Persian Food

I am having lunch today with some colleagues at a Persian restaurant and got me thinking about Persian food.

There are foods you eat.
And then there are foods that quietly rewire your standards.

Persian food does not show up casually. It arrives. It has posture. It has opinions. It does not care that you had a protein bar at your desk yesterday and called that “lunch.”

And let’s talk about the rice for a second.

Why is it better than every other rice? Who gave it permission to have texture? Why is there a crispy golden layer at the bottom like a reward for good behavior? Why does it look like it was lit by a cinematographer?

I’m sitting there today pretending to participate in normal lunch conversation while internally thinking:

I would like to restructure my life around saffron.

And that’s the thing about Persian food. It’s dramatic in the most elegant way. It’s layered. It’s sweet and sour at the same time. It throws herbs at you like confetti. It slow-simmers stews for hours just to prove a point.

It’s not loud. It’s confident.

There’s a difference.

The kebabs are perfectly charred but not trying too hard. The yogurt with cucumber and mint is casually refreshing, like it woke up flawless. The stews — deeply rich, slightly tangy, complex — taste like someone cared. A lot.

And maybe that’s what I love about it.

It feels considered., and it really inspires my own cooking.

Persian cuisine, rooted in the traditions of Iran, doesn’t rush. It layers flavor the way a good outfit layers texture. Sweet needs sour. Rich needs bright. Soft rice needs crispy tahdig. Everything has contrast. Everything has intention.

It’s basically a masterclass in balance disguised as lunch.

And sitting there today, between bites and conversation and the faint smell of saffron, I had that small but important thought:

This is how we should be living.

Not rushed.
Not flat.
Not one-note.

Layered. Balanced. With a crispy golden bottom you earn by being patient.

Rex | Living has always been about designing your life on purpose. Persian food just happens to be delicious proof that the extra step — the extra hour, the extra herb, the extra thought — is what makes something unforgettable.

Also, I am now emotionally invested in tahdig.

So if you need me, I’ll be researching rice techniques and pretending this is professional development.

Best,

Jason