INTRODUCTION

Ābgūsht (the literal translation is "meat-water") is a hearty, fairly uncomplicated "workingman's" stew made of (very little) meat---usually lamb shank on the bone---chick peas, white beans, potatoes, onions, and tomatoes (usually as paste) simmered for hours on low heat. Like most Iranian food, it is minimally spiced: just salt, pepper, turmeric, and a few dried limes. From my perspective, the presentation and preparation of Iranian dishes quite frequently appears to overshadow their consumption. Ābgūsht is no different in this respect and is perhaps an ideal example of the above principle, considering its common classification as one of the simplest and most "unrefined" of Iranian meals. The planning, prepwork for, and cooking of ābgūsht can be a day-long process involving many steps---and it is still not done! Once it is removed from the fire, the ābgūsht is further transformed (in name and appearance) before it is consumed. The broth is strained from the pot, the bones removed, and the remaining ingredients pounded into a paste called kūbīdah, which is served alongside the broth. Small pieces of bread torn from a loaf of sangak (whole wheat flat bread, of slightly soured dough, cooked on superheated pebbles and sometimes topped with sesame seeds) are often added to the broth to make a pottage of sorts known as tirīd (the word means the sopping up of broth with bread). More fresh bread, fresh greens [sabzī khurdan], and pickled vegetables [turshī] accompany the meal.

From left to right: Ābgūsht-filled "dīzī"s or earthenware jars ready to be served at a dīzīsarā ("dīzī house," or restaurant specializing in ābgūsht) -- Making kūbīdah at home -- Sangak bread and sabzī khurdan -- Ābgūsht eating scene from 1965 blockbuster film Ganj-i Qārūn [Treasure of Korah], a scene common to the commercial films of the pre-Revolutionary era such that they came to be known as Fīlm-i ābgūshtī.

PROPOSAL

Personally, I think Iranians here in North America nostalgic for the homeland would go nuts for something like this. There are a couple of obstacles in drawing the "natives," though, and turning it into a consistent moneymaker:

CONS

1) Only one thing on the menu. In fact, there is no menu. As soon as you sit down in a dīzīsarā in Iran, they bring you your food and utensils. These consist of ābgūsht in an earthenware jar (dīzī), pestle for mashing, bowl for holding the strained broth, fresh bread and greens, and a pitcher of dūgh (yogurt soda, which is very good but sounds revolting to most people who haven't grown up on it).

2) Food is heavy and fatty and makes you sleepy. This is not something I would recommend eating everyday. Every ābgūsht is delivered to your table in Iran comes with a big cube of mutton fat (dunbah) floating on top. After finishing your food and topping it off with tea and super sweet, fried and then dipped in honey pastries (bāmiyah), it's really only time for one thing: a 2-3 hour nap, which is why many of these places are only open for lunch as a lead-in to the afternoon siesta. This is not something, in any case, you necessarily want to eat at dinner time (at least in large quantities) unless you enjoy burping up the taste of rotten eggs all night.

3) Not really conducive to an elegant dining experience, which is often associated with "ethnic" restaurants. Many dīzīsarās have communal seating, there are no multiple course meals, and your bare hands are easily as important a means of food delivery in this dining experience as your fork, spoon or knife.

Well, I really haven't done a good job of selling this idea, have I? Hah! Well, it has positives too:

PROS

1) It tastes good.

2) There is something fun about the communal dining experience. Think of the German beer hall.

3) There is a procedure and order to eating ābgūsht that involves straining, mashing, dunking, slurping, etc., which adds fun and interest to its eating. I think kids (and adults) of the right disposition would have a blast with it.

4) Many of these places have musical performances, often originating in Sufi devotional practices. This has become the basis of much of Iranian "classical" music, which has a growing audience in the West. Generally, I think gaining cultural knowledge/having a cultural experience is just as important a part of the ethnic restaurant experience for most people as the food itself. In short, the ambience counts for customers almost as much as the food. Going to restaurants like this is a way to project oneself as cosmopolitan.

5)Maybe the whole sleepy thing could be worked into the concept. Some of the dīzīsarās I've been to have their customers sit on a wooden bedframe (takht) covered with a Persian rug and surrounded by pillows. People aren't encouraged to take a nap there but rather to get comfortable while they eat. Well, I've always thought why not allow the customer to sleep it off? You could make private cubicles like you have in some Japanese restaurants. Your party could reserve a room for, let's say, 3 hours. You pay for food and lodging all in one. Would make a good spot for business meetings, I would think.

Anyway, that's my idea in a nutshell.

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