Latest news with #BritishIranian
BreakingNews.ie
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- BreakingNews.ie
Sabrina Ghayour: ‘We all have less time, we all have less money, we all have people to feed'
British-Iranian chef Sabrina Ghayour reckons many Persian dishes can be made much simpler for the home cooks. 'Lots of stuff is just shrouded in tradition, and tradition can go back generations to when they didn't have electricity or didn't have commercial cleaning of food. So, why is it essential to have four pots on the stove for a Persian stew? No, I've done it all in one pot and it works.' The 49-year-old, who shot to critical acclaim with her debut cookbook Persiana in 2014 and has since published seven more, adds: 'Auntie would say, 'I'm telling you, I've been doing this for 45 years'. You get told by your mother you cannot do this any other way and then someone like me comes along, who is a bit lazy and loves a shortcut. Advertisement 'I'm thinking, 'Why can't you do it this way? Screw it, we'll try it'. That's how a lot of my Persian and traditional recipes are perfected. 'I know what changes I can make and which would compromise flavour and which wouldn't, so I'm thinking, let's make it easier. We don't need to soak rice 500 times.' Her latest cookbook, Persiana Easy, sticks to the Persian food we know and love her for (think brunch kuku, mutton raan and polow), alongside dishes from near and not so near regions, like Lebanese Hashweh next to Pakistani-style Biryani, Indian smashed crispy potato chaat and Egyptian koshari. But this time, stripped back and simpler. Photo: Kris Kirkham. Ghayour's food is often cited as Middle Eastern, but the term doesn't always feel right to her. 'It's not that I don't like it, it's just a bit broad. It's like calling English food European,' she suggests. 'I just think sometimes we generalise it and go, yeah, the Middle East. Because idiots like me cook recipes from Morocco and Turkey, and then they get batched in with my books. Of course, neither of them are in the Middle East.' Advertisement Her recipe ideas do derive from far and wide though; 'My uncle's Pakistani, my other uncle is Afghani – I grew up with all influences… [and] there's a lot of Persian influence in lots of other countries, we got around, the Persian empire.' Self-taught from the age of five ('My mum can't cook at all, no one taught me, I just watched telly') Ghayour grew up trying things out in the kitchen, eventually launching 'Sabrina's Kitchen' supper clubs from her London flat, and is now a regular on BBC1's Saturday Kitchen as well as Channel 4's Sunday Brunch. The fact that she's a home cook, rather than a professional restaurant chef, isn't a disadvantage though, she says. 'You're providing value from what you're asking [cookbook readers] to buy, if they don't already have it – that's because I'm a home cook, so when I do recipe tests that I'm staring at in my kitchen, and I realise that's actually not a weakness, that's a strength. I'm always using the same things in my kitchen. So that's kind of given me confidence.' Advertisement (Kris Kirkham/PA) She's 'not afraid' to use the same store cupboard ingredients over and again. 'Sometimes you'll have recipes of mine that will maybe have, let's say, eight ingredients, but six of them are the same. The key ingredient and something else is different, they taste totally different to one another,' she says. 'I used to think that made me a bit of a charlatan or an imposter, and then I realised, actually that's really good because people [at home] are using the same ingredients. So you're asking them to buy and they're using them up.' The most important things are probably already in your pantry anyway, including; good sea salt ('Good salt makes everything taste good in the absence of any other spice') pepper ('a very key spice – I use it as more than just a seasoning'), chilli flakes, oregano, garlic granules and curry powder, she suggests. 'In God's honest truth, most of the Persian and Middle Eastern ingredients are readily available in supermarkets – and yes, in the last 10 years, pomegranate molasses, sumac, and all these things have been added to that.' Now based in York, Ghayour tied the knot in 2021 and became part of a bigger family. 'After Covid and getting married and now a stepmum, life has changed. Advertisement 'I literally cook every single day, I cook three meals every day. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Sabrina Ghayour-Lynn (@sabrinaghayour) 'We all have less time, we all have less money, we all have people to feed – there's so many reasons to keep things pared-down as much as possible. I'm certainly more pared-down [rather] than hunting after the authentic version of something.' So many of her recipes are easier versions of classics, while others are entirely made up – take the hummus soup, for example. 'I'm always trying to come up with soups because we're a big soup house, especially my mother and mother-in-law, they live off soup. 'I think any cuisine that you haven't done before, people will perceive to be difficult to make,' Ghayour says, but her aim is to provide a calming voice in the kitchen. 'Because cooking is confidence. It's not even about the food, it's about how straightforward was it for me to convey my recipe to you? Calm you down in the process, tell you there's nothing to worry about, you don't need to do this, you don't need to do that. It's fine.' Advertisement 'I've purposely written that calm into every intro in all of my books.' Photo: Mitchell Beazley/PA.
Telegraph
05-07-2025
- Politics
- Telegraph
Why I'm banned from Iran, Israel and the US – despite breaking no rules
Persian by blood, British by birth. A dual citizen who visited Iran every year of her life – until recently – to see the relatives still living there. I wouldn't change my heritage for the world, but I'd be lying if I said it hadn't caused a few problems when it comes to travel. It's a strange thing, being effectively barred from three of the world's most fascinating countries – without ever having broken a single rule. As a British-Iranian journalist, I've found myself… less than welcome, shall we say, in Iran, Israel and the US. Caught in a tangled web of international politics and passport technicalities, I've been forced to forgo opportunities and miss moments that matter. I remember being offered a press trip to Israel in the early days of my career – long before recent events – and telling my dad the exciting news. He shut it down almost instantly. 'If you go, you may never be allowed back into Iran,' he warned. At the time, I couldn't believe the two were so mutually exclusive. I'd hoped to visit Israel and Palestine with open eyes, to experience the people and cultures first-hand. But that door closed before it ever opened. The irony? Iran is now effectively off the table too. I haven't been banned – not officially – but as a journalist, the risks of a misunderstanding at the border are all too real. My parents' growing concern about my return is likely justified, no matter how frustrating it is to hear. And then there's the US. In 2016, I received an email informing me that my ESTA – the visa waiver British travellers take for granted – had been revoked. No explanation, just a blunt notification that I'd now need to apply for a full tourist visa. The reason? A sweeping policy affecting anyone who holds Iranian nationality or has travelled to certain countries since 2011. It was Iran, Iraq, Syria and Sudan at the time – and more have since been added to the list. I know what you're thinking: just give up the Iranian citizenship. But that's easier said than done – and not something I want to do. My Iranian passport may be expired, but holding onto it, or even just the national ID card, is a tether to my roots. To the country in which my parents were born, where my grandparents are buried, and where so many of my relatives still live. Retaining that citizenship is more than a legal technicality – it's a deeply personal connection to my culture, my language and my family. Growing up, I didn't always appreciate those annual visits, but I now see them as some of the most meaningful experiences of my life. And I'm far from alone. Thousands of dual nationals, including friends and colleagues, find themselves in similar limbo. Holding onto that second passport is, for many of us, a way of preserving our identity. But it comes with baggage: extra scrutiny at borders, bureaucratic hurdles and, in my case, a growing list of no-go zones. I've lost count of the number of times someone's told me, 'Just apply for an ESTA!' as if I haven't thought of that. Being shut out of a country based on your heritage is frustrating enough, and being met with blank stares or misguided advice when you try to explain why just adds insult to injury. I was lucky, in some ways. After graduating, I did manage to travel across the States – a three-month coast-to-coast road trip that I'll never forget. I returned again that winter for New Year's Eve in New York. At the time, I'd been torn between the US and backpacking through Southeast Asia. Now I'm glad I chose America – because that window has long since closed. Lately, though, I've had the itch again. There are places I'd love to revisit, friends I miss and cities I've yet to explore. But it's not simple. Getting a US visa isn't impossible, but appointments are backed up, and processing can take months. I could maybe get one for 2026 – if I'm lucky. Even then, there's the risk of being pulled aside at customs. It's an exhausting process to go through every time you just want to travel. I've already missed out on so much. I can't see the Savannah Bananas play (yes, really – look them up on Instagram). I've had to turn down work trips, missed invitations from friends, and soon I'll miss a close family friend's wedding in New York. None of my immediate family can go. My mum wanted to celebrate her 70th birthday in California next year. I've told her to keep up her gym routine and take her vitamins – we may have to delay that milestone. As for Iran, I haven't seen some of my relatives in a decade. When one set of aunts and uncles were able to get visas to visit their son in Canada, my sister and I flew out to meet them there. I'm so grateful we did. It's bittersweet to see travellers on Instagram and TikTok venturing to Iran, sharing the beauty of the country I know so well – its hospitality, its landscapes, its culture. I feel a pang of envy every time. Because while the world feels more connected than ever, people like me remain quietly, frustratingly, stuck in between.
San Francisco Chronicle
21-04-2025
- Entertainment
- San Francisco Chronicle
Book Review: Sara Jafari's 'Things Left Unsaid' is a tale of tentative lovers who keep connecting
Sara Jafari's 'Things Left Unsaid' is a love-craving, tumbling tale of two Iranian British friends who first meet in high school — the self-skeptic and pessimist Shirin Bayat, and the traumatized Kian Rahimi. Kian was 15 years old when his older brother, Mehdi, was incarcerated and blames himself partly for what happened. Shirin, for her part, battles anxiety and depression. In high school in the northern English city of Hull, Shirin falls in love with Kian, her only close male friend, but she can't open up to him about it. Kian feels the same about Shirin; he fancies her and imagines her lips on his, but kept it quiet. Shirin and Kian both went their separate ways after school until 10 years later when they unexpectedly meet again at a friend's party in London. They have a lot in common: They have both faced discrimination — they were their school's only two non-white students and now Shirim finds the same situation at work. Shirin kept thinking of Kian throughout the decade-long separation. Even though Shirin kept in touch with her female friends from her high school days, she always had a sense of unfulfillment, a sense of pessimism and skepticism. Her parents had separated when she was in college. 'Shirin thinks there is an ugliness inside her sometimes, some kind of repressed anger that she takes out on other people in her mind,' the author writes. But her thoughts of Kian, and her desire for them to be together again one day, give her a sense of hope and relief. When the two reunite again in London at their friend Millie's 27th birthday party, Shirin's love for her old friend resurfaces. But it comes a little too late: Salma, who Kian was now seeing, is also at the party. Shirin even asks Kian to kiss her, but he doesn't because she's drunk. These would-be lovers have one final meeting — at a dinner party in New York in 2020, where Kian is now living. She confesses to having a lot of regrets and that she had been thinking about him during their decade-long separation. Kian confesses he had imagined her kissing him while they were in school. 'Why didn't we make it work?' Kian asks, adding that he wanted it to. Shirin responds with 'I want that, too…' Could this time be the time they finally get together? Or has a gulf developed between them? Beautifully written in simple language, the London-based British Iranian author Jafari continuously pulls anxious readers along to find out what becomes of Shirin's and Kian's craving for each other. ___
Hindustan Times
21-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Book Review: Sara Jafari's 'Things Left Unsaid' is a tale of tentative lovers who keep connecting
Sara Jafari's 'Things Left Unsaid' is a love-craving, tumbling tale of two Iranian British friends who first meet in high school — the self-skeptic and pessimist Shirin Bayat, and the traumatized Kian Rahimi. Kian was 15 years old when his older brother, Mehdi, was incarcerated and blames himself partly for what happened. Shirin, for her part, battles anxiety and depression. In high school in the northern English city of Hull, Shirin falls in love with Kian, her only close male friend, but she can't open up to him about it. Kian feels the same about Shirin; he fancies her and imagines her lips on his, but kept it quiet. Shirin and Kian both went their separate ways after school until 10 years later when they unexpectedly meet again at a friend's party in London. They have a lot in common: They have both faced discrimination — they were their school's only two non-white students and now Shirim finds the same situation at work. Shirin kept thinking of Kian throughout the decade-long separation. Even though Shirin kept in touch with her female friends from her high school days, she always had a sense of unfulfillment, a sense of pessimism and skepticism. Her parents had separated when she was in college. 'Shirin thinks there is an ugliness inside her sometimes, some kind of repressed anger that she takes out on other people in her mind,' the author writes. But her thoughts of Kian, and her desire for them to be together again one day, give her a sense of hope and relief. When the two reunite again in London at their friend Millie's 27th birthday party, Shirin's love for her old friend resurfaces. But it comes a little too late: Salma, who Kian was now seeing, is also at the party. Shirin even asks Kian to kiss her, but he doesn't because she's drunk. These would-be lovers have one final meeting — at a dinner party in New York in 2020, where Kian is now living. She confesses to having a lot of regrets and that she had been thinking about him during their decade-long separation. Kian confesses he had imagined her kissing him while they were in school. 'Why didn't we make it work?' Kian asks, adding that he wanted it to. Shirin responds with 'I want that, too…' Could this time be the time they finally get together? Or has a gulf developed between them? Beautifully written in simple language, the London-based British Iranian author Jafari continuously pulls anxious readers along to find out what becomes of Shirin's and Kian's craving for each other. book reviews: /hub/book-reviews
Associated Press
21-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Associated Press
Book Review: Sara Jafari's 'Things Left Unsaid' is a tale of tentative lovers who keep connecting
Sara Jafari's 'Things Left Unsaid' is a love-craving, tumbling tale of two Iranian British friends who first meet in high school — the self-skeptic and pessimist Shirin Bayat, and the traumatized Kian Rahimi. Kian was 15 years old when his older brother, Mehdi, was incarcerated and blames himself partly for what happened. Shirin, for her part, battles anxiety and depression. In high school in the northern English city of Hull, Shirin falls in love with Kian, her only close male friend, but she can't open up to him about it. Kian feels the same about Shirin; he fancies her and imagines her lips on his, but kept it quiet. Shirin and Kian both went their separate ways after school until 10 years later when they unexpectedly meet again at a friend's party in London. They have a lot in common: They have both faced discrimination — they were their school's only two non-white students and now Shirim finds the same situation at work. Shirin kept thinking of Kian throughout the decade-long separation. Even though Shirin kept in touch with her female friends from her high school days, she always had a sense of unfulfillment, a sense of pessimism and skepticism. Her parents had separated when she was in college. 'Shirin thinks there is an ugliness inside her sometimes, some kind of repressed anger that she takes out on other people in her mind,' the author writes. But her thoughts of Kian, and her desire for them to be together again one day, give her a sense of hope and relief. When the two reunite again in London at their friend Millie's 27th birthday party, Shirin's love for her old friend resurfaces. But it comes a little too late: Salma, who Kian was now seeing, is also at the party. Shirin even asks Kian to kiss her, but he doesn't because she's drunk. These would-be lovers have one final meeting — at a dinner party in New York in 2020, where Kian is now living. She confesses to having a lot of regrets and that she had been thinking about him during their decade-long separation. Kian confesses he had imagined her kissing him while they were in school. 'Why didn't we make it work?' Kian asks, adding that he wanted it to. Shirin responds with 'I want that, too…' Could this time be the time they finally get together? Or has a gulf developed between them? Beautifully written in simple language, the London-based British Iranian author Jafari continuously pulls anxious readers along to find out what becomes of Shirin's and Kian's craving for each other. ___ AP book reviews:
