★★★★
Seasoned with sadness, soul, and saffron, My English Persian Kitchen transforms a woman’s traumatic past into an emotional and uplifting tribute to new beginnings.
After receiving rave reviews at the Edinburgh Fringe, Hannah Khalil’s one-woman show has transferred to Soho Theatre, leaving London theatre-goers bubbling with anticipation.
Based on Atoosa Sepehr’s From a Persian Kitchen, playwright Hannah Khalil dramatizes the often solitary art of cooking at home. The play takes place at a kitchen counter where a young woman cooks, in real-time, a Persian noodle soup, Ash Reshteh, for unknown guests. The cooking process is mired by memories of how she came to England as her past lurks in every ingredient at the table. Khalil delves into an abusive relationship with sensitivity and significance yet skilfully highlights the hopefulness of this story. While the young woman cooks her meal, Khalil weaves the past, present, and future to make the most intricate tapestry of our protagonist’s life.
Isabella Nefar’s performance provides a worthy companion to Khalil’s writing. Nefar balances the protagonist’s amiable personality with her traumatic past exceptionally. Her friendliness turns to fear, her enthusiasm to anxiety, and her humour to heart-wrenching yearning at the drop of a hat. It’s a seamless performance. Despite the complexity, Nefar’s unconquerable warmth towards her audience triumphs, creating an ultimately feel-good show. She is more than an actor here, she is an excellent host.
The only thing that could distract you from Nefar’s magnetism is the addictive scent of the Ash Reshteh. If there was an Olivier for best-smelling production, My English Persian Kitchen would win every year. The auditorium was fragrant with herbs as soon as the audience entered, and it only gets better. Once Nefar boils the noodles, you can no longer resist the scent of frying garlic. The room filled with unanimous envy when one lucky guest got to try the sought-after soup. Luckily, our jealousy was short-lived as the show morphed into an impromptu supper club.
I left the theatre with a hopeful heart and a happy stomach. The only criticism I might have is that the play is limited by its cooking time. At 70 minutes, Khalil’s writing never feels like it reaches it’s dramatic high point. Then again, it’s never a bad sign if a play is a little moreish.
In short, My English Persian Kitchen is the theatrical equivalent of comfort food. It warms you up and wraps around your heart like a big, cuddly, blanket. Come see the show when you’re having a bad day; I can assure you this is the perfect antidote.
My English Persian Kitchen will be performed at Soho Theatre until 5 October.
Words by Harriet MacDonald
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