About three decades ago, I spent ten days in a small town in the Fars province, called Laar. I was visiting my eldest sister, who was living there temporarily to teach English to high school students. The tall, talkative old landlady who had rented one room in her big house to my sister was called Madar-e Fazlollah.
She made me an unforgettably unique and delicious breakfast from an egg and some bread she baked on a small taveh–a flat, sometimes slightly curved, round iron griddle. By the time my sister left for work each morning, Madar-e Fazlollah had already made her quick and sloppy run of daily sweeping around the house. She then settled on a short stool in front of a stand-alone oil burner, topped by her taveh, in the middle of her large, walled yard under a four-story-tall palm tree. Read the rest of this entry »