Simon Ward reviews My English Persian Kitchen at the Soho Theatre Upstairs

Based on a story by Iranian food-writer Atoosa Sepehr, and adapted as a play by Hannah Khalil, this extraordinary show manages to be at once a feast for all the senses, a nail-biting thriller, a heartbreaking tragedy and a heartwarming story of hope and new beginnings. Under the directorship of Chris White, Isabella Nefar’s mesmerising performance is utterly convincing as the heroine forced to flee her homeland. Special mention, too, for the innovative and exciting lighting effects by Marty Langthorne and Dan Balfour’s immersive sound design. But perhaps the most extraordinary aspect of it all is that Nefar manages to tell her story while simultaneously preparing enough of the delicious Persian dish of Ash-E Reshteh (a kind of herb-infused noodle soup) to feed the whole audience.

The setup is simple, if unusual, and probably terrifying to perform for all concerned. The stage is set with a table full of ingredients – herbs, spices, onions, garlic, olive oil. There is also a saucepan full of water on a hob. As we enter, our (unnamed) heroine is preparing the food, chopping onions as we find our seats. As the play progresses the proximity of things that could do harm – boiling water, sharp knives – will add to the tension of the evening. But, initially at least, this is an utterly charming introduction to the world of Persian cooking. Before long, however, we are thrown back into the story of how our cook for the evening came to be here, in England. The terror and the struggle are forcefully rendered – the simple kitchen props of light and fridge become horrifying. But only for a moment – the mantra is always to ‘focus’ on the cooking, as if to ward off the evil thoughts. We are on a constant tightrope between learning more about Persian food, and Iranian life in general, and being thrust into the horror of the past.

The realities and challenges of life as a woman in Iran are never far away. We learn, for instance, that the majority of women in Iran are well-educated, and, as a result, refuse to cook for their husbands, so that they can concentrate on their careers. We learn, also, that only a man can instigate divorce proceedings. And that a man can stop his wife’s passport if he suspects she is a flight risk. So there is a little irony in the basis of our heroine’s new life in London being based on preparing and sharing the food of her homeland. But in another way it signals a new beginning in a new land – and no-one can resist the delicious aromas that fill the auditorium as the play finishes on a melancholic but hopeful note. This a powerful, moving, uplifting testimony of one woman’s triumph over adversity. It must be tasted to be believed.

My English Persian Kitchen runs at the Soho Theatre Upstairs, 21 Dean Street, London W1D 3NE until Saturday 5th October