What do Tehran and Alabama have in common?

A few things actually

A few years ago, I got a message from a lovely reader who told me that she was half Iranian, learning Persian, and planning a trip to Iran. She went on to mention that as a teenager, she spent some time as an exchange student in, of all places, Alabama. And finally, she was also vegan. Needless to say, we had lots to talk about.

Several months later in Tehran, we met up for lunch. Vegan fesenjoon, in case you’re wondering. Yes, that’s the one that doesn’t look too great but tastes amazing. Crushed, toasted walnuts blended with sweet and sour pomegranate molasses and typically served with chicken or ghel-gheli meatballs. Only our veganized version was substituted with mushrooms, which may intrigue some of you and cause others (including my best friend) to gasp in horror and internally (or not) scream, “How dare you! That is NOT fesenjoon!”

We chitchatted while our food arrived. Instead of asking her what she thought of Iran and where she planned to visit (which is what I would normally ask), I was more interested in her thoughts on Alabama. Especially since the town she stayed in was somewhere I had only been to a handful of times for tennis matches when I was in high school.

She said she liked it, and the people were nice. “Actually, they are a lot like Iranians.” Wait, what? How so? “Because they’re so friendly, and even if you’re just standing in line at the grocery store, they start talking to you.”

It was true. There are aspects of Tehran (a big city that should be compared to another big city like NYC) that actually remind me of Alabama. It’s a big city with big-city culture, but a lot of small-town culture tucked in there as well. I think that’s one of the reasons I love it so much. Only recently was I able to pinpoint this.

It got me thinking of other similarities between Tehran (and sometimes Iran/Iranian culture in general) and Alabama.

Photo by Mohsen Rezaei on Unsplash

Hospitality

I suppose the most obvious similarity is hospitality. There’s Iranian hospitality and southern hospitality. And in both places, it’s not always clear when that cotton candy sweetness and polite charm are sincere or not.

Taarof

One thing my aunt was amused by the first time she visited Alabama was how “people taarof at a stop sign.” (Although this may be true of the US in general.) “It’s amazing,” she went on. “It’s a stop sign, and Americans sit there, gesturing to each other ‘befarmâyin.’”

Actual Iranian-style taarof happened to me with total strangers in Alabama that really threw me for a loop. A young couple and I arrived at the entrance of a restaurant at about the same time. The man taarofed me to go first, but since they were slightly ahead, I taarofed the two of them. They insisted. So I went in, opened the second door, and held it open for them. At this point, we were all laughing.

Iranians tend to do the whole “door taarof” thing with people they know. In my experience, they are all too ok with letting the door slam in the face of strangers or trying to get ahead of them. And this goes back to one thing I know I’ve said before. Iranians have taarof. Americans have common courtesy. Iranians taarof where Americans don’t. Americans show common courtesy where Iranians don’t. They both have it. They just use it at opposite times.

Friendliness

To my new friend’s point, friendliness may be the biggest thing. Generally, things move a little slower in the south, so people take their time to talk to you. It’s true that people make small talk, say hi, or smile at the very least. When I take walks in my neighborhood, it’s only polite to smile and say hi. In fact, there’s one neighbor who waves to everyone whether they are walking or driving by. Even if a car is coming from behind and he can’t see it, he still lifts up a hand to greet them.

In Tehran, I always end up exchanging a few words with someone when I’m out. Maybe they ask where I bought my flowers (or how much they were). Or they ask about the best place to shop for work clothes. Or compliment my produce bags. One lady on the bus randomly started telling me about her day because I was standing next to her. We got off at the same stop and ended up walking home together, continuing our conversation. I’ve been offered a ride by several strangers in my neighborhood- women who first asked me for directions, women who saw me walk out of my building when they got in their car, and women who saw me carrying groceries bags. (Yes, all women. It wouldn’t be quite as appropriate for a man- unless he was a taxi driver.)

One time, I was in the locker room of a gym in New York City when it suddenly hit me why something seemed off- it was too quiet. I asked my sister if she or anyone ever talked in there. Not really, she said. Meanwhile back in Tehran, I know all the ladies where I work out. Everyone is swapping phone numbers, recipes, or stories about their kids. They find the most random conversation starters. Things like, “Did you get a Botox brow lift?” which turn into a 45-minute discussion about immigration and life in the US vs Iran- all while treading water! On the outdoor walking track, there’s the gentleman that gives a khodâ ghovat to everyone he passes, not unlike the gentleman back in my neighborhood in Alabama. And many of us who walk at the same time and see each other every day say good morning or make a comment just to establish some sort of connection. I’m convinced many come for socialization as much as (if not more than) the health benefits.

Sauce

I know this is random but stick with me. Iranians love sauce. It all comes down to the sauce. And they need a lot of it. A common gripe I’ve noticed on delivery/restaurant reviews is some version of “there wasn’t enough sos.” But usually, they send along so much, I don’t know what to do with it. Some store-made sauces I end up tossing because they don’t keep, but at least I never have to buy ketchup.

When I get takeout in Alabama, I come home to a fistful of sauce in the bag. Do they really think I’m going to use all this soy sauce this one time? Fast food places are quite generous with their ketchup. And then there are the mini jars of maple syrup they freely hand out at Cracker Barrel. I remember one customer telling the waiter, “Yah, I’m gonna need at least 4 of those.”

There’s a place in Tehran that only sells French fries. Belgian fries, to be more precise. The menu is simply a list of sauces. You order fries and pick your sauce. The first time I went there, my eyes came to a halt while perusing the sos list. Surely they deceive me. I sounded out the word carefully, letter by letter. Â-lâ-bâ-mâ. Alabama?! Of all the 50 states, they chose Alabama? Not Texas, California, or New York? Alabama. I didn’t even think anyone in Iran had heard of Alabama. That’s like being in Alabama and finding something called Tehran.

Actually, that did happen, too. It was at the Chanel counter of a department store where I found a lipstick called Teheran. Each shade in the line was named after a city with some sort of significance for Coco Chanel. I know, I know. The lipstick doesn’t count. But I decided to throw it in there because why not? The Alabama sauce is way cooler, though. Some would say coincidence. I say homage. (If you’re curious, Alabama sauce was a smokey/barbecue mayonnaise. Second row right, below.)

But one big difference

One major difference comes to mind, though, and that’s in regard to tea. Southerners love a good iced tea. Especially sweet tea. Especially on a hot summer day. But I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. In Iran, any tea that doesn’t scald your tongue is too cold. Even on a hot summer day, nothing cools you off like hot tea. (Or so they say. In this respect, I’m 100% southern.) And sweet tea is only appropriate for breakfast or for children.

Iran has adopted many western favorites like chocolate chip cookies, red velvet cake that would put Magnolia’s to shame, various hot and cold coffees, smoothies, and more… but I have yet to see iced tea on any menu. This is where they draw the line.