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In our kitchen, every dish tells a story passed down through generations. Picture our chefs tenderly layering fresh herbs between grains of fragrant basmati rice, crafting the coveted tahdig. As the golden crust forms, their eyes gleam with pride—a triumphant moment that turns every meal into a celebration. Tahdig, a golden-crusted masterpiece, is the crown jewel of Persian cuisine. The patient simmer of Ghormeh Sabzi, a time-honored stew, fills the air with the distinctive aroma of fenugreek and dried lime, while tender chunks of beef melt into a sauce perfected over centuries.
Even though my two locations are only thirty minutes apart, it feels like I’m running two entirely different businesses. In White Plains, the pace is slower. People take their time—they enjoy their meals, sip their wine, and catch up on life. It’s the kind of place where you get to know people. When someone walks through the door, they greet me by my first name. There’s comfort in that kind of familiarity. It’s not just about food; it’s about connection. Guests feel at home, and I love being part of that.
The Fresh Herbs of My Childhood: Sabzi Khordan
As a kid, I had the important task of riding my bike to the market every day to buy fresh herbs, or sabzi khordan, for my mom. She’d always remind me to make sure I got the freshest herbs, like tarragon, basil, mint, and radish. Once home, she’d wash and portion them for lunch and dinner. I loved the herbs so much, I could eat them all in one sitting, so she had to hide the dinner portion in the fridge. My family teased me, saying I ate herbs as the main dish and the food as a side! Even now, in our restaurant, we bring that same focus on fresh ingredients and vibrant flavors, just like my mom did.
Imagine a quaint little restaurant in Motel Ghoo, a small town tucked away by the Caspian Sea, where as a young, polite kid often described as a "little gentleman," I discovered the joys of a local culinary gem—Mirza Ghasemi.
