular kebab places in Quezon City, particularly along Timog and Tomas Morato. I mean, what is kebab to us? It could easily be Greek or Saudi Arabian food. Those places being kebab places, my friends and I unimaginatively ordered kebabs, which came invariably as barbecued beef slices. Pretending to be vegan, I also tried a cucumber-and yoghurt-filled flatbread, which I loved, to my surprise, reminding me of a panini I had tried which contained nothing but tomato and cucumber slices in mayo. Someone equally adventurous in our group also tried a lamb stew, which piqued my interest, but he was seated too far from me.
Last weekend, it was an impromptu date with an old friend that led us to Persian Grill at University Mall beside De La Salle. I ordered a beef stew called abghousht (there was an apostrophe placed somewhere) and she ordered a chicken stew called -- well, I forgot what it's called because I don't take down notes while eating, but I'm sure it has 's' and 'gh' somewhere.
We also shared what they called “Iranian salad,” which like those Greek salads, is a combination of fruit salad and vegetable salad, minus the pine nuts or something.
We were still Filipinos, right?, so we asked for plain rice like it's the most natural thing to do, preferably bottomless. We were shocked to be told it was unavailable. They only had “Iranian basmati rice.” Straining not to roll our eyes, we consented, and we were greeted with a mound each of partly yellow-colored grains. It was rice tainted with saffron and, as though the yellowing was not enough, topped with a thick slice of butter too. I gingerly removed the butter slice, thinking ‘cholesterol’ and ‘trans fats,’ and placed it aside, only to try it later with the basmati rice. The rice grains were utterly beautiful -– I can’t remember whether I had them before, given the 12,345 varieties of rice I’ve tried that the International Rice Research Institute in UP Los Banos has been experimenting on us. Each grain was delightfully long, al dente-firm, immaculately whiter than the Boracay beach strip, and wonderfully did not stick to one another as ants do when they find a body of water. Basmati rice has an individualistic personality.
Before we are distracted by positivity, let’s get back to the saffron and butter combo on the rice, which reminded me of being puzzled by Indian food some years ago, a cuisine which struck me as an enrichment of spices on top of an already rich melange of ingredients, mostly with a tomatoey-creamy base. It felt like being in a chemistry lab solving Sudoku and crossword on the side.
I mean, I don’t need butter on my saffron, right? ...Especially if my beef stew already contained a lot of swimmers of various ethnicities: chickpeas, white beans, herb strips, and a piece of dried lemon floating like a lost whale shark. I appreciate the flavor of sundried tomatoes, but I didn’t get the rationale behind drying lemon, much less throwing a whole piece of it into a simmering stew, but I stupidly bit at it anyway. It tasted bitter, like eating lemon rind.
Being the curious cat, I sliced off some of the chicken off my neighbor’s bowl, and the impression was basically the same: solving a jigsaw or some other brain challenge. There seemed to be an entire kilogram of chopped parsley in it, if not celery, after marinating the meat overnight in what appeared to be soy. (Hmm, Iranian cuisine has Chinese influence too?)
My friend had a medical condition which prevented us from trying the grilled items on the menu. As my mouth watered over the familiar kebabs on the list, my mind was transported back to an organic chemistry class which taught me that burnt protein meant an “intercalation” of benzene rings or something in between the DNA strands. I mean, how’s the rate of this certain unmentionable disease in Iran and the Middle East, if indeed burnt protein causes it?
After our burp-inducing lunch, I spotted something even more curious inside the resto: shisha (?) pipes. I longed to give one a try too after learning about its pleasures from a younger brother, but chose to save that for later.
Back home, I Googled “Persian chicken,” and found a recipe with beguiling ingredients, all in wildly illogical combinations. For example, pomegranate and walnuts? Sounds like poached pear with balsamic vinegar and lychee beurre blanc to me. The Persians, like the Indians, must have long been into fusion cuisine!
All told, we were nicely distracted from our usual fare of jjampong and NFA rice. :p But oh, I just illustrated to you all the tricks of how not to write a food review, including the total absence of tempting pictures (because I didn’t bring a camera, and my cell phone was ‘low-batt’). :D
***
BTW, I noticed a Hungarian restaurant in Magallanes Village, Makati. I hope to find an excuse to get there and write another disparaging post before these foodie bloggers and media peeps beat me to it. :p
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4 comments:
Resty, Malaysia experienced the same thing. We had lots of Iranians coming in lately and recently lots of drug raids point to Iranians being the chief suppliers.
More recently we arrested an Iranian coming into Kuala Lumpur carrying a bomb. The Thais arrested another Iranian with a bomb on the way to Kuala Lumpur. Apparently they had set up a cell in Bangkok to manufacture such items and a bomb went off because they were careless and that was how the Thais got into the picture. One Iranian bombed his own legs away.
Worrisome. I hope they are not on a quest for global domination. I suspect they are escaping all that oppression and repression in their country.
Malaysia seems porous too, huh? I mean, your borders are able to be infiltrated just like that?
Porous borders are a recent problem. It's not because of inadequate patrolling but more because of ineffective immigration and customs officers. They don't really check. Too many Iranians and Nigerians in Malaysia under the pretext of being tertiary students but more into scamming and drug-pedalling.
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