Touran notes that the word for the noodles, reshteh, also translates to string or thread, and represents the “string of life.” It’s a dish that’s eaten on the last day of the 13-day holiday, usually at a picnic. Touran shrugs at the difficulty of lugging a vat of hot soup to a remote site; it’s part of the tradition, and her family still observes it in this country – even when early April in Boston doesn’t bring ideal outdoor weather. That, says Fariba Salehi, was an adjustment when she first moved here from Iran. “We have four seasons there,” she says, and each one knows its place: Winter is cold, summer is hot, and spring is temperate, unlike our capricious New England climate.
