Reflections from Ararat Armenian Cemetery

There’s something about food that is comforting in hard times. I think it has to do with memories. When my father samples Armenian foods from his childhood, his eyes light up, as if he is back in the kitchen with his grandma, who fled to Fresno during the Armenian Genocide.

Recently, I accompanied my dad on a visit to the cemetery, where he often goes to pay respects to her and our other ancestors. Wandering the grounds, I came across the grave of William Saroyan, the famous local writer whose epitaph reminds us to “smile to the infinite delight and mystery” of life. I also saw the grave of Soghomon Tehlirian, celebrated murderer of Genocide architect Talat Pasha.

As exciting as it was to see these “notable burials” in Fresno’s historic Ararat Armenian cemetery – the first of its kind outside of Armenia and the Middle East – what really drew me in were the familiar names of women I recognized from my childhood, many of whom I remember for their food. I wondered just how many recipes were buried with these women and if there was a way to resurrect them.

Once home, I opened my own grandmother’s sacred recipe binder, and out flew a loose page. I unfolded it to find a handwritten recipe for Iman Biyaldi (“Swooning Eggplant”) from a woman named Martha Parvanian, whose name I did not recognize. I wondered if perhaps I had been near her grave that very morning.

Uplifted by a sense of synchronicity, I set out to make Martha’s eggplant, and the result definitely lived up to its namesake – the story of an Imam who swooned after eating this delicious preparation of eggplant, tomatoes, and peppers. Satisfied with Martha’s recipe revival, I next set out to make tourshi pickled vegetables in the Armenian style by a male contemporary of my grandmother named Barr Andreasian. Perhaps it was a morbid undertaking, but I see it as a form of affirmation.

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to learn Armenian cooking and would visit relatives and family friends for lessons. As a young woman, I had a little notebook into which I would scrawl, perched on various kitchen counters, hearing the secrets to rich Armenian coffee, the best green beans, and more than one definitive stance on the “right way” to make pilaf.

Last year, my notebook exploded into something larger as I undertook a Central Valley Armenian Home Cooking apprenticeship through the Alliance for California Traditional Arts. I even developed an online blog where I document these recipes for future generations. Translating casual measurements – a handful of this and a splash of that – into formalized recipes is like restoring lost artifacts and showcasing them for future “scientists” like me, who are interested in sparking memories through food. Memories of our creativity, our history, and our resilience.

Martha Parvanian and Barr Andreasian’s recipes are by far the most mysterious in my repertoire because there is so much unwritten between the lines. Recreating their dishes was like stumbling through the dark, and it underscored the importance of learning from our parent’s generation while we can.

At a time marked by so much loss, to have an awakening of this sort was a comfort unto itself. And for that awakening to take the form of delicious dishes once dormant, that light up my dad’s eyes with a simple taste? Well, that is as delightful and as mysterious as it gets.