Taaroff.... an article by Martin

I’ll taroff your mum for five camels

I have a housemate, bless her soul, who insists that she is of Persian ethnicity, which, unless she was born over a hundred years ago, would make her Iranian. Apparently, there’s a cultural reason why she does not claim to be from the land of Iran, maybe something to do with the corrupt totalitarian government, but whatever the reason, ‘Persian’ undeniably sounds a little more exotic.

Exotic? These people are more than just a little exotic. Cow tongue is an appetising dish, they always have endless supplies of figs, dates and pistachios, and grandma will insist you eat a lot of these said items every time you visit her.

But the cream of the Persian Culture has to be the bizarre practice of ‘tarof’, whereby you might complement one's possessions by saying "Ooooh, I really like your painting/rug/priceless ming vase", to which one would immediately reply "Take it, it's yours." (much like the tax credits advert). The tarof has begun.

A word of advice if travelling to Iran or visiting a Persian friend: try not to get involved. It will last forever and you will inescapably offend the individual you are addressing – either way you can’t win. This is how it works:

After the item you so politely admired is offered to you, the conversation will then alternate between timid refusal from the admirer, to stubborn insistence from the owner, of said priceless ming vase. This, so I've been told, can go on for hours. What a sensible way to pass the time. My housemate once taroffed (I don’t think the word can be used in that context, but hey let’s Westernise it! Yeah, destroy culture!) with her grandma over food. Last Christmas, on the weekly visit, she made the mistake of innocently complementing grandma’s beautiful spread of authentic Persian cuisine. Grandma, as usual, offered her the food. As she had just wolfed down an entire four-bird roast, she was in no mood for a spot of dol-meh (spiced meat in vine leaves), so turned down the offer. Unfortunately grandma was in a mood for a bit of a tarof. Well a three-hour tarof. By the end of it, grandma was practically forcing figs dates and pistachios into my housemates mouth. At this time, the poor girl gave in and stuffed down a few fatty vine leaves just to make grandma happy, after which grandma told her she should go on a diet. And all she went round for was to pick up her weekly fifty quid.

So even real authentic Persians aren’t so hot with the whole tarof business. But me, well I'm certainly no expert. Upon arrival to my housemate's family residence, I immediately picked up on a CD that I wanted for ages.
ME: "Wow I love this CD, I've been looking for it for ages."
HOUSEMATE’S MUM: "Take it, it's yours."
ME: "Are you serious?"
HOUSEMATE’S MUM: "Yes, take it, I insist."
ME: "No, I couldn't possibly...
HOUSEMATE’S MUM: "Really, you must take it."
ME: "Alright then."

All hell breaks loose. Apparently you never take a taroffed item. It's fucking rude. Yeah? Well don't bloody INSIST on me having it then. I'm hatching a plan to finance my next car purchase. I can just imagine the conversation:

ME: "Ooooh Shallah Jun I just love your new Bentley."
SHALLAH: [through gritted teeth] "Take it, it's yours."
ME: "Thanks! Seeya!"

Now that’s how to tarof the English way. By being a twat.

Long live Persia.