Last week I happened to have lunch at the Iranian Club with a couple of friends and friends' friends. I was invited there by a colleague, and when I asked him who else would be there, he was rather vague about it, saying that he would bring along a couple of his friends.
Well, when I arrived at the club, I saw a huge buffet, with tables literally groaning (in Farsi, of course) with food. The starters table alone was enough to make up for the price of the entry. Unfortunately, since all the labels were in Farsi, I could make neither head nor tail of what the names of the dishes were. But not to worry, their food is somewhat like Indian food. Actually Indian, especially North Indian frontier cuisine, owes a lot to Irani and Turkish food, no doubt because all the marauders in ancient times who would have designs on India would be homesick and would make sure they got their supply of their home cooked food. Their recipes would then have percolated down to the locals, ie our ancestors.
Both our cuisines use a lot of yoghurt, mint raitas, mashed aubergines, different kinds of fragrant rices and kebabs.
But more than all the food, what I enjoyed was the wacky conversation at our table. My friend arrived with his brother and another friend in tow. This friend-of-my-friend, Max was a really funny guy. He kept us in splits throughout with weird imitations and crazy jokes. Some highlights:
- I learnt that every boyband has a member who's designated the "confirmer". He's the guy who is told, "Okay, you there! You do nothing, but repeat the last phrase of the previous guy... only in a lower tone!" So when the boy band is mouthing their inane lyrics, something like "Baby I would never lie to you!", the "confirmer" goes,"...lie to youuuuuuu...". You get the picture.
- The eccentric uncle who would always spell out the wrong word in front of kids. "Hey guys, let's go out to the C-A-R......and smoke some pot!"
Max was elaborating on how it is better to be a small fry in the world of movies than be a big star with all the trappings that come along with it. He asked us whether we remembered a rather tough-looking pockmarked huge Mexican guy with a drooping moustache who appeared in lots of movies but always in bit roles. We all nodded. Then he asked whether any of us knew his name. I think he meant it as a purely rhetorical question, and therefore didn't expect Mr. Know-it-all (aka me!) to blurt out, "Yes, I know! Danny Trejo!".
There was dead silence around the table, as you can guess. :-) As Max put it, there were probably 6 people in the world who could offhand name this guy based on a verbal description, not counting the guy's parents. Ah well. I felt slightly embarrassed at having topped Max's tale with a bit of the old show-off. Anyways.
We parted company 90 minutes later, with full stomachs and light hearts. Did I mention the dessert, which was traditional Irani Falooda? It's quite unlike the India version. This one is thin stiff vermicelli in lots of ice and with rosewater and lemon juice liberally sprinkled on top.
I realised later how much fun I had had, just shooting the bull with these strangers. I think guys too need such outings on a regular basis to unwind and relax, just talking about inane stuff. Oprah would concur.
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