I bought celery to lose weight, but my Persian husband turned it into khoresht karafs.

Six weeks after having my son at 40, I was told I was obese. I responded by buying celery, which sat untouched in the fridge until my Persian husband introduced me to khoresht karafs, a traditional lamb and celery stew that proved healthy eating didn’t have to be quite so miserable.

The celery was supposed to help me lose weight

There are few things less appealing than opening the fridge and finding a head of celery staring back at you. That’s especially when you’ve recently had a baby, you’re surviving on broken sleep and someone in the medical profession has just informed you that you’re obese.

That was me, six weeks after having Cyrus at 40. I’d gone along to my postnatal check expecting the usual questions about recovery, feeding and how I was coping with being a new mum. Instead, I came away with the word ‘obese’ ringing in my ears. It wasn’t exactly what I needed to hear while still getting used to my post-baby body. So, I went shopping for vegetables.

Celery found its way into my trolley because it looked like the sort of thing a woman trying to lose weight ought to eat. Green, crunchy, practically all water and thoroughly uninspiring. I had vague plans to chop it into salads with a little cucumber and tomato, and congratulate myself on making better dietary choices.

Unfortunately, every time I opened the fridge, I found something more interesting to eat, usually cheese. The celery remained untouched, slowly losing its enthusiasm for life. Eventually, H noticed it lingering at the back of our fridge.

H didn’t see lacklustre celery, he saw the beginnings of a traditional Persian stew.

Apparently, celery doesn’t have to be eaten raw

H is Persian, which means he has a completely different relationship with herbs and vegetables from the one I grew up with. In our house, parsley isn’t a decorative afterthought scattered over a finished meal. It’s something you buy in enormous bunches, wash thoroughly and use by the handful.

When he spotted the celery, he suggested making khoresht karafs, a traditional Persian stew of lamb, celery and fresh herbs. Now, I’d eaten khoresht karafs before, although my previous experience of preparing it involved opening a tin of it I’d bought from MA Brothers in Newcastle. Cooking it from scratch sounded considerably more ambitious, especially with a newborn.

Still, I’d bought the celery because I thought I should eat it so H was suggesting we turn it into something I might enjoy. And let’s face it, khoresht karafs sounds considerably more appetising than celery stew.

The dish combines lamb, celery, parsley, mint, turmeric and lime juice, all cooked slowly until the meat becomes tender and the vegetables soften into a rich, fragrant sauce. It’s traditionally served with Persian rice, which in our household is not optional.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. Once the herbs began frying, the kitchen filled with that unmistakable aroma I associate with Persian home cooking. It reminded me that vegetables don’t have to be boiled into submission or served raw beside a miserable-looking lettuce leaf. They can be the main attraction too.

What exactly is khoresht karafs?

In Persian cooking, khoresht refers to a stew, usually served alongside rice. Karafs means celery, so the name is wonderfully straightforward once you know what you’re ordering.

Khoresht karafs is one of those traditional Iranian dishes that rarely gets the same attention as kebabs or ghormeh sabzi outside Persian households. Perhaps celery doesn’t have quite the same appeal as grilled meat in Iran either, but that undersells what is a lovely, comforting dish.

Like most family recipes, there are variations. Some cooks use lamb, others beef. Some prefer dried Persian limes, while others use fresh lemon or lime juice. The balance of parsley and mint also changes depending on who’s standing at the cooker.

H’s version includes a little dill, although not everyone adds it. And, as I’ve discovered, Persian families can have surprisingly strong opinions about the correct way to prepare a khoresht, just like every other dish. The secret, apparently, is patience, something I wasn’t particularly blessed with.

I’ve always thought recipes are a little like stories. There’s a beginning, where you gather your ingredients and work out what you’re doing, a middle where everything starts coming together, and an ending when you sit down to eat.

Khoresht karafs takes around three hours to cook properly. That’s three hours in which the lamb gradually softens, the herbs release their flavour and the celery becomes almost unrecognisable from the crunchy stalks I’d originally planned to put in a salad. Thankfully, much of that time involves leaving the stew to simmer. You don’t need to stand over the cooker for three hours, which is just as well when there’s a baby in the house.

What surprised me most was how the celery changed. I had always associated it with watery salads, packed lunches and the sort of food people eat when they’re trying to lose weight. But after a couple of hours in the pot, it becomes tender and absorbs the flavour of the herbs and lamb. The mint gives the stew a real freshness, while the lime juice adds a sharpness that stops everything tasting too heavy. It’s the sort of dish that makes you wonder why celery has such a poor reputation.

How to make our family-style khoresht karafs

Serves 4–6 | Preparation: 25 minutes | Cooking: approximately 3 hours

This is our family-style version rather than an official ‘how-to’ Persian recipe. Every household seems to have its own method, and I’m not going to start an argument with an Iranian grandmother about the correct quantity of mint.

01 >> Start with the onions.
Heat a little oil in a large pan over medium heat. Add the chopped onion and cook until soft and translucent. Stir in the crushed garlic and cook for another two to three minutes, taking care not to burn it.

02 >> Brown the lamb.
Add the turmeric and stir it through the onions before adding the diced lamb. Turn the meat until lightly browned on all sides, then season with salt and black pepper.

03 >> Let the meat simmer.
Transfer everything to a large cooking pot if necessary. Add approximately 750ml of water, bring to the boil, then reduce the heat. Cover and simmer gently for about an hour.

04 >> Prepare the herbs.
Heat around three tablespoons of oil in a frying pan over low to medium heat. Add the chopped parsley, mint and dill, if using. Fry gently, stirring regularly, until the herbs become fragrant and slightly darker. Don’t let them blacken, or you’ll end up with a bitter sauce.

05 >> Give the celery some attention.
In the same frying pan, heat a little more oil and add the chopped celery. Cook over medium heat until it begins to soften and turn golden around the edges. This helps develop its flavour before it goes into the stew.

06 >> Bring everything together.
Add the fried herbs and celery to the pot of lamb. Stir well, check the seasoning and add a little more water if the sauce looks too thick.

07 >> Leave it to do its thing.
Cover and simmer gently for another 90 minutes to two hours, until the lamb is tender and the celery has softened. Stir occasionally and add a little water if needed. The finished stew should have a rich sauce rather than resemble soup.

08 >> Finish with lime.
Stir in the lime juice towards the end of cooking. Taste before adding more. You want a pleasant sharpness that balances the herbs and meat without overpowering them.

As H would say, nooshe joon, enjoy your meal.

A few things I’ve learnt about making khoresht karafs

I was looking at healthy eating the wrong way

Looking back, I find it rather sad that one of my first responses to being told I was obese after childbirth was to buy food I didn’t really fancy eating. I’d just spent nine months growing a baby, gone through labour and was still recovering from giving birth. Yet there I was, standing in the supermarket, convincing myself that celery was somehow going to put everything right.

I don’t think the person who weighed me intended to upset me. But words have a habit of staying with us, particularly when we’re already feeling vulnerable about our bodies. And at six weeks postpartum, I was hardly in a position to start making sensible decisions about my weight while surviving on interrupted sleep and whatever food I could manage between feeds.

H didn’t give me a lecture about calories or suggest I swap my dinner for a salad.  That was what I needed. I’ve learnt a great deal about food since marrying into a Persian family. Not least that vegetables can be cooked with oil, herbs and meat without losing their place in a balanced diet. Food is supposed to nourish us, but it’s also supposed to be enjoyed.

Khoresht karafs hasn’t magically changed my relationship with my weight, and I’m not suggesting that eating Persian stew is the secret to postnatal weight loss. But it did teach me something useful. Healthy eating doesn’t have to involve punishing yourself with food you don’t like. These days, when I see celery in the supermarket, I don’t automatically think about diets or the number on the scales. I think about parsley, mint, lamb and a pot simmering away on the cooker.

And I think about H, who managed to rescue a perfectly good vegetable from the bin and turn it into one of my favourite Persian meals. Not bad for a head of celery.

Is there a vegetable you used to avoid until someone showed you how to cook it properly?

Have you tried khoresht karafs, or does your family have its own version? I’d love to hear how you make yours, particularly if you’ve inherited a recipe from a Persian maman or grandmother.

Occasional stories, experiments, discoveries and questions from Saffron & Cyrus.