Eide Nooroz

This week's Trifecta Challenge was to incorporate the word doctor into a piece of writing, using the following definition...a : material added (as to food) to produce a desired effect b : a blade (as of metal) for spreading a coating or scraping a surface. 



The busy executive started as the intercom beeped and the voice of his whiny
secretary came across.

"Sir" she said, " the cook from your house called. She said that either your wife didn't leave all of the appropriate ingredients for the khoresht bademjoon, or it needs it bit of something else for flavor. She said she's not that great at making Persian dishes."

"Thank you, tell the cook I will call my wife and have her do something about it."

The exectuive sat back in his chair and gave a long exasperated sigh. Why didn't the cook simply call his wife? Oh yes. That's right, she belonged even less in a kitchen than he did. Had she ever even been inside of it? Hmm. Maybe once.

Must he juggle the problems of Wall Street and culinary problems at home as well?

But this was important. It was Eide Norooz. Persian New Year. Half of the Persian community of the town would be at their house for a dinner. Heaven forbid if this traditional stew was lacking in flavor! How the old biddies would gossip! "These Americanized Persian women" they'd cluck their tongues and say.

The executive typed a hurried text message to his wife.

"Cook says khoresht bland. Not Persian. Says she doesn't know how to doctor it."

 There. She could see to it that the cook got the proper ingredients.

That crisis solved, he went back to the world of Wall Street.

One hour later at the executive's mansion. 

Cook was in the kitchen when she heard the doorbell ring. Oh thank the Lord! Perhaps that was the boss's assistant with the turmeric for the khoresht!

The door bell rang again. Where was that butler? As if she didn't have enough to do with cooking a full Persian feast for 300 people without having to stop to answer the door!

Cook jerked at the strings to her apron, wiped her hands on it, and then threw it onto the counter. It slid off into the open trash can.

She ran as fast her knobby knees would carry her to the side delivery door.

She jerked it open, "I'm glad to see you! Have you got the turme-".

She stopped and stared.

The gentleman started talking. " I don't usually make house calls, but Mrs. Executive insisted that there was an emergency."

Cook's jaw dropped. The ditzy lady of the house had called an doctor.

An actual doctor to flavor the stew.