Iran Nigel Slater's Middle East

As a cook and writer,

I've long been intrigued by

the flavours and fragrances of Middle Eastern cooking.

One of the oldest and most influential cuisines in the world.

Now I want to find out more.

You know, there really is only one true way

to get to know a region's food.

And that's to go there,

to eat the food amongst the people who cook it and eat it every day.

That way, it's seasoned with a sense of place,

the landscape, the culture,

and the traditions.

That's incredible.

So join me on my journey...

Can I have a look in your cupboard?

..to discover ingredients and recipes

that define three countries with

truly exciting food stories.

Cheese and roses, it shouldn't work!

Places considered to be the key pillars of Middle Eastern cuisine.

My adventure takes me across northern Iran

to taste Persian dishes with a rich heritage,

to Lebanon with its Arab-influenced flavours of the Levant,

and to Turkey, where the recipes, born of a diverse landscape,

have travelled the world.

Did the date pattern. Should have done the walnut pattern.

My appetite for new flavours takes me through

ancient and beguiling lands,

but more importantly, into people's homes.

I absolutely loved it and I can't thank you enough.

This is my chance to learn new techniques

and recipes that aren't in books,

but have been handed down through generations.

How long does it take you?

-Five minutes.

-Five minutes?

-Yes.

-Yeah, well, I'd better get a move on, then.

And I'll share the secrets I discover

by cooking recipes inspired by my journey.

I've already savoured the fragrant delights of Lebanese recipes

and the hearty dishes of rural Turkey.

And my adventure now concludes with Persian food,

in a country shrouded in mystery...

..Iran.

I've landed in the capital, Tehran.

In the West, this emerging superpower is invariably associated

with religious fanaticism and hostility.

But I've come to learn about a completely different side of Iran,

to find out about a food culture which spans centuries,

and through cooking and eating with Iranian people,

gain an insight into everyday life.

Tehran is home to over eight million inhabitants.

But even it is dwarfed by the grandeur of the Alborz Mountains

that cloak its northern fringes.

It's quite a sight to wake up to.

When I go away, even when I travel, I tend to go to the same places

every year. But it always feels so safe because I know it well.

I know where I'm going.

And this time I really don't.

Iran is vast - seven times larger than the UK -

and home to 80 million people.

My journey begins here in the sprawling capital.

I'll travel through the Alborz Mountains in search of pomegranate

orchards, then further north to the fabled shores of the Caspian Sea,

before heading east to fields of red gold for the annual saffron harvest.

But first thing's first - breakfast.

I'm off to meet Meisam. He's going to be my guide throughout Iran.

And although English is widely spoken here,

my Farsi is nothing to write home about.

-Hello.

-Hello.

-Hi, Nigel.

-Meisam.

-Meisam.

-Nigel. Nice to meet you.

-How are you?

Very nice to meet you. Very nice to see you here.

Very, very nice to be here.

Breakfast starts with bread.

And the amount eaten here is among the highest in the world.

Six times the global average.

Meisam is taking me to the southern,

more working class part of Tehran,

to a specialist local bakery.

Small neighbourhood bakeries like this

are a common sight around Tehran,

and this one has just one product.

It's called sangak.

-Sangak.

-Sang means stone.

Sangak means a small stone,

so the oven is full of small pebbles of stone.

Sangak is a wholewheat flatbread

made with a soft, yeasty dough,

which has been thinly stretched and baked over hot pebbles.

Watching this guy's hands just forming the shape of the loaf,

spreading the dough out.

-Yes.

-And then he's putting the marks in with his fingertips.

Exactly.

So, inside the oven, that's all pebbles.

Yes.

But the bread is baked directly onto them.

Directly, yes.

Folklore has it that, centuries ago,

Persian foot soldiers carried small stones in their bags and, after they

set up camp, used them in makeshift ovens.

It's not unknown to pick out a stray pebble

from the bread as it's served.

I've got to do this.

Yes, I would like to do that.

-Yes.

-Can't resist.

-You can't resist.

-No.

There's no shortcut or machine for real sangak.

It has to be handmade,

making the crisp outside and the soft, warm centre timeless.

No wonder it's so popular.

Makes me quite happy, actually.

Delicious as it is, sangak isn't the only thing

eaten here for breakfast.

It's a good partner to kebabs, and for mopping up the juices of a dish

which has satisfied the Iranian people for over 4,000 years.

Oh, my word!

-Sheep, yeah? A sheep's head?

-Yes.

It's called kalleh pacheh.

Kalleh means head.

Pacheh means leg.

This is favourite to many of us.

Kalleh pacheh is a full Iranian breakfast.

It's a hearty broth, made with a sheep's head and hooves,

simmered with onions, garlic, cinnamon, turmeric and bay leaves.

It's central heating for the soul.

It's not edible. The eyeball itself is not edible.

Those comforting words, first thing in the morning,

"The eye isn't edible."

Just about everything else is, though.

Mashed brain and fat goes into the juice, which is simmered overnight

so that the broth is meatily rich in flavour, and almost sticky with the

goodness from the bones.

-This is a cheek.

-The cheek.

It's delicious. It's much softer and more gentle

than I thought it would be. When I walked in and I saw, you know,

nose to tail eating to the extreme, I thought,

"The flavours are going to be really quite strong,"

and that thing of boiling lamb,

it's not to everybody's taste.

But this...

This is heavenly.

So, little bits of brain.

Yes.

It feels silky. It really is.

Yes.

It is fatty, but...

It's good fat.

-It feels good.

-It feels really good.

It slides down.

-Exactly.

-There's nothing shocking about it.

The fact that dishes here have survived

not just a few generations, but for thousands of years,

is testament to how important family and tradition are

to everyday Iranian life.

After the somewhat austere comfort of kalleh pacheh,

Meisam is keen to show me there's room

for a little indulgence here too.

Ice cream.

-Ice cream.

-They have huge...

Huge ice creams.

It says metres and kilometres of ice creams.

Ice cream by the metre.

-Yes.

-And the kilometre.

-Yes, exactly.

-They talk my language.

Yes, exactly.

Did you say black mulberry?

-And cantaloupe.

-Black mulberry and cantaloupe.

-Yes.

Oh, look at that!

I think he needs to stop.

Here comes the next part.

Like a Tehran twister.

That is amazing.

It's like a work of art.

And for the record, it was delicious.

Central Tehran is the most historic part of the city.

The beautiful 16th century Golestan Palace

was once the seat of power in Tehran.

And from this hub, a market culture has grown

and evolved over hundreds of years

to become one of the most incredible markets in the world.

The Grand Bazaar.

This is, and always has been, the commercial heartbeat of the city.

With its many corridors reaching more than six miles in length,

this is the largest market in Iran.

Although family meals eaten at home are most celebrated here.

I'm quickly swept up with the crowds of the busy market,

following the aromas of the very best places

to eat Iranian street food.

It's got to be good.

Because there's such a scrum.

The hottest lunch ticket in town is this stall,

selling Iran's most famous soup, asheh reshteh.

So, the lady on the corner,

she's taking everybody's money and giving them a ticket.

And as Meisam battles the crowds, I make a new friend.

Thank you. I do, yes, you're right.

-Nigel. Nigel.

-Nigel, yes.

-Thank you for watching.

-You are welcome.

Meisam eventually emerges.

Ah! You got it!

Well done! Well done.

-See how difficult it was.

-Yeah, that's...

That's some queue.

Look at this!

Oh, my word.

Oh, please.

This thick soup filled with noodles,

pulses and beans, celebrates Iran's international ancestry.

A result of its position on ancient trade routes.

Some people say that noodle comes from Japan.

Some others say that because it looks like pasta,

it comes from Italy.

But the fact that matters is that it's originated

from another region in the world.

So we actually modified it and localised it for our own taste.

By adding that sourness, the smoothness of the yoghurt...

Exactly.

-And the beans.

-And the beans.

Mm!

It's gorgeous,

in every sense of the word.

Asheh reshteh is the perfect combination

of warming dairy with a hint of sourness that Iranians love.

Roughly chop two onions.

And sweat them in olive oil until golden.

Add chopped garlic and turmeric.

After a few minutes, mix in lentils, chickpeas and haricot beans.

Pour in stock.

And then simmer for half an hour, before adding reshteh noodles.

They're like linguine.

Squeeze and chop wilted spinach with handfuls of parsley,

coriander and mint.

Fold into the soup and top with sour cream,

then finish with golden caramelised onions.

A warm and nourishing lunch.

A new day dawns, time to head for the hills.

With petrol costing as little as 20p a litre, it seems we are not alone.

Iran has officially the world's most dangerous roads,

with 20 times more accidents than the average.

Meisam shares his thoughts on the psyche

of the infamous Iranian driver.

They become impolite, really impolite when they are driving.

For example, using this flashing light

when you're changing your lanes is not still the culture here.

Because I have been to Europe before,

and I like the way they drive there.

-I always do that.

-We politely indicate.

-"This is our intention."

-Yes.

I'm travelling to the northern province of Gilan,

near the remote village of Anbu.

It looks a hostile landscape of barren,

dusty hills but hidden in the valleys is a lush, green oasis.

You know, there's some days you just don't know what to expect.

And then suddenly, this secret green space - very verdant, very lush,

with these flashes of crimson and red,

and it's a pomegranate orchard.

This is Alireza.

His family have owned this pomegranate orchard for generations.

Pomegranates are native to Iran,

one of the world's biggest producers of the fruit.

And growing nearly a million tonnes every year.

It's often referred to as the Fruit of Paradise - and with good reason.

You want to see a big pomegranate?

That's the biggest ever!

We called this bull pomegranate.

As in beef. I'm not surprised.

Well, we have a beefsteak tomato.

Our biggest tomatoes, we call them beefsteaks.

Oh, look at that!

It's like there is so much more pomegranate there.

It's juicier, it's sweeter, but it's also got a kick of sourness as well.

The harvest season starts in October and runs through to early January.

Small farms like this pick by hand to avoid damaging the fruits.

And so many hands are needed.

Even mine, it seems.

She can do once for you so that you can learn. Right?

Go and show me.

Oh, big one!

I don't want to miss any.

I can't believe these branches don't snap.

Well, I don't want to drop one.

I don't want to drop one because these are so precious.

You know, this is somebody's harvest.

This is somebody's livelihood,

but also there's more to it than that.

There's something so incredibly special about these fruits.

It would feel like a crime if I dropped one.

And I haven't. I think I've got a new job.

Yeah.

Whilst this looks like a scene from yesteryear,

of a community pooling its resources at harvest time,

most of Alireza's family and friends travel here,

putting on traditional costume,

to get themselves into the harvest spirit.

You only wear them when you're here.

So, this is like a sort of celebration,

it's like a working holiday or a celebration.

What a lovely thing to do every year,

to look forward to. Just lovely.

The perfect fruit are sold at markets.

Ali gets about 75p per kilo.

Not every fruit makes the grade.

But all is not lost.

So, these are the pomegranates that...

What? That aren't good enough to be sold whole?

Pomegranate molasses is used across Middle Eastern cooking, but nowhere

more so than in Iran.

The family here make it with a beautiful purity.

The seeds are washed in water from the stream,

and then put over an open fire.

All those complex notes of pomegranate molasses...

All that sweetness, the caramelised notes, the sourness, in this case,

it's actually just pomegranates from the orchard

and some water from the stream.

Once boiled, the seeds are then pulped.

The juice is then put back on the fire until it reduces to the thick

molasses, which can be bottled and refrigerated for months.

It can be compared to a fruitier version of balsamic vinegar,

and is great in dressings, glazes and sweet sour stews.

It tastes like pomegranate and prunes.

Just a little bit more boiling down.

And then thoroughly chilled.

And you've got...

You've got something that is used all over the place,

right the way through cooking here.

It's used in casseroles, it's used on grills, on the kebabs.

It's got that sweetness.

And that mellowness. And that little hit of sour.

Beautiful. Thank you.

It's just an extraordinary place. I hadn't expected this.

There's a wonderful atmosphere. It's almost joyful.

Everybody seems to be happy to be doing what they're doing.

It's as if I've walked in on somebody's private celebration.

Having tasted the intensity of pomegranate molasses,

I'm keen to find out more about how other sour flavours

define Persian cuisine.

So far, I've yet to taste what I really came here for.

Good home cooking.

Hospitality is a key part of life throughout the Middle East.

I'm back in Tehran and our taxi driver, Jalal,

invites me to his home to taste what is possibly Iran's favourite dish.

Jalal lives in the unassuming suburb of Shahr-e-Rey,

in the most southerly part of Tehran,

where the city bumps up against farmland.

He's arranged to meet with his wife Maryam

in their local fruit and veg shop.

-Hi. How are you?

-Lovely to meet you.

Fresh herbs are an essential part of the Iranian diet.

In a cuisine dominated by a rich stews and hearty soups,

they are generously used to cut through the complex flavours with

freshness and vibrancy.

Coriander. Mint.

And this is... This is land cress.

Yes.

Does it tidy it up as well?

These herbs will form a punchy salad to serve alongside our main dish.

You have no idea how much I want this at home.

Like many Tehranis, Jalal and Maryam rent an apartment.

This is lovely.

Is this your family?

HE SPEAKS OWN LANGUAGE

That's his daughter, their daughter, and that's their son-in-law.

That's Mohammed, my son.

Yeah. My parents never had pictures of me all over the place like that.

HE SPEAKS OWN LANGUAGE

Oh, I love it!

It's old, not a new one, but...

My kitchen's old. I love old kitchens,

kitchens that have seen many, many years' cooking.

Maryam is cooking dizi,

a warming lamb stew enriched with chickpeas and beans,

and sharpened with dried lime and herbs.

Smell that!

It's a centuries-old dish.

So this has been cooking a long time, right?

And how do you start this?

So the meat's cooked on the bone,

which is the best way. But also, it's the fat.

It's these beautiful lumps of fat

added to the stock.

That is what is making it so luscious.

It has to be.

This is a dried lime.

I've never cooked with them.

This is really interesting for me,

because I've seen these in the shops.

And I've never bought them,

because I've never really known what to do with them.

Just tasting just a tiny bit of this,

it's this sudden hit of sourness.

It's so refreshing.

And I can just imagine having something

that's very comforting and gentle,

and then you get this hit of sourness.

The lime doesn't just add flavour,

it also helps to cut through the intensity of the fat.

The dried limes are followed by red and black pepper.

Cinnamon, cumin and whole boiled potatoes.

20 minutes later, the dried limes are removed.

This isn't the dish to rush.

That's the magic bit.

Tomato puree adds depth and more colour to the dish.

What's that?

Do you know, almost every ingredient you've given to me,

you've explained what it adds in terms of flavour, but you've also

explained what it does to the body,

what it does to me. It's not just about flavour, it's about health.

Every effort is made to maximise the natural goodness and flavour of the

core ingredients.

The fat is mashed up and returned to the pan,

releasing further fatty flavours into the dish

to work in harmony with the taste of the sour lime.

You know what? The magic of this is the comforting, the fattiness,

that sort of long-cooked homeliness and then,

this harmony that goes on with this refreshing lime,

this sudden zing of sourness.

And that's why it works and that's why it's so special.

And finally, the meat and potatoes are removed

and mashed and served on a side plate.

Thank you.

The herbs from the market become a fresh-tasting side salad,

accompanied by a yoghurt dip and bread.

The broth is presented in a separate bowl,

making dizi a two-course dish,

something many Iranians call two happinesses.

It's the broth that really gets me.

It's got this gentle...

This gentle note of sort of sharp and sourness coming through it

from these limes. It's kind of everything I want food to be,

to come into a house where I learn not just a new recipe but how to use

ingredients that genuinely, genuinely are new to me.

Did I like it?

Seriously, I loved it.

I absolutely loved it and I can't thank you enough.

The classic Persian savoury and sour combination has inspired me to make

this stuffed aubergine dish.

Halve two aubergines

and score the flesh.

Place on a baking tray,

and then douse with olive oil.

A little sprinkle of salt.

Then add six garlic cloves and bake for an hour.

Mash the roasted garlic and mix with the flesh of the aubergines.

Trickle in a little pomegranate molasses,

and crumble over some feta cheese.

Pomegranate seeds and mint leaves add flavour and a burst of colour.

It's a savoury and sour sensation.

And absolutely delicious.

The next leg of my journey takes me 360 kilometres north of Tehran

towards the Caspian Sea.

It's a very different climate this side of the Alborz.

Coming from somewhere that was actually quite barren and dusty...

-Yes.

-..and then we're driving to here,

and immediately these avenues of trees.

-Yes.

-This lush green.

But it almost feels slightly like I've entered a different country.

Yes, exactly.

The northern parts of Iran near the Caspian are like Europe.

Wherever you're driving, you see all the lands are green,

there are lots of trees.

Lots of rain means fertile land,

which makes it ideal for growing rice,

fruit and vegetables.

The bazaar in Rasht, the biggest city on the Caspian coast,

showcases just how much produce is grown here.

You know, I love these places.

It's just the best bit about shopping,

is a market you've never been to before.

It's not just the sights and the sounds.

It's the smells, as well.

Normally, barberry is something I find dried.

A tiny little sour berry.

I've never seen fresh ones before.

This is it. How beautiful is that?

Ah, merci.

Thank you. I think this is going to be really sour.

Oh, it's lovely.

It tastes like a redcurrant.

That would put zing into anything,

sweet or savoury.

Salam.

I want to track down one ingredient that this region is famous for.

But I'm easily distracted.

I'm irresistibly drawn to other countries' cookware,

what they use in their kitchen.

Sometimes I think in a past life I've been a magpie.

Kind of drawn to all these shiny things.

So, this is the copper shop.

Hi. Hello, hi.

You know, there are some pans that you just know

are going to be really useful.

That's one of them.

OK. So, definitely these.

Do I buy them by weight?

And I must wait and see how much this is going to cost. So...

There's a lot of noughts.

That looks scary. This is about 35 quid,

for these beautiful copper pans.

Amongst the hustle and bustle of the market,

there are plenty of pit stops for weary shoppers.

This is the kind of shopping expedition of my dreams.

It's specialist shopping.

Everything is laid out with a care,

and a thought, and almost a love for the thing that they're selling.

Probably they sold it and their parents sold it.

And I love the idea that if I'm buying dates or almonds or olives,

that they're being sold by somebody who knows their story.

They clearly know the farm. They know where they come from.

So that's how you buy walnuts.

Mountains of walnuts!

But what I'm really looking for is the Caspian's most famous fish.

The beluga sturgeon, prized for its roe or caviar,

is nowhere to be seen.

Curiously, I'm directed away from the market

towards a local convenience store.

Biscuits. Tinned peas.

Spaghetti.

This is what I've come for.

This isn't quite where I expected to find this beluga.

You know, 90% of the world's caviar used to come from

this area, from the Caspian.

And it's odd to think that at the beginning of the last century,

it was actually just stuck on the bar in American hotels.

It was salty, so it made you drink more,

like peanuts or pork scratchings.

And then, of course, it went through its period of

being very expensive and sold in very luxurious restaurants

for enormous amounts of money.

This isn't the wild caviar which is now impossible to find,

yet it's still incredibly expensive.

This is 100 dollars.

The black pearls of caviar

are one of the most decadent foods on the planet,

and were enjoyed in abundance here during the Caspian Sea's heyday

as a playground for the rich and famous.

But the revolution in 1979 changed the face of these shores.

As the country turned from a pro-Western monarchy

to an Islamic Republic, the party was over.

That actually reminds me of those wet, out-of-season holidays

at home in Britain when we used to sit in the car, scarves on,

windows rolled up, eating fish and chips.

The partygoers have gone.

And sadly, most of the sturgeon, too.

They are now critically endangered.

But I've come all this way,

and I want to know what locals fish for now.

Fisherman Azim has offered to take me out to his fishing grounds.

Azim and his fellow fishermen live and work

from his hut, four months a year,

eking out a living from the few migrating fish

they're now allowed to catch.

Oh! Salam.

This is so toasty in here.

Such a cool trip.

Oh, yes. Merci, thank you so much.

Nigel!

Azim's landed a catch of pike, bream and dace,

fish that they're permitted to catch at this time of year.

He's going to show me how the locals prepare and cook dace and its roe.

I would do that with a fish filleting knife.

This guy's doing it with his hands,

and he's making a better job of it than I do

with an ultra-sharp professional knife.

This is the roe. And when I was a kid, I grew up in the Midlands,

and I would go off to the fish and chip shop and I'd get cod and chips.

But my dad always loved roe, made into little cakes, breadcrumbs.

That's it. That's the roe.

Caviar of sorts.

I don't eat it partly because there are

environmental questions about caviar.

And I'm just wondering, what's happening here?

Azim and his friends have been campaigning against

the pollution and overfishing

that has decimated the sturgeon population.

They hope tighter regulation will change its fortunes.

I hope so. I hope so.

Azim fries the fish in oil.

Wow. OK.

It doesn't come any simpler.

Fish filleted and fried.

A little bit of the fish right on the outside.

They're incredibly crisp and they're melting.

Utterly, utterly delicious.

Life is not complicated here.

I couldn't be made to feel more welcome.

I can't wait to taste the roe and see how it's cooked.

So this is the roe and just some fresh garlic leaves.

Actually quite mild. Not overly garlicky.

This smells so good.

So it's just a fish roe and the fresh garlic tops.

And egg white, just beaten up.

But you know, this makes me happy on all sorts of levels,

because this is the food of my childhood.

Merci. Thank you.

That is so, so crisp.

Ah! Just look at that.

It's fish roe, just fried in a pan.

And it's utterly, utterly delicious.

I'm starting to feel quite at home here in the rain.

It could be the heat from the stove,

or perhaps it's the warmth of my welcome.

One of the things I did know before I came here was about the

legendary hospitality of the Iranians.

And here's the proof.

Delicious proof.

Right here in the lagoon.

Before heading back to Tehran,

I'm travelling further east to Torbat-e Heydarieh,

towards the Afghan border,

to witness something which, for me,

must be one of the wonders of the culinary world.

-It's heavy.

-It's OK.

Thank you.

OK.

There's a TV. And there's snacks.

I'm liking this.

I wonder how my bed works.

Ah! There's a handle.

Yep, I've got it.

I've got my bed.

Hello.

I've got selfies, too.

I feel I'm about seven and I'm staying at a mate's house.

I feel like I'm a kid again.

I can't wait to snuggle down in this.

I've come to witness the harvesting of an ingredient that I think,

more than any other, characterises Persian cooking.

And that's saffron.

It's the red gold that runs all the way through the cuisine of this part

of the world. It's used in rice dishes, it's used in seafood soups.

You find it in all sorts of places.

But it's also even used as a dye.

In old carpets, you find it threaded into the weave.

At about £4,000 a kilo, it's the world's most treasured spice,

and the production process is incredibly labour-intensive.

In a scene that has barely changed in 3,000 years,

workers rise at dawn to gently pluck crocus flowers

and remove their golden stamens.

This is the prized saffron.

Lending its golden hue and sweetness to savoury dishes,

deserts and sweetmeats alike.

Its colour and flavour is best appreciated

when steeped in warm milk or water.

You know, I had expected an arid landscape.

I certainly thought there would be fields of violet purple.

But what surprises me is this very delicate fragrance.

It's just on the breeze.

It's sweet and it's almost like honey.

Hello. Bahman Ali Habibzadeh is the owner of these fields.

It's a precise and delicate harvest.

So, when I'm shopping for saffron,

then I should be looking for really long stamens attached to each other?

Wow.

Oh, my word.

It's intoxicating.

It's extraordinary that something so delicate can smell so intense when

it's in this quantity. That's my pension, that is.

I've never seen such a quantity of saffron in my entire life.

Saffron's true value is the flavour and hue it brings to a dish.

It may be expensive, but the impact is priceless

in a saffron and cardamom creme caramel.

Gently warm 500 millimetres of milk.

Grind the seeds of a dozen cardamom pods and add to the pan.

Infuse a generous pinch of saffron

into a couple of spoonfuls of the warm milk.

Next, make a syrup by heating 100 grams of caster sugar

and 100 millilitres of water.

Don't be tempted to stir.

As it changes to a golden caramel, pour into four ramekins.

Beat two eggs and the yolks of four more,

with 80 grams of golden caster sugar,

before adding the cooled cardamom and saffron-infused milk.

Strain the mixture and pour into the bowls.

Add hot water to a deep tray and bake the caramels for 40 minutes.

Then cool for around an hour until just set.

The creme caramels will have a delicate wobble,

and the syrup will trickle down the sides.

A calming end to any meal.

My journey in Iran is coming to a close, and I'm back in Tehran.

I've seen something of how people live in the working class suburbs

of the south of the city,

and now I'm in the affluent north.

I'm keen to find out how the other half live,

and how they eat here. So I'm off to the Palladium Mall.

This upmarket shopper's paradise captures

some of the aspirations of the Iranian middle classes.

With the easing of sanctions, foreign brands

have become easier to access.

And whilst many Iranians do not live like this,

the modern globalised world looks like it's here to stay.

Quality Street. Mars.

Cadbury's Roses.

Twix. Werther's.

Werther's!

You see, not even an Iranian supermarket can escape

the sad little ready meal.

This fesenjoon is for one.

There's a large range of fake pork products made from beef,

lamb and chicken.

In a country where pork products are literally banned...

..mixed jambon. Why use the word jambon, why?

Why call it jambon?

But it's so odd that you make a product look

like something that actually you can't eat.

One of the few places with anything unfamiliar

here is the dairy section.

Garlic-flavoured yoghurt.

Herb yoghurt, strained yoghurt, dill yoghurt.

Aubergine yoghurt.

Some of the world's biggest brands bring fashion,

jewellery and must-have gadgets to Tehran's wealthiest.

But part and parcel of this lifestyle

is the arrival of fast food.

There are now 20,000 fast food outlets in Iran.

And I wonder whether young people are being seduced

by these newer temptations.

How do I switch it off? How do I switch it off?

It's vibrating.

OK.

Sorry. Thank you.

Why are my vibrator things going off? Lovely.

Thank you. Merci.

I'm glad to get that out of my hand, to be honest.

Sending me all a quiver.

-Sorry, guys.

-Oh, you got sushi.

-Yeah.

-Wow.

I've arranged to meet a group of students to see if their traditional

tastes are changing.

We're all football fans.

He's a real Chelsea fan.

I'm a real Manchester United fan.

Arsenal. He's an Arsenal fan.

Thank you.

So what have you got? We've got fish and chips.

Chicken and chips.

You've got... That's penne.

Yes. Makes it here.

It's a Mexican food.

You actually prefer Iranian home cooking or do you prefer this?

Thinking of all of the food here,

the Italian food, the American food,

Mexican food. I mean, if you had to pick one cuisine in the world,

one food, what would it be?

Iranian, definitely.

Iranian.

Iranian.

Modern shopping malls and fast food outlets

may be the future, but they're a long way from the dishes

of the home kitchen that truly reflect Iranian character.

There just aren't many restaurants that cater for the growing middle

classes here.

They still want that taste of home,

but don't have the time

these popular dishes require.

One couple who have recognised this

gap in the market are Marene and Arvand Dashtaray.

They've set up a restaurant that celebrates

Iranian home cooking and historic dishes.

Most of the restaurants are serving kebabs,

and Persian cuisine and Persian food is not about kebabs at all.

You know, it's about food that you'll experience inside the homes

which the mums are used to cook.

This is not something you can take from Iranians.

If their wife doesn't make it for them, they will go to the mall.

And if their mum doesn't make it, they will go to the mother-in-law.

Or they will come to our restaurant or somewhere to find the food.

Because this generation grow up with this food.

I love the commitment to tradition here.

In a country with no legal alcohol,

soft drinks are elevated to new levels.

These syrup cordials infused with chia and saffron,

or cucumber and rose water, are classic Iranian sharbats.

Look at these colours and combination.

-It's luminous.

-Yep. If you look at it, you get cool.

And also there is different types.

Like, that one is also... This is with the seeds.

And also when you do that, it gets more beautiful,

-you know?

-It's glowing.

-Right, it's glowing.

-Absolutely glowing.

-Exactly.

But what's really special about this place is their commitment to

reinvigorating Iranian home cooking

extends to unearthing old recipes that have disappeared from use.

Arvand and his head chef Maman Hurain

offer me a cookery lesson at his home.

On the menu, a forgotten dish from the 16th century called mutanjan.

For what was supposedly once a favourite

of the great king, Shah Abbas,

it begins in remarkably familiar fashion -

frying garlic and onions...

-I'm almost crying.

-I am crying.

..before browning the cubed veal.

-Very nice.

-And adding spices, garlic powder,

turmeric, curry powder, and black pepper.

It gives a very nice flavour and smell.

Black pepper.

Black pepper. It just smells so good.

Yes, smells very good.

Once the meat is golden brown, we add water.

And then it's a matter of that most important

of Persian ingredients, time.

Four hours, to be precise.

So we're going to put the lid on.

Is this an unusual thing,

having a woman running a big restaurant kitchen in Iran?

From my point of view, they should be ashamed,

because what they are trying to do,

they are trying to copy what the women are doing inside homes.

They're not happy that the chef in a restaurant

is organising and leading a kitchen.

They just feel threatened.

Yeah, exactly.

Now she's adding the tomato juice.

Buffalo yoghurt is a signature element of mutanjan.

And the way it's mixed with the sauce is another top Persian tip.

So, little by little, yes.

Oh!

This is where I've been going wrong.

For years, I've been adding the yoghurt to the stew,

and then wondering why it goes grainy and curdles.

I should have been doing it the other way round.

Thank you.

Saffron steeped in water gives a stunning colour.

Oh, look at that, it's like the sun shining.

Oh!

It's that incredible gold.

Caramelised onions add a wonderful sweetness

that will complement the deep savoury flavours

of the slow-cooked veal.

Oh, you can see how soft it is.

The saffron yoghurt mix is spooned over the top,

but it isn't quite the finale of the dish.

This is pistachios.

-Yes.

-Almonds.

This is completely new to me.

This is something I've...

You know, no idea at all that I was going to have this.

Am I right in thinking that your restaurant

is the only place that you can get this?

I cannot say totally sure.

But I haven't seen it anywhere else.

This might mean that I'm the only Englishman,

possibly, to have helped make that.

-Definitely.

-Possibly.

Absolutely luscious.

-Pure Persia, is it not?

-Yeah.

You wouldn't get those colours in

any other cuisine like that together.

Bon appetit. Try.

There's this softness,

the tenderness of meat.

And then you get the crunch of the pistachios

and the almonds and the barberries.

It's so rare that I eat something for the first time.

I've never eaten this before.

I didn't even know it existed before today.

Isn't this fab?

I came to Iran wanting to see a country that I'd never seen before,

and every door has been opened to me.

And there is layer after layer of dishes

that I genuinely didn't know about,

food I'd never dreamt of.

Very fragrant food, gentle flavours.

It is true comfort food in the best sense of the word,

that makes you feel good.

I wouldn't have missed this for the world.

On my journey through the Middle East, I've enjoyed some of the most

ancient and revered cuisines in the world.

I've been inspired by the colours,

fragrances and flavours

that encapsulate the diversity of the people who live here.

I've relished the slow-cooked

traditional flavours of Iranian food,

the light and vibrant sharing plates of Lebanon,

and recipes shaped by the fruits of the Turkish landscape.

But my overwhelming memory is not of a particular dish or ingredient.

What holds this place together is this unfettered welcome,

this hospitality, this generosity,

but also the amount of languages, the culture.

I had absolutely no idea of this place.