You shouldn’t eat this meal while wearing white clothes. And don’t bother using your fancy cloth napkins. A paper towel–or five–and maybe even a bib will do.
Not only can it be a bit oily, but the turmeric stains forever. If you eat it often enough, your dentist will probably tell you to lay off the yellow spices.
But there is no way I will ever stop eating Persian spaghetti. I recognize the smell when I walk in the door: garlicky and starchy, with a hint of cinnamon. Although I am grateful for any meal my parents provide, I feel a sense of relief when I walk in to that smell. It’s something to look forward to.
Persian spaghetti, best known as “macaroni” with a Persian accent or “macari,” as I like to call it, is a staple in my home and many other Iranian households. It has been a traditional dish for about 75 years, with influences from the western world, and it continues to take on new twists.
In the U.S., the ground beef dish is made with typical spaghetti. But in its original form, long, thick and hollow macaroni noodles in the shape of spaghetti are used. The sauce fills the little tubes, making for an even messier slurp. My dad, Foaad, now adds thinly sliced jalapeños to the mix–a southwest-mideast fusion I have yet to see outside of our home.
Raw jalapeño, onion, garlic, oil and spices sit in a pan on Sept. 18. The next step will be to sautee these on the stove.
My dad learned to make Persian spaghetti around the age of 10, when his mother — my mamani — was pregnant with his little sister. My dad and his older sister were learning to help out around the house, so their mother showed them several recipes, including funnel cake, too.
From that point on, my dad says cooking was intuitive for him. Because it comes so naturally, he remains a home chef whose kitchen experiments and classics never disappoint.
My grandfather — babai — was not fond of this dish. Literally translated, he called pasta “doughy rice,” and much preferred actual rice or bread as a starch. My dad says that during World War II, rice and meat were sparse in many households because the British and Russians kept it for themselves while rationing the Iranian people. So perhaps, generational trauma has led many Persians to cling to their staple foods and reject unfamiliar ones. I am fortunate to have a choice between rice, pasta, bread or something different.
My eyes start to water, as my dad dices an onion with dry eyes and ease. He’s done this a million times. He throws the pieces into a large pan over oil, adds the seeded jalapeño with a dash of turmeric, cinnamon, paprika, salt and pepper.
The mixture goes on the stove outside, where the fumes can entice neighbors rather than congest the living room and stick to our clothes. My dad tells me things just taste better over fire anyway. He goes outside for almost all of our high-heat foods, whether there’s a heat advisory or rain.
The onion and jalapeño mixture is cooked outside on the stove on Sept. 18. Cooking outside ensures the house will not smell like food for the rest of the night.
The onion will make or break any dish, my dad says. My mom, Saideh, adds that it’s the life of the food. It also clears the meaty smell of your protein. While I agree that any dish would be nearly flavorless without onion, I still fork my onion pieces out and put them in a pile on the side of my plate every time. They’re either too slimy or crunchy for me.
The component of this dish that only a fool would skip, however, is the crispy layer at the bottom of the pot which, when flipped upside down onto a plate, reveals golden-toasted heaven beneath a breath of steam. It’s typical to see this crunchy layer on the bottom of a pot of rice as well. I will always sneak a few bites of crispy noodles or rice in the kitchen after I’ve cleared my plate, said thank you and excused myself from the table. And it’s every visitor’s favorite. They will always ask for more “crispies.”
One of my best friends, Libby, came to my house starving once about five years ago. She said the kitchen smelled completely unfamiliar, and once we served her the pasta, her eyes lit up like the full moon. She devoured her first plate and went in for seconds.
My next goal is to try this recipe on my own. I’m always the sous chef, but have yet to attempt it independently. If I can learn to perfect this meal, I’ll feel a little more prepared to live on my own one day, knowing I can find comfort in food and spark joy for the people around me.
Arizona Sonoran News is a news service of the University of Arizona School of Journalism.
