Okra Stew for the Patient Cook

I have never been good with patience.  Ask my family, they'll tell you.  Ask my husband, HE. WILL. TELL. YOU.  

I hate waiting on things to happen. I like quick results-FAST.

I avoid long lines.

If I buy a new outfit, I will wear it the very same day--even if it's too hot/cold to wear.

If it's your birthday next week and I already have a gift for you, chances are I will give the gift to you today.  (Ask Cristobal)

Sorry, but if you're talking I sometimes have a bad habit of finishing your sentence (or assuming I know what you're going to say).

I even read the last page of a book sometimes just to see if I'm going to like the ending--during the middle of the book. (don't do it much now)

So you see, I'm not very patient.  I'm getting better at it. Thanks to having a baby! (I must have skimmed through the baby books on the part about being patient when having a baby-didn't get the memo)

Rumi has slowed me down a bit--ok, a lot--so much so that my family has noticed it.  

It's not longer about ME and my time.  

Rumi has helped me to appreciate life as it happens.

I go with the flow--sometimes a little too much.

I meditate.

I breathe.

I learn by watching him take in life.

So when I came across FRESH okra at the grocery store yesterday, I knew I had to make one of my favorite Persian stews my mom would make for us...I vividly remember watching the pot simmer in my mom's kitchen, just waiting for her to give me the 'go' to taste test before adding more salt or lemon juice...

Standing at the produce section with Rumi in the cart, I was picking out the okra while letting Rumi play with one in his hand.  I loved his curiosity for this new thing in his hand. 

He smelled it. Looked at me for acceptance.

He chewed on it while making funny faces.

He even licked it, only to throw it back at me, as if I had given him something bad.

So I told him I will make him Okra stew, but that he would have to be patient.

In reality, I was telling myself I need to be patient.

As with any Persian stew, PATIENCE is the key ingredient--even my mom told me to be patient when I called her this morning for the recipe!

It's very simple, the hard part is waiting for it to "settle" before you eat it.

Ingredients:

1-2 pounds stew meat (beef or chicken-boneless,skinless), cubed

2 medium onions diced

1 pound fresh okra or frozen-remove the stems if using fresh

1 red bell pepper, chopped

2 roma tomatoes

3 Persian dried limes, (substitute juice of 2 limes or lemons...or to taste)

1 can tomato paste

1 teaspoon turmeric

S/P/oil

Persian dried limes are a key ingredient to most if not all of Persian stews.  It adds a punch of tanginess.  Treat it like you would a bay leaf--remove before serving.  If you eat it you will pucker your lips until tomorrow-although, I like it :)

Heat a dutch oven, or heavy duty pot with some canola oil on medium high heat.  Sautee onions. Add the chicken and saute with salt, pepper and turmeric. About 10 minutes. Add 1/4 cup of water, cover.

Meanwhile, in a skillet saute the okra in batches just until lightly browned. (make sure the okra is fully dry at this point) Turning once or twice. (skip this part if using frozen okra)

Add the sauteed okra to the pot with the simmering chicken. Gently stir.

Next add the bell peppers, tomatoes, and dried limes.  Add the tomato paste and dilute with about 2 cups water. Gently stir. Bring to a boil and simmer for 3 hours. 

Be sure to remove the skin from the tomato 20 minutes into cooking and then use your wooden spoon to mash the tomatoes into the sauce.

After 3 hours, it should look like this. "Settled" as my mom would say.  All the flavors have combined. The okra has taken in all the flavors from the meat, limes, and tomatoes.

Serve this stew like all Persian stews along side a plate of steaming, saffron-basmati rice.

This is gluten-free and can be vegan if you omit meat.  Just use vegetable stock instead of water to give it body and extra flavor.

Hey, if I was patient enough to make this for lunch. You can make this!! Another great recipe for your Crock-Pot too--you know it's collecting dust in your closet, so give it a try :)

recipe to a name.

Photo by Cristobal

 It's been almost a year since Rumi came into our lives.  I actually started writing this blog for him to read when he gets older.  Since I usually relate my memories to the foods I eat, this blog works for me.  I can express my thoughts and memories through recipes I've had the honor to try; and hopefully, Rumi will come to appreciate my reasoning behind blogging for him.  


In my very first blog entry I stated that I will "get back" to the reason why I named our boy Rumi.  Everybody has a reason as to why they name their child.  Mine has a lot of history behind it and a lot of meaning...
When I went back to Iran as an adult at the age of 20, I absorbed more culture and understanding than I had when I was 7.  I came to appreciate family life and what it means to have a sense of belonging.  Because when you grow up in the States coming from immigrant parents you don't belong--especially growing up in the South.  You try to find every way to fit in.  
I know everyone can relate to this, but it's just a little harder for the child that has the "parent's from another country." I remember asking my parents why they named me Mahfam.  I HATED my name and thought I deserved an explanation.  
My mom (in farsi) told me, "well, Mahfam dear, I named you Mahfam because you are Mah-fam. It means the color of the light of the moon.  I named you Mahfam because like the moon you are unique...I named you what I believe you are--that's what mom's do"
My mom's answer was only satisfying until I had to go to school.  At school, I wished my name could be  a little easier to pronounce.  At school, I dreaded roll call.  At school, I stuttered my name when someone asked me. At school, I was made fun of for having my name.  Only my sisters could relate to my pain at the time...


I was introduced to the poems of Rumi when I was 16 by my friend Alma. Alma was an exchange student from Bosnia and we just clicked.  Alma soon joined my group of friends and on weekends we all hung out at our local coffeehouse/bookstore.  (The only thing, besides partying or cruising the streets, to do on the weekends in Jonesboro, AR).  Since I wasn't allowed to go to the parties and there's only so much cruising you can do on 1 main street, the bookstore was our haven.
We would go through the aisles and read through books, flip through magazines, and drink coffee until closing.  On one such night, we were reading different books on poetry and just talking about our lives when she picked up Rumi from the shelf and said, "oh, I love this poet; I'm sure you know of him since he's a Persian poet." I did not.  I grew up with Hafez and Omar Khayyam in the home, but not Rumi.  
I started skimming through the pages and I immediately fell in love.  I read through the whole book, The Essential Rumi, by Coleman Barks translation in a week. And I kept the book with me, always opening it at random pages and reading a few poems.  Sometimes I'd base my whole day on a few lines from Rumi.  I related to his teachings and I held the book dear to me.  He taught me about friendship, love, war, misfortune, deceit.  From 16 onwards, I kept his teachings near.  I sometimes looked for advice in his poems.
I never thought I would name my child after him.  That is, until I my trip to Iran at the age of 20.  My dear aunt Sima was talking about what motherhood is all about, what it means to name your child, the sacrifices a mother makes when she decides to have a baby (whether naturally hers or adopted), and how important it is to honor one's mother. 
At 20 I didn't care too much about what she was teaching me, but I did absorb and I did learn.  She told me that it is in the mother's heart to name her baby.  The mother has already formed a bond with her baby before it is born and therefore, it is her gift to name her child.  
Eight years later, I had remembered what my aunt had taught me.  I gave my baby his name the day he was born.  I gave him a name of a poet that became my friend at the age of 16.  I gave him a name of a poet that went on to college with me. I gave him the name of a poet that directed me to the love of my life. I gave him the name of a poet that spoke words of love on our wedding invitations. 
I named him Rumi.  
I named him Rumi not because I want him to go through school only to be tormented by his name, but because I believe he will stand strong behind his name.  
I named him Rumi not because I compare him to the wonderful poet, but because the wonderful poet helped me fit into a world for dreamers and believers.
I named him Rumi not because I want to be the cool, hip mom, but because he was in me all along.

Photo by me.

Photo by Gema.

Photo by Gema

Photo by my mom#2, Gema.