Memories of Santek Khethra of Years Gone By
On this chilly Friday morning, I remember how we celebrated the last day of Passover at home, in Tehran. Our families would get together in the garden. There would be a table laden with hametz food. There would be kaymagh served with hot taftoon bread, straight from the oven of the bakery. We would drizzle silan over it. There would be sweet strawberries swimming in sweet yoghurt and fresh fava beans boiled and sprinkled with salt, piles and piles of them. Everyone loved them, you know. Spinach with sauteed onions and garlic, flavoured with mint and folded in thick, rich and creamy homemade yoghurt, yummy!
A platter piled high with kookoo, a dish of delicious herbs mixed with egg frittatas… Romaine lettuce dipped in sekanjebin, a sweet and tart dip. A plate piled with sprigs of parsley, to cheerily hit each other with, as we say, ‘’Santek kethra! Santek khethra! May your year be green!’’ There would be laughter and joy. If the weather was warm, we would gather together with our aunts and our cousins in one of our gardens. If it was the weekend the men would join us, otherwise it would be the women and children. I can remember the joy and the laughter we felt as if it was yesterday, not a lifetime ago. Ah, memories, such memories…