okay but imagine little sameen spending her sundays in the kitchen with her parents. she spends all of saturday thinking what she wants for sunday’s lunch. on sunday morning when they’re having breakfast, maman asks her what she wants to cook today and she has an entire list prepared. baba chuckles and tells her to choose 3 things from that list or else they’ll be cooking all the way until monday.
she follows maman to the sunday market to get the ingredients for lunch while baba cleans up and prepares the kitchen. they get back home and sameen gets her own stool so she can stand at the sink and help to wash the vegetables. someday you’ll be tall enough and you wont need the stool, maman tells her. sameen cant wait for that day to come.
baba puts a cassette into the radio and persian music plays while they cook. maman and baba both sing along. this was the song i listened to on the night your mother and me went out together for the first time, baba tells her. sameen listens carefully to the words. her farsi isn’t that good yet, but she’s learning.
she’s not allowed to use knives yet but baba shows her the safest way to hold a knife while cutting vegetables. how to angle the blade so that she can chop the garlic into fine, equal pieces. it’s simple physics. this is the fulcrum, the lever, and the force. sameen recalls the diagram he drew for her last week. she nods.
maman explains to her how to use each spice as she sprinkles them into the pot. if it’s too spicy, all you need to do is add a little bit of sugar or milk. everything has a purpose. she teaches her the names of the ingredients in farsi. sameen repeats each one after her and commits them to memory.
they sit around the dining table to eat, and little sameen enjoys every bit of food on her plate. she doesn’t notice baba secretly transferring meat from his plate to her’s. and she doesn’t notice him smiling at her fondly when she finds more meat tucked under the vegetables and immediately pops it into her mouth.
every single day in their household is filled with warmth and love, but sundays are special. sundays are always something that all three of them look forward to.
sometimes, when there aren’t any numbers to take care of, shaw flicks on a persian radio station and cooks a good meal for herself. she doesnt need a stool for the sink anymore, and her hands angle the blade the right way without her even thinking about it. she uses recipes and the dude at convenience store hasnt heard of half the spices she needs, but shaw hums in approval as she tastes the end product. maman and baba would be proud.
