Balyg Kyukyusu (Smoked Fish & Herb Omelet)

I lost my father, who came to the United States from Iran as a young man, just over a year ago. Although he was old and had grown quite frail, his death was still unexpected. While he lived, there was a lot of anger and misunderstanding between us. But the sadness of losing him led to spontaneous forgiveness. As we approach Nowruz, the Zoroastrian New Year’s Day celebrated throughout the former Persian empire and by its expats, I’m grateful for the chance that the holiday offers to leave behind what is no longer needed and begin again.

Nowruz begins with a green sprout. In the weeks leading up to the big day, it’s customary to spread wheat or lentil seeds on a plate by a window. This coaxing forth of new life from a dormant seed is the essence of the holiday; as the natural world comes back to life once more, we, too, have the opportunity for rebirth, and Nowruz marks this yearly miracle. 

There is so much that I love about Nowruz. From the menu of foods bursting with green herbs to jumping over a bonfire to kick off the holiday to gatherings with my extended Iranian family, it’s a joyful season and an important inflection point in the calendar. 

Nowruz starts on the spring equinox, the tipping point into warmer weather and later sunsets, and lasts 13 days. It’s a natural time to reset, and there are guidelines in place to help you enter the new year with a clean-ish slate. Nowruz is one long party, but before it kicks off, you have to put in some elbow grease, clearing the clutter and dust from both your home and your soul until they shine. First, scrub the house from top to bottom, a practice called khaneh-tekani, which means “to shake the house.” Then, release old grudges by offering a dried fruit-and-nut mix called ajil-e moshkel gosha, translated as “difficulty opener,” to anyone with whom you’re in a fight. Finally, appearances count, so make sure to buy a set of spiffy new clothes for all the gatherings you’re going to attend.

Once your slate is clean, it’s time to feast. Since the holiday pays homage to sprouts and herbs, the Nowruz menu is overwhelmingly green. Traditional dishes for the first meal of the new year include rice with herbs, an herb omelet called kuku sabzi and a platter of fresh herbs served with bread and cheese. Ash eh-Reshteh, a soup of herbs, leafy greens, beans and long noodles, symbolizing the path of life, should be bubbling on the stove as the precise minute of the New Year chimes. Fish and eggs, evoking life and birth, are also part of the meal.

Then finally, after 13 days of eating, dancing and socializing, comes the dramatic sendoff to Nowruz, known as sizdah bedar or “thirteen outdoor.” On this sacred day, meant to be spent outside honoring the souls of beloved ancestors, take the sprouts that you have lovingly tended to and toss them into moving water. A river, a stream or the ocean will do. It’s a merciless parting with everything old and stale from the past year. 

When crafting the menu for my own feast one year, I found a recipe for balyg kyukyusu, an Azerbaijani take on the standard herb omelet that most Iranians serve for Nowruz, in the beautiful cookbook The Azerbaijani Kitchen, by Tahir Amiraslanov and Leyla Rahmanova. I’ve since adapted it and it’s become a favorite for Nowruz. Combining eggs, fish and green herbs, it brings together three symbolic foods that each have a place on the Nowruz table. I played with the seasonings and changed the ratios so that the fish and herbs were just held together by the eggs, and I served it with an array of toppings to make it festive and colorful. It’s a perfect dish to celebrate a fresh start. To me, this recipe is like biting into a sacrament: The ingredients all represent life, and feeding this to your loved ones is both a blessing and a gesture of hope for the future.