The Butterfly's Recipe

Arzu shuffled around the house with a crazy look inside her large almond eyes. 

“Zu, sweetheart, I’ve never seen you act like this before. What on earth is going on inside this kitchen?” Arzu’s mother asked, furrowing her brow and holding her hands out in front of her.

“I had the strangest dream last night, and I need to try baking something to see if it is true,” Arzu answered while continuing to dig through pots and pans in a cabinet. 

“To see if what is true, darling?” Arzu’s mother asked her daughter again while smiling and shaking her head in amusement.

“I’ll tell you when I test it out, okay?” Arzy replied, shutting the cabinet door firmly. 

“Okay, okay, just make sure you clean up after yourself,” Arzu’s mother said, still shaking her head and walking out of the room. 

Arzu nodded and turned on the kitchen faucet to wash her hands, the strong smell of lemon-scented soap filling her nose and making her eyes water. She glanced out the window for a moment, seeing a butterfly land on the flower box outside. A gentle warmth spread from her smile to her chest, remembering how her Grandmother always said that butterflies represented the souls of loved ones.

Arzu took it as a sign and got back to work. If her dream was right, she would need to do this all by herself, guided only by her heart. 

As her hand glided over the drawers, it seemed to move itself all the way over to the spice cabinet. This was new territory for Arzu, as she had only ever cooked eggs and toast for herself. However, today marked a time for new growth, and Arzu desperately wanted to feel part of something bigger than herself.

She picked up a bottle with a red top and sniffed. The smell of saffron brought her all the way back to her grandmother’s kitchen where she sat at the table and watched Grandma Minu prepare dinner for the entire family.

Grandma Minu made the best saffron rice, and anyone who had the chance to try it would agree. Grandma Minu was famous for her stews, Koufteh Ghelgheli, and numerous other dishes. No one left Grandma’s house hungry, she simply wouldn’t allow it.

Arzu remembered a time when she was six years old and Grandma Minu came up to her at the table and whispered something in her ear that made little Arzu giggle. She squeezed Grandma’s hand and nodded. Arzu then hopped off the chair and ran down the hallway to play with her cousins. 

Arzu could still hear Grandma Minu’s gentle laugh echoing down the hallway. Arzu believed it was the purest sound of joy, and wished she could bottle it up and keep it with her. 

The red lid twisted off, and Arzu measured out a strand of saffron. She crushed it on top of a cutting board and took a pinch off of one side. 

She reached below the counter, and pre-heated the oven to 350ºF. The warmth of the oven seemed to embrace Arzu for a moment. 

Arzu then reached for the stove, placing a large pot on top, pouring two tablespoons of milk. While the milk began to boil, an instinct Arzu didn’t know she had kicked in, and she immediately lowered the temperature. 

She poured the warm milk into a small steel bowl and sprinkled the saffron pieces inside. She watched the milk turn a golden color and smiled, remembering the gold bracelets that Grandma Minu always wore on her wrists. Azula used to slip on her own bangles at home and immediate the classy way her grandma walked, the bangles clinking against one another.

Arzu moved to the pantry and gathered salt, baking soda, and flour, clutching them tightly in her arms as she walked a few steps to the countertop. 

In a clear bowl Arzu poured two cups of flour, a teaspoon of baking soda, and a few pinches of salt. Her fingers seemed to know exactly how much she wanted. 

In another bowl, Arzu beat one softened stick of butter with a cup of crystal-like granulated sugar and half a cup of brown sugar. The aroma made her mouth water. The mixture was becoming thicker, and Arzu smiled to herself. She felt a new sense of independence.

Grabbing  another bowl from a cabinet below her, Arzu tried to imagine the rest of the recipe. The next thing she knew, her hand was guided to the refrigerator and she pulled out a perfectly oval brown egg. She cracked the egg carefully on the rounded edge of the bowl and emptied the yolk. She ran to the garbage with the shell in her hand and washed off the slimy insides in the kitchen sink. The strong smell of lemon soap, again, made her sneeze and blink a few times.

She made her way to the pantry and pulled a small black bottle of vanilla off the shelf. She took a deep breath when she twisted off the cap. It smelled like coming home from a long day and getting ready to enjoy treats by the T.V. with a cup of black tea. It smelled like her mother’s perfume during the holiday season, the one that buried itself inside of Arzu’s clothes whenever they hugged and stayed there for a long time.

It smelled like the winter days when she would go ice skating with her best friends, where she would watch little paths of powder form under her after skating over the hard glistening ice.

She poured a half teaspoon of vanilla extract into the bowl and beat all the contents inside. She took the flour, baking soda, and salt and poured it into the same bowl. Her recipe was going according to plan.

She began stirring the mixture around in circles, humming a tune that she had heard before, but she couldn’t put a finger on where it was from.

Then she got the feeling that she was missing something. A slow, growing feeling of panic crept over Arzu. Had she forgotten a crucial ingredient? Was her dream misleading her? 

Without realizing, tears began to trickle down her soft olive cheeks, and she swept her dark curls out of her face. For a moment she felt alone. 

She thought back to last night when her grandmother visited her. Arzu was a child in her dream, the same feelings of eager restlessness and energy pulsed through her veins. Grandma Minu walked towards her in a beautiful red dress, her bangles sliding and clinking down her wrists as she opened her arms for a hug. She smiled wide, and the creases at the ends of her dove-like eyes bent upwards. She had put on dark red lipstick, like the truly chic older woman she was, and smiled wide for her bright-eyed granddaughter. She bent down to reach Arzu’s level, and leaned down to her left ear. Grandmother Minu parted her lips and whispered, “Keshmesh,” and then delicately kissed Arzu on the cheek and winked. 

Arzu’s eyes opened wide and she held a hand over her heart. How could she have forgotten? 

Arzu laughed to herself realizing she forgot the raisins, or Keshmesh, and walked giddily over to the pantry. Little Arzu used to sneak raisin packets before dinner and Grandma Minu pretended not to notice. But, Grandma Minu knew everything.

Her grandmother always told her that anything she did in life, she had to put extra love into. She reminded Arzu that everyone really needs that love. Grandma Minu’s secret to cooking was thinking of all the people she was preparing the meal for and adding in her deep feeling of love for them.

She said people can always tell if their food was made with love. She argued that you could follow a recipe step by step and make a good meal. But delicious foods, the kinds that open your heart through your stomach,  are made purely with love and intention.

While adding the raisins into the mixture, and placing the bowl into the refrigerator, Arzu hummed the tune that her mother used to sing to her as a child. Arzu waited for the dough to chill and went into the living room, stepping onto the Persian rug. 

She stood in front of a portrait on the wall. She looked from face to face and felt such a deep connection to her family. Her toes grounded themselves on the soft, red and gold threads of the rug below her. She felt a deep love for her parents and baby sister, realizing what her Grandmother meant. She looked up and nodded at the portrait of Grandma Minu, then headed back to the kitchen.

She put little balls onto a baking sheet and let the cookies bake for fourteen minutes. She watched them flatten and transform from white spotty mounds into beautiful yellow circles with golden rims. They looked like miniature suns, expanding out to reach closer to one another.

Arzu let the cookies cool, the smell of sweetness and saffron filling the entire kitchen. Her mother and younger sister came quickly downstairs to see where the incredible scent was coming from. The scent seemed to pull them down each step and down the hallway to the kitchen.

Arzu held her plate of cookies out to her family. Her mother grabbed one and looked at it for a long time. The raisins were arranged in the shape of a perfect butterfly. She furrowed her brow for a moment, looked at it again, and then took a bite. The mixture of the warm temperature and sweet flavors brought a smile to her lips. 

Arzu’s sister ate the cookies off the plate quickly, with crumbs tumbling down her shirt. Arzu’s mother watched her youngest and shook her head while smiling. She grabbed her daughters tightly, and they all laughed.

Arzu beamed while in the arms of her mother and sister. In that moment, she made a silent promise to put her love into everything she did for her family, in honor of Grandma Minu.