Theresa · Mather

When I lived in Orange County, I knew a number of Persians. It seemed like half the upper and middle class formerly from Iran lived in Southern California. I have a special affinity for Persian food, especially its unapologetic lack of green things- meat on a stick with rice, what more do you need?
My biggest Persian faux pas happened at a friend's parent's house when a lavish spread of food went strangely untouched until someone finally whispered "until the guests eat, no one else can" and I realized with horror that I was what was holding up all the eating. Of course I immediately dug in after that.
After the feast, the disco balls, lights and the sound system came out, all the women danced in a sort of trance like ecstasy, even the moms of my friends. Persians know how to party.
Every year at ComicCon, we still go to a really good Persian restaurant in the Gaslamp district in San Diego. The night after the con, a marinated Cornish game hen served kabob style with a mountain of saffron rice has become my ritual. But when the disco ball descends and the fog machine come out, forget even trying to have a conversation.

On a serious note, I think a lot about what's going on now in Iran. I don't know how brave I would be facing down armed riot police. Most of my Persian friends had been in the US for a very long time, but others paid a horrible price for the turmoil there. I'm not in touch with any of them any more... my life veered off in a different direction. But I think about them and hope they're all doing well.