From where I stand in time and space, I look back through a window called food for several reasons:
Because taste and smell are the two senses most loyal to my memories; because numerous times, through food alone, I have come to savor a wealth of people and places.
Because the finely elaborate ritual of cooking, as well as its absence continues to reveal the highlights of my life.
Because I have seen all of my sisters fall into humming a Persian tune only while they are cooking; and I have watched them cook in silence, which told me that they were not happy.
Because only two things in the world can make my head spin with euphoria, and one of them is the scent of Gillan’s dom-siah rice being steamed.