Lola Koundakjian

I empty the old ones and find among deposits of fine dust, Layers of me at twenty, at twenty-five… A copy of 100 Years of Solitude in French, A collection of science-fiction entrenched around copies of Voltaire. Then notes in old travel books. Some souvenirs bought or found. Cookbooks with recipes of curry, hamam meshwi, Grandmother’s lentil soup and Mum’s mujjadarah, As I meander through them, I smile at my Present, knowing that it and the Future have a solid Past....

Watching Steve serving at the Bar. He smiles with inquisitive eyes of ‘What can I serve you tonight’. `Pour that Wyatt*, my man. Will that go well with the stripped bass?' But first, tell me, how many love stories, sob stories, heartaches, smiles, drunks, tips, stinginess did you witness tonight? Randy takes over as Steve goes out for a smoke. The regulars are holding court around Norma and her multiple martinis....

Vin Santo – sweet wine Made of white ripe grapes. Dip those biscotti – finish it off with that espresso doppio macchiato. Transport yourself to Florence – or some tiny Tuscan village such as San Giminiano, where the medieval towers cast the only shadows THIS side of Sienna. Think of all the people before you, who have admired these paintings at the Uffizi; Of all the people who have prayed at Santa Croce; Of all those who hoped one day to see underground portraits hidden since WWII....

It was John who mentioned it first: “I’ve discovered Saffron Tea”, he said. And was quite determined that it should be “subtle”. “Tea is black”, he added, “just as wine is red.” I couldn’t agree more. Patty came in with a care package with IRAN stamped all over it: bags of prepared Saffron tea, 250 grams of Isfahani Mirzapore exported directly from EEEERAAAAN, green cardamom barely dried, and a package of saffron you can’t buy this side of the Atlantic....

Close your eyes and think cha-cha-cha; close your eyes and think of me swaying left to right to the rhythm of the music. Close your eyes and imagine me. Dec 7, 2006

She dices the onions finely. A construction worker, 25, falls to his death. She adds the coriander, cloves and ginger. A soldier, 21, walks over a roadside bomb. She removes the meatballs from the fridge A journalist, 43, gets shot thru the head. She stirs the sauce over a low fire and adds a few tears to the pot.