Sofreh aghd na? For us, it is not just a spread but our family’s zamin, the earth of our story. The mirror for fortune, the Quran for blessing, the esfand for evil eye, the honey for sweetness—each piece from my mother’s dowry trunk. Others may buy new, but our sofreh in Shiraz must have the aged silver samovar from my nani, tarnished but true, or the honey tastes like any other.
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