We've sent in all the paperwork that we need this side of Srushti's arrival. I'm sure there must be some more papers hidden in this tangled bureaucracy, though. Nonetheless, we aren't aware of any more papers. We are her legal guardians and we've petitioned to classify her as an immediate relative so that she can come to the United States. Now we go back to waiting. We go back home, work on the house, get her room together more and more, and get on with life once again.
In some ways, I feel so unprepared and yet I'm completely ready for this. When I say "ready" I mean "ready" in the way that any happy new mother is ready. I'm swimming in conflicting emotions- pure joy, anticipation, scared shitless, clueless, excitement, confusion, etc. Just because you want something more than anything else, doesn't mean that the path will be easy. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy.
This goes for religion, art, relationships, anything that brings meaning to our lives. If your religion asks nothing of you, maybe you ought to look somewhere else. Christianity is a paradox, though. God gives his Grace freely, no merit on our part. And yet Christ says that we must lose our lives in order to gain ever lasting life. If the art you make doesn't cause anyone to think or if it is not difficult to make, stop. Start something else that is. Even though my marriage is wonderful and full of joy, we've had our share of challenges, especially in the slings and arrows that life has tossed our way. And like all other married couples, we've vowed to one another to not have sex with anyone else for as long as we live. It seems easy right now to keep that vow, but just looking around I know that temptation comes to many couples in many ways. Yet, we weren't called into to this union because it was easy, but because it is Good.
Parenting can be that thing which epitomizes the statement that nothing worthwhile is ever easy. Raising up the next generation can be the most meaningful thing that a person ever does and ask any parent and "easy" will be the one word they never use.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
One more push!
Dear Srushti,
You hear a lot about pushing when a mommy goes into labor. It is hard work to push a baby out. For us, we have to do a lot of paperwork instead. This week, we're doing one more push and you should be home soon. Governments work hard to keep you safe. There are a lot of evil people in the world who make money by selling children. It is hard to believe that anyone would commit evil against a child. In order to keep you safe, governments have to make sure that we are good people who will not harm you. If they could only see into our hearts, how much we love you! If they could hear the prayers we say for you every day. They would not have to do so much paperwork.
Tomorrow we send out the last piles of paper that the government demands. This means that we are closer than ever. You will have a long journey ahead of you. I don't know if you've ever ridden in a car before and certainly never an airplane. You will go to New Delhi, which is a city much bigger than where you live now. You will fly over the ocean and come to America, where we will meet you. You will be very sad to leave India. I wish that I could reassure you how happy you will be here, but you need to be sad first. I'm sad, too. I'm sad that I never got to hold you when you were just a tiny baby. I'm sad that you've gotten so big since the first picture we ever saw of you and I missed all of that time with you. We can cry together. When we have had enough of crying, we'll celebrate together. We will hug and kiss and know the joy of what it is to be a family. It's the most beautiful thing you can imagine, sweet child.
I will see you soon. May God keep a close eye on you and keep you well over these next few weeks that for you will be filled with adventure.
Eternally yours,
Mommy
You hear a lot about pushing when a mommy goes into labor. It is hard work to push a baby out. For us, we have to do a lot of paperwork instead. This week, we're doing one more push and you should be home soon. Governments work hard to keep you safe. There are a lot of evil people in the world who make money by selling children. It is hard to believe that anyone would commit evil against a child. In order to keep you safe, governments have to make sure that we are good people who will not harm you. If they could only see into our hearts, how much we love you! If they could hear the prayers we say for you every day. They would not have to do so much paperwork.
Tomorrow we send out the last piles of paper that the government demands. This means that we are closer than ever. You will have a long journey ahead of you. I don't know if you've ever ridden in a car before and certainly never an airplane. You will go to New Delhi, which is a city much bigger than where you live now. You will fly over the ocean and come to America, where we will meet you. You will be very sad to leave India. I wish that I could reassure you how happy you will be here, but you need to be sad first. I'm sad, too. I'm sad that I never got to hold you when you were just a tiny baby. I'm sad that you've gotten so big since the first picture we ever saw of you and I missed all of that time with you. We can cry together. When we have had enough of crying, we'll celebrate together. We will hug and kiss and know the joy of what it is to be a family. It's the most beautiful thing you can imagine, sweet child.
I will see you soon. May God keep a close eye on you and keep you well over these next few weeks that for you will be filled with adventure.
Eternally yours,
Mommy
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Adoption Update
At last, we have received copies of Srushti's court documents from India! We have it in writing now that we are her official guardians. Seeing it written there in black and white really penetrated my heart. There it is: our names next to her name. Our names will be united forever and this is where it starts. We'll take these documents, along with some others that we provide to the immigration office in Baltimore. Once we file there, we'll be on our way to getting a visa and travel plans for our little girl. We are a little more than a month away.
Soon, we'll meet face-to-face. My heart flutters with anticipation.
Soon, we'll meet face-to-face. My heart flutters with anticipation.
Friday, May 22, 2009
An Aching Heart
Dear Srushti,
I have never met you, dear child, but I already love you. I am so crazy about you. I know that God has chosen you to be my child and for me to be your mommy. I also know that God has good things planned for his children. My heart aches until the day we can meet face-to-face. I remember talking to a man several years ago who said that his heart ached for Jesus. He said that it was strange to ache for someone that you know, but have never seen face-to-face. I know exactly what he means.
Every day I look at the last photograph we got of you. Your face is so beautiful and your eyes are so deep. Perhaps there is an ache in those eyes for me, too. Do you ever think about the woman who will be your mommy? Does your heart long to be snuggled each night before you go to bed? Maybe sometimes you can feel me praying for you.
I daydream about meeting you for the first time. Will we recognize one another? We'll both be scared. You'll be confused in a new place with new smells and new people covering your cute little face with kisses. I'll be scared, too, but I'll try not to let it show. How will I ever be up to such a task of being a mother? I imagine different meeting scenarios: In one, I get on the floor of the Newark International Airport and you embrace me. I offer you a small treat and get to steal a kiss. In other daydreams you see Erik and like him better than me. He is a charmer, you know. He'll probably smell like cookies. In another fantasy, you scream and don't want me to touch you. It's hard because for this whole year I've wanted nothing more than to hold you. I cry every time I think of that first day together.
I understand that this will be a very difficult time for you, but I want you to know that I'm your mommy forever and ever. I will be here for you if you need to grieve what you've left behind. I'm here to give you all the kisses you've been missing these two years. I will never forget to tell you how much I love you. I already love you, dear child.
We will meet face-to-face very soon and a new adventure will begin for all of us!
With enduring love,
Mommy
I have never met you, dear child, but I already love you. I am so crazy about you. I know that God has chosen you to be my child and for me to be your mommy. I also know that God has good things planned for his children. My heart aches until the day we can meet face-to-face. I remember talking to a man several years ago who said that his heart ached for Jesus. He said that it was strange to ache for someone that you know, but have never seen face-to-face. I know exactly what he means.
Every day I look at the last photograph we got of you. Your face is so beautiful and your eyes are so deep. Perhaps there is an ache in those eyes for me, too. Do you ever think about the woman who will be your mommy? Does your heart long to be snuggled each night before you go to bed? Maybe sometimes you can feel me praying for you.
I daydream about meeting you for the first time. Will we recognize one another? We'll both be scared. You'll be confused in a new place with new smells and new people covering your cute little face with kisses. I'll be scared, too, but I'll try not to let it show. How will I ever be up to such a task of being a mother? I imagine different meeting scenarios: In one, I get on the floor of the Newark International Airport and you embrace me. I offer you a small treat and get to steal a kiss. In other daydreams you see Erik and like him better than me. He is a charmer, you know. He'll probably smell like cookies. In another fantasy, you scream and don't want me to touch you. It's hard because for this whole year I've wanted nothing more than to hold you. I cry every time I think of that first day together.
I understand that this will be a very difficult time for you, but I want you to know that I'm your mommy forever and ever. I will be here for you if you need to grieve what you've left behind. I'm here to give you all the kisses you've been missing these two years. I will never forget to tell you how much I love you. I already love you, dear child.
We will meet face-to-face very soon and a new adventure will begin for all of us!
With enduring love,
Mommy
Monday, May 18, 2009
A Pierced Heart
The hardest part about being a mother has nothing to do with diapers or sleep deprivation, but rather that now your heart now walks around on the outside of you, vulnerable. There are many things in this world that a mother, even the best, most well-intentioned mother cannot protect her children from. And a sword will pierce your own soul, too.
One thing I love about our new neighborhood is that the kids all get together and play in the yard across the street. They aren't limited to that one yard, though. There is so little traffic on our street that they often take their games into the road, throwing balls, riding bikes, playing chase. I love that we have the sound of rambunctious youth.
Yesterday the neighbor boys were playing with their bikes outside as they often do. They were carrying on as usual, but there was a silence and then a shouting that wasn't usual. There was a seriousness in the voice, a sound of desperation. I opened the window to make out what they were saying. SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP! CALL 9-1-1! I rushed downstairs; Erik grabbed the phone. PLEASE CALL AN AMBULANCE! The cries were coming from the boy's father, whose sounds of anguish I cannot shake from my head. We rushed outside to see the neighbor hovering over his son, who was lying flat on the street unconscious after flipping his bike. Soon, many neighbors had rushed to their lawns each with a phone dialing the emergency squad.
The boy was bleeding, began shaking, and threw up violently. His father did all the right things, called for help, stabilized his neck, removed anything obstructing his airways, talked sweetly to him. He acted heroically.
We felt helpless, as we watched this family in agony over their son and waited for help to arrive. His mother was screaming in the inconsolable voice of Ramah. Her very own flesh and blood lay on the street unresponsive. She could not protect him, she could not help. Her pain was palpable. Erik and I prayed. I moistened a towel and brought it to the boy's father so that he could wipe his face clean.
It felt like forever for the ambulance to arrive. Forever to me, whose child wasn't lying unconscious in the street. He was now conscious and moving. The emergency team quickly loaded him into the ambulance and they sped away with sirens blaring. Within a moment, a deep and penetrating silence filled the neighborhood. We all returned to our homes, stunned.
I pray to God that this boy is able to fully recover and that God replace the family's grief and worry with peace that surpasses all understanding.
UPDATE: We just talked with the family and the boy who had the accident is just fine! Well, he's really scratched up and isn't allowed to do ANYTHING for at least a month, but nothing is broken and no brain damage. PRAISE THE LORD!
One thing I love about our new neighborhood is that the kids all get together and play in the yard across the street. They aren't limited to that one yard, though. There is so little traffic on our street that they often take their games into the road, throwing balls, riding bikes, playing chase. I love that we have the sound of rambunctious youth.
Yesterday the neighbor boys were playing with their bikes outside as they often do. They were carrying on as usual, but there was a silence and then a shouting that wasn't usual. There was a seriousness in the voice, a sound of desperation. I opened the window to make out what they were saying. SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP! CALL 9-1-1! I rushed downstairs; Erik grabbed the phone. PLEASE CALL AN AMBULANCE! The cries were coming from the boy's father, whose sounds of anguish I cannot shake from my head. We rushed outside to see the neighbor hovering over his son, who was lying flat on the street unconscious after flipping his bike. Soon, many neighbors had rushed to their lawns each with a phone dialing the emergency squad.
The boy was bleeding, began shaking, and threw up violently. His father did all the right things, called for help, stabilized his neck, removed anything obstructing his airways, talked sweetly to him. He acted heroically.
We felt helpless, as we watched this family in agony over their son and waited for help to arrive. His mother was screaming in the inconsolable voice of Ramah. Her very own flesh and blood lay on the street unresponsive. She could not protect him, she could not help. Her pain was palpable. Erik and I prayed. I moistened a towel and brought it to the boy's father so that he could wipe his face clean.
It felt like forever for the ambulance to arrive. Forever to me, whose child wasn't lying unconscious in the street. He was now conscious and moving. The emergency team quickly loaded him into the ambulance and they sped away with sirens blaring. Within a moment, a deep and penetrating silence filled the neighborhood. We all returned to our homes, stunned.
I pray to God that this boy is able to fully recover and that God replace the family's grief and worry with peace that surpasses all understanding.
UPDATE: We just talked with the family and the boy who had the accident is just fine! Well, he's really scratched up and isn't allowed to do ANYTHING for at least a month, but nothing is broken and no brain damage. PRAISE THE LORD!
Saturday, May 16, 2009
No Space for Feminists
I saw an ad for a dinner that my new city was hosting for "Working Women" back in April. The dinner was in celebration of "Administrative Professionals Day" and to honor the rest of the women in the workplace as well. "All working women are invited to attend in honor of all that you do each and every day..."
My inner feminist was enraged by the disregard to women who work without pay, ie. women who work in the home, with or without children, artists, and community servants. Not to mention the connection between"Administrative Professionals" and "other working women." At one time the *only* women in business where admins, then called secretaries. (I find it interesting that when a traditionally male title includes the word "secretary" it seems so much more high and mighty, ie secretary of state.)
I guess I'm just getting used to the low social status that being a stay-at-home wife entails. I'm still having fun, though.
My inner feminist was enraged by the disregard to women who work without pay, ie. women who work in the home, with or without children, artists, and community servants. Not to mention the connection between"Administrative Professionals" and "other working women." At one time the *only* women in business where admins, then called secretaries. (I find it interesting that when a traditionally male title includes the word "secretary" it seems so much more high and mighty, ie secretary of state.)
I guess I'm just getting used to the low social status that being a stay-at-home wife entails. I'm still having fun, though.
At Home
Our living and dining rooms are essentially one room with lots of windows and high ceilings. This room is fantastic and airy, but ever so hard to decorate! There are drywall patches, color swatches and no paintings hung. Not yet anyway!
It is a very silly place.
It is a very silly place.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I Made Mayo!
Basically mayonaise is eggs, oil, salt and lemon juice whipped to a tasty thickness. Here is what I did:
One egg and one yoke into the blender
a wee bit of dijon mustard
juice from a lemon, adjust to taste
sea salt, adjust to taste
BLEND in the blender!
Now, take the little thingy at the top of your blender lid off, so there is a wee hole at top. You are going to add 3/4 cup of oil drip by drip. You can use olive oil or sunflower oil, or whatever kind of oil your heart's content. Make sure the oil is cold-pressed and of high quality. It will taste yucky is you use off-brand canola. *spitting out*Add one drop at a time while the motor is running! The runny egg mixture will stiffen. Don't go to fast. Don't get impatient and dump it all in. Drip slowly. Let the motor hum.
Turn the motor off. Taste. Need more salt? More lemon? Super tasty?
Now, I took said mayonaise and made a dill sauce for fish. I added more lemon, a crushed garlic clove and some fresh, chopped dill from the Eath Box (tm). Back into the blender. I think I ate a pound of it. Mondo tasty.ENJOY!
Confessions of a Stay-at-Home Wife
I am a stay-at-home wife. That means that I do not have a paying job, nor do I have children. I am new to this town, so I have not yet established a community. I am waiting for my daughter to come here from India, but haven't gotten a job in the interim. I'm finishing up my MA degree and talking myself into making some art. I don't want to commit to a large commissioned sculpture project because I don't know if I could finish it in time. Anyone could always use extra cash, but we're not suffering in the least on only one income. We're frugal. It didn't make sense for me to get a job.
A woman has worth if she has a good job, somewhat less worth if she stays home with her children and pretty much none if she is a middle-class stay-at-home wife. At least that's how it feels that the culture sees it. In this interesting article, the author paints the picture with pretty colors, but read the comments. They are full of vitriol. The woman who stays home is a drain on society, a mooch, an unpaid whore, a kept woman, a trophy wife, etc. She is worthless.
The feminist argument goes that if my husband should leave me, then I'm SOL. I'd be SOL anyway because my heart would shatter. Well, financially I'd get half of all we own and my parents promised me five acres and a goat. If, God forbid, his life be cut short we have financial safety nets in place. I have no job skills, sure, but as an artist I was probably going to live in that garage a few more years anyway. I'll have an MA at least whenever I get this thesis done.
As for life, I'm here to manage contractors, do the laundry, plan healthful meals, clean, return calls, go to appointments, organize our social affairs, and tend the garden. When he comes home from work, he can relax rather than do all those things I already did. I don't come home from work exhausted and pop in a microwave meal or spend a fortune eating out. We're way healthier this way in so many ways.
It is wonderful to be able to be a stay-at-home wife, but it has taken a big toll on my self-esteem. I've gone from being a big-shot artist to a woman who irons shirts. If my Christianity means anything, it means that my worth does not come from having a cool job or a great talent. It comes from being redeemed by Christ, by being adopted into His family. I am worthwhile because I am His Creation, not because of what I do. The Ego has a loud voice and throws tantrums. It isn't happy without the praise of men. Perhaps this is exactly what I need, right now.
I'll have plenty more to do once Srushti is here. I will savor my time of advent as I wait for her. This time that is hated by the world, that is spat upon by feminists I will take time to prepare my home and my heart. I am a stay-at-home wife.
A woman has worth if she has a good job, somewhat less worth if she stays home with her children and pretty much none if she is a middle-class stay-at-home wife. At least that's how it feels that the culture sees it. In this interesting article, the author paints the picture with pretty colors, but read the comments. They are full of vitriol. The woman who stays home is a drain on society, a mooch, an unpaid whore, a kept woman, a trophy wife, etc. She is worthless.
The feminist argument goes that if my husband should leave me, then I'm SOL. I'd be SOL anyway because my heart would shatter. Well, financially I'd get half of all we own and my parents promised me five acres and a goat. If, God forbid, his life be cut short we have financial safety nets in place. I have no job skills, sure, but as an artist I was probably going to live in that garage a few more years anyway. I'll have an MA at least whenever I get this thesis done.
As for life, I'm here to manage contractors, do the laundry, plan healthful meals, clean, return calls, go to appointments, organize our social affairs, and tend the garden. When he comes home from work, he can relax rather than do all those things I already did. I don't come home from work exhausted and pop in a microwave meal or spend a fortune eating out. We're way healthier this way in so many ways.
It is wonderful to be able to be a stay-at-home wife, but it has taken a big toll on my self-esteem. I've gone from being a big-shot artist to a woman who irons shirts. If my Christianity means anything, it means that my worth does not come from having a cool job or a great talent. It comes from being redeemed by Christ, by being adopted into His family. I am worthwhile because I am His Creation, not because of what I do. The Ego has a loud voice and throws tantrums. It isn't happy without the praise of men. Perhaps this is exactly what I need, right now.
I'll have plenty more to do once Srushti is here. I will savor my time of advent as I wait for her. This time that is hated by the world, that is spat upon by feminists I will take time to prepare my home and my heart. I am a stay-at-home wife.
Hail Caesar
Caesar salad, that is. I love this with fresh, spring lettuce!
You will need:
Olive oil
Anchovies
Egg
Red wine vinegar
Lemon
Garlic
Pepper
Lettuce
Blender
Parmasean Cheese
How to make it:
First, take a few anchovies packed in oil andplunk them down into the blender. I know this sounds gross, but when you are eating that amazing fresh salad you will be thanking me that you added the anchovies. They are *essential* to the flavor of this dressing.
Secondly, crack open a fresh, local, pastured egg into the blender. It is very important that this egg be fresh, local and pastured to reduce your risk of salmonella poisoning. (Salmonella from fresh eggs is extremely rare and I have no problem eating raw eggs. In fact, the raw yoke has enzymes that are very healthy and destroyed by cooking. I would never use a conventionally raised egg in this recipe, both for flavor and for health considerations.) I used an egg from a lady I met at church whose husband raises backyard chickens. Fresh, local eggs are pretty easy to come by if you look. Mix the two together.
Add olive oil and red wine vinegar to the mixture. Squeeze a bit a lemon into it as you are mixing. Crush a glove of garlic to taste and add a little black pepper. BLEND until tasty. Make sure you turn off the blender before dipping your finger in for a taste.
Put chopped lettuce into a bowl, pour the dressing on top and mix thoroughly. Shred on top some real Parmigiano Reggiano* cheese and enjoy! If this isn't the best salad you've ever eaten, I'll eat the rest of the anchovies in that little jar!
I topped my salad with some lemon-garlic chicken, served asparagus on the side with a dessert of apples, coconut and berried. My mouth is watering; gotta run!
*A little note on Parmigiano Reggiano cheese... This cheese is an 800 year old recipe made only in Parma, Italy from Parmesan cows who dine on local grasses. Ideally it ought to be made from raw milk and aged appropriately. This cheese is very easy to digest and even people like me who have a hard time with dairy can enjoy this cheese fully. Even though this cheese cannot be made locally, it is also important for the Local Food Movement to support regional specialties. The majority of your diet isn't going to be parmesan cheese, so when you do enjoy it, enjoy the real deal.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Springtime at Home
As the weather grows warm, we emerge from our snow-covered cottage and begin in the garden.
Don't you just love how ferns unfurl? They don't just grow, they emerge, they unfold. There is bound to be a beautiful metaphor in there somewhere.
Not being the ones who planted the garden, we waited impatiently to see what surprises nature would offer us. We discovered some hostas, daffodils, tulips, and lily of the valley. I spent an hour or so pulling weeds and Erik dug a trench. Then came the mulch!
Don't you just love how ferns unfurl? They don't just grow, they emerge, they unfold. There is bound to be a beautiful metaphor in there somewhere.
Not being the ones who planted the garden, we waited impatiently to see what surprises nature would offer us. We discovered some hostas, daffodils, tulips, and lily of the valley. I spent an hour or so pulling weeds and Erik dug a trench. Then came the mulch!
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Parable
My uncle tells this beautiful parable about achieving a monumental task. Many years ago, he and his young son had to lay a sewer line in the back yard. They had to dig a forty-foot trench by hand, too poor to afford any machinery. His small son asked, "Dad, how will we ever dig such a long trench?" And he replied, "One shovel full at a time." Some time later, the father and son team were finished. When the men came to deliver the pipe, they asked, "Where is all of your equipment?" My uncle told him that they didn't use any. "But how did you possibly dig all of this?" And my young cousin piped in "One shovel full at a time."
Adoption Update
On April 15th, 2009 we were appointed as Srushti's official guardians. Unfortunately for us, the courts are shut down for some festivals or government holiday. So, we have a little wait before the official documents can be sent to the US. Once we get the documents, we jet on over to the USCIS office in Baltimore and fill out some more forms. Then we overnight them to New Delhi where Srushti's visa and passport can be issued. Then, she's on her way. Our agency has a trained escort who will bring our daughter to Newark. We'll pick her up there and stay with Oma for a few days. Our agency thinks that we'll be united as a family mid-June. It's already mid-May. A month away!
Moving Things Around
This blog started in 2003 as the "Misadventures of Sarah Hempel." When I got married in 2005 and changed my name I didn't know what to call it. "Misadventures of Sarah Hempel Irani" seemed to cumbersome, so I changed it to "Nine Tons of Marble." While I was working on the Virgin Mary sculpture, I had literally imported nine tons of marble. It seemed like forever that we worked on this sculpture and the only way that it was going to get done was "one bit at a time." Thus it was named.
Four years later, life is changing yet again. I'll be a mom in a few short weeks. I have seen this blog grow and change into something that is less about my misadventures as an artist living in a garage to one that focuses on life at home: garden, home, food and family. This doesn't mean that I'm going to stop being an artist, but wanted to move things around to have a more focused blog.
Since "Nine Tons" is a sculpture reference, I moved the name to what was once "Hempel Studios News." (That was a dull name anyway.) That blog will focus on studio and art topics, while this blog will mainly focus things at home. "Cafe Irani" is what we call the little bistro table that we have on our patio. We generally eat out there during the warm months. Incidently, in India, Irani Cafes are a special place to get Iranian Chai and other yummy Persian treats. They are the Indian equivalent of small town coffee shops, but are being run out by chains and fancier places. I like to imagine the hospitality and coziness of the Irani Cafes in India and hope that my very own Cafe Irani offers a high level of comfort and yummy foods. I don't know how to make Iranian Chai, but I'll offer you a nicely brewed pot of tea.
Cafe Irani is now open!
Four years later, life is changing yet again. I'll be a mom in a few short weeks. I have seen this blog grow and change into something that is less about my misadventures as an artist living in a garage to one that focuses on life at home: garden, home, food and family. This doesn't mean that I'm going to stop being an artist, but wanted to move things around to have a more focused blog.
Since "Nine Tons" is a sculpture reference, I moved the name to what was once "Hempel Studios News." (That was a dull name anyway.) That blog will focus on studio and art topics, while this blog will mainly focus things at home. "Cafe Irani" is what we call the little bistro table that we have on our patio. We generally eat out there during the warm months. Incidently, in India, Irani Cafes are a special place to get Iranian Chai and other yummy Persian treats. They are the Indian equivalent of small town coffee shops, but are being run out by chains and fancier places. I like to imagine the hospitality and coziness of the Irani Cafes in India and hope that my very own Cafe Irani offers a high level of comfort and yummy foods. I don't know how to make Iranian Chai, but I'll offer you a nicely brewed pot of tea.
Cafe Irani is now open!
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