Crafting the Perfect Sofreh Haft Sin for Nowruz

Every year, as spring arrives, I find myself wrestling with the Sofreh Haft Sin, our Persian New Year table. For the uninitiated, Nowruz (“No-rooz”) marks the first day of spring and the start of the Persian calendar. And the Sofreh Haft Sin is a pretty table display. Seven items, all beginning with the Persian letter “S,” each carry their own symbolism, rebirth, love, health, patience, prosperity, and the triumph of light over darkness. Add a mirror, candles, painted eggs, hyacinths, sweets, and a goldfish, and suddenly a table becomes tradition.

However, setting up a Sofreh Haft Sin in the UK is hard. I’m usually trying to honour centuries of culture while juggling a small human in a trolley around Tesco. And yet, every year, somehow, it comes together.

The great goldfish drama

The first real hurdle? The goldfish. Living in the North East, sourcing all seven symbolic Haft Sin items is its own adventure. One year, we arrived at the pet shop only to be told the fish were “sleeping.” Sleeping! I blinked at the glass. The staff explained that even goldfish need a siesta. I considered arguing with them, but instead I walked away, muttering about the perils of the tradition in Britain.

We returned later to find the goldfish awake, but the next obstacle was explaining that we didn’t have a tank ready at home. Cue a mad dash back to assemble one. By the time we finally adopted them, the price tag had me reconsidering every choice I’d ever made, though, of course, I immediately forgave them the moment they swam in a tiny circle with complete disdain for my stress levels.

Renovation and tradition

This year, Nowruz coincided with a small home renovation. Dust everywhere, paint cans threatening to tumble, ladders leaning like modern art sculptures. Trying to create a symbolic table in that environment would have been laughable if it weren’t so exhausting. But somehow our table came together. Eggs perched on makeshift shelves, hyacinths tucked between paintbrushes, sweets safely out of reach of tiny hands. It wasn’t perfect, but in my book, that counts for more than anything Instagram-perfect could ever convey.

Cyrus, the egg Picasso

Painting eggs, or Tokhmeh Morgh, is a highlight of our Nowruz. My son, Cyrus, has turned it into a serious art project. Plain eggs are transformed into tiny masterpieces. There’s paint on his fingers, occasionally on his nose, and once on the kitchen counter, but it’s all part of the process. Watching him concentrate, experiment, and occasionally smear a perfect rainbow across an egg makes me think: if he can make Persian history beautiful, surely I can muddle through perimenopause with a little more patience.

“Pro tip: non-toxic paints. Your counters will thank you.”

Sonbol and Samanoo

Then there’s the scent and taste. Sonbol, hyacinths, announce spring in a way that makes you forget the grey skies outside. And Samanoo, the sweet wheat pudding, is a reminder that traditions can be indulgent without being extravagant. A spoonful while arranging the table feels like a small act of self-care, a nod to the year ahead. Colour, fragrance, and a little sweetness transform a simple table into a ritual worth cherishing.

The heart of Nowruz

At the end of the day, Nowruz isn’t about perfection. It’s about family, connection, and tiny moments that become memories. Setting up the table, painting eggs, watching Cyrus’s delight in every colourful mess, and tasting sweets. The objects are symbols, yes, but the shared pride is what makes the tradition live. Mirrors and candles reflect, coins promise prosperity, but the real lesson is that life is more about presence than polish.

Make it your own

Planning a Sofreh Haft Sin? Don’t stress. Plan ahead, improvise if you can’t find an item, and involve your family. It’s not the perfection of the table that matters, it’s the intention behind it.

Sitting here now, coffee in hand, looking at our colourful, slightly chaotic Sofreh Haft Sin, I feel quietly grateful. These rituals, repeated year after year, give shape to our family story, connect us to our heritage, and remind me that life doesn’t need to be perfect to be meaningful.