People queue for food for two reasons – either because it is in chronically short supply as for a disheveled rabble outside a Soviet bread shop. Or because it is extremely good.
Walking past a snaking queue near the beautiful Khaju bridge in Esfhan, I naturally had to find out what the fuss was about. The queue led to a small shop inside which several begloved keepers were spooning rich yellow ice cream onto small trays. Politely declining several offers from people who wanted to buy some for me, I waited patiently in line to be served.
It was delicious; thick, creamy, saffron flavoured. I got talking to the family of four, next to me in the queue, who were on their weekly ice cream pilgrimage. The 17 year old son plays the violin for the Esfahan Philharmonic orchestra. Would I like to hear him play? Why not. So after greedily devouring our ice cream we made the short walk over the bridge to their apartment the other side.
Before the mother had even taken off her coat the table was filled with food and my own impromptu concert had begun. The mobile clip below is a traditional Armenian piece, with the father accompanying his son on piano.
It did feel rather surreal being in the sitting room of a family who I'd met just 15 minutes before, smothered in food, and listening to a concert with an audience of just me. But then, of course, Iran never ceases to amaze.
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