Autumn Memories of Ab Gusht
Last night, autumn finally made its presence known. I shivered and shook in bed all night until I reluctantly got up to add an extra blanket and wear a warmer nightgown. Ebony, who shares my bed, in spite my constant objections, opened her eyes in annoyance, as if to ask me the reason why I was disturbing her sleep. ‘’I’m cold,’’ I said groggily. I got back into bed. Feeling more comfortable, I curled up into a ball and fell into a deep slumber. Ebony, that soft lovable furry ball, cuddled even closer to me.
When I looked out of the window this morning, I noticed the leaves on one of the trees had curled into themselves in protection against the chilly weather. ‘’Aaah! Autumn has finally made an appearance.’’ I thought. I wrapped myself in my warm, old comfortable dressing gown and went down to get my morning cup of tea. It was chilly!
‘’Hmm, I will make ab gusht today,’’ I decided. What is ab gusht you might ask? Well, originally it was a poor man’s winter dish. Often, in Tehran, when I went to the butcher in winter, there would be a few chador covered women, who shyly waited their turn to be served. At last the butcher turned to one of them. ‘’Sister, what do you need?’’ he asked, kindly.
’’Five rials of mutton fat and a few mutton bones, if you will,” the woman requested timidly. Realizing she was very poor and what he gave her would have to feed a large family, he made sure the bones had a generous covering of meat. “Here you are sister,” he said. “And God bless you.”
With a grateful look, she took her portion and hurried back to her mud hovel to start the meal. On her back, she carried her baby. It was the way the poor carried their babies. Sometimes they worked as maids. They carried their babies in this manner even as they cleaned other women’s homes. Once in a while, they would stop to breastfeed their infants. This one did not. She hurried home. Their home was a mud hovel on an empty lot that the owner had not built on yet. They had been living there for quite a few years. It was a stark mud room covered with a threadbare carpet. Upon entering the hovel, she gently placed her baby upon a folded quilt, carefully covering the baby with more blankets.
Against one wall, mattresses and quilts were rolled up during the day. They would be unrolled at night to sleep on. She walked to the mud oven, tanoor, her husband had made for them when they built their hovel. They used it in winter for heat as well as for cooking. In summer she used her primus kerosene burner to cook. She began preparing their meal. In a clay pot, a deezee, she carefully placed her bones and mutton fat. She added a few dried limes, chickpeas, onions, a couple of small potatoes, tomato paste, salt, pepper, and turmeric. She topped everything with water then placed the clay pot on top of the embers in the tanour, oven. When it was nearly all cooked, she added potatoes. This dish would simmer from early in the morning until everyone came back from work. The little room and its surroundings were filled with the delectable aromas of the ab gusht.
Ab gusht literally means meat and water. It was created by the poor housewife from mutton fat and bones with scraps of meat attached to it. If the butcher was kindly inclined, there would be a generous amount of mutton attached.
I sipped my tea, but I was not looking at what was out of the window, I was remembering the Tehran of days gone by, forty, fifty, or sixty years ago. I was remembering Nargess making ab gusht on cold winter days. I pulled myself back to the present. I hurriedly dressed and went to buy some lamb shanks. I made the ab gusht, but with substantial-looking shanks. This was not a poor man’s ab gusht. I usually like to make this on snowy days, but it was the first chilly night of the season. Today is a Sunday. Weekends are the days that Kelly and I share a meal together. On occasions, we go out, sometimes we order in, sometimes I cook. Today I made ab gusht. When Kelly came back from wherever he had gone, the smell of the ab gusht was the first thing that welcomed him. He said, “Mmm! What smells so good? I wasn’t hungry, but now I am!” The pot had been on the fire gently simmering all day.
“Sit down and we will eat.” I said. I warmed up some flatbread. We mashed the meat, potatoes, and legumes. We added the gravy. We spooned the food onto our plates; I offered some meaty bones to the pups. We tore pieces of bread into the delicious gravy to dunk. We proceeded to eat. It was delicious! Kelly went for second and third helpings. At last, he leaned back and sighed with contentment.
“Mum,” he said, “That was delicious! It’s a long time since you made this dish. Thank you.”
I patted his hand and smiled. “Do not worry, son, winter is on its way.” Tomorrow, I think I will make him gondi. Yes, autumn is here. Soon the leaves will change, and my dogs will delightfully chase them as they drift down to the ground.
We will gather by the fireplace and roast chestnuts and watch the embers as they crackle in the hearth. And so time marches on, summer, autumn, winter, spring…