Mostatab and I
During the days of COVID, when the world had pretty much stopped moving and people could find themselves alone with their cooking pots, I too, partly out of necessity and partly out of curiosity, took refuge in cooking. After all, when all restaurants are closed, you can’t keep telling your stomach, “Let’s discuss this tomorrow.”
My mother, who has excellent judgment in serious matters, heard of this situation and brought her son a valuable souvenir from back home, a copy of Mostatab Cookbook. Now, this book may look like a cookbook on the surface, but in truth, it is a full educational system: teaching patience, order, and occasionally, the philosophy of life.
At first, as is the tradition of all beginners, I either over-fried or under-fried the onions, and the rice was either soup or construction material. But the book, with its gentle tone and subtle humour, taught this humble student that cooking is neither a race nor a careless activity. Slowly I learned that every stew has a personality, and every pot has a temperament. And if you treat both with a bit of respect, things tend to work out.
It also became clear to me that cooking is not merely the art of feeding people; it is a form of culture. Every spoon carries a story, every flavour has roots in history and geography. One who cooks a proper Ghormeh Sabzi is, without even realizing it, preserving a piece of collective memory.
In the end, COVID passed and the world got back on its feet. But I kept two things from that time: a slightly improved ability to fry onions, and a firm belief that Mostatab is not just a book for filling the stomach, but a manual for learning patience, precision, and respect for a culture that quietly breathes inside pots and pans.
P.S. About the author, Najaf Daryabandari: He is not a chef who wrote a cookbook. He is a writer who happens to cook. Which explains why his recipes sometimes feel like essays, and his explanations sound like friendly advice from someone who has both read a lot of books and burned a lot of foods.
