I think I’ve been a rat my whole life. I remember being an impulsively slow eater, to which I inherited the family nickname, “moosh” meaning “little mouse” in Farsi. I was always surrounded by Mickey Mouse toys growing up. I was enamoured by the collaboration that Warhol did with Disney. I think I had a subconscious obsession with what I felt that these little animals stood for. My favourite book I remember reading in elementary school was “The Tale Of Despereaux”. It’s about a timid mouse who musters up the courage to go chasing after a princess to save her. I saw so much of myself within those those stories of timidness. I never thought of myself as brave. I felt like my dreams haunted me most days. A fairytale mouse saving a princess was rather less relatable to me – for what came next changed my life.

There weren’t many chefs that look like me when I was growing up. I’d argue to say if I recognized a single brown chef in mainstream media back then. I watched Iron Chef every saturday with my family, I was obsessed with Alton Brown, Bobby Flay, and most importantly, Gordon Ramsay. I’d rush home from school and throw on Gordon Ramsay’s “Cookalong Live” and watch it in secret so my parents wouldn’t think that I was deviated from my studies. I held onto the dream of becoming a chef with the deepest shame in my heart. My dad always spoke a sentiment along the lines of “how many people become Michael Jordan? Or Einstein? Michael Jackson? Those people are one in a million Baba, and we need to be practical with our dreams. Who do you know that’s become a chef that looks like you?” Still to this day, I don’t think he was wrong, I think those people are enamilies, but I think it may have almost less to do with their talents, and everything to do with their bravery to be different.

So then along comes a cartoon rat who is an outsider to his family. His father Django tells him to “stay out of the kitchen, and stay away from humans, they’re dangerous”. He experiences synesthesia, something that up until recently I didn’t know was a condition that is specific to few. I taste things and experience the colors in the food as vivid visuals. It was one of the many parallels I shared with this little rat. He then is inspired to capture the perfect flavor for the roasted mushroom he created by climbing earlier on top of a chimney and being serendipitously zapped by lightning. And so, he sneaks into a kitchen with his doubtful older brother in search of saffron to pair with his dish (his irresolute brother, much like my own). Amidst his journey, he is stupefied by Chef Gusto on the TV screen, confessing to his brother than he often comes and watches the episodes as the lady of the house has dozed off into sleep (possibly my mother). He talks about being a chef in Paris, and the romances of cooking and food. But he is countlessly objectified with the notion that “you’re just a rat” and “rats don’t cook”. And also, upon further reflection, the lady of the house wakes up to see that the rats are stealing her saffron, and her natural reaction is to grab a gun and start shooting at them. My mother hid saffron throughout the house growing up, and so I think this reaction is both hilarious and appropriate to characterize her with.

From the first time I walked into the kitchen, till up until very recently, I’ve been underestimated – mostly by myself. I took the journey of romance, I mustered up the courage that a little cartoon rat gave me and traveled to Europe. I trained in France, I took time to grow out of my timidness, and I found the largest colony of rats to call my home – New York City. I saw countless outsiders following their dreams, defying preconceived notion of who they should be and what they were capable of. I saw both rats and humans living dangerously close. I saw the most valiant fights for survival that I imagine I will ever see. I slowly learned that I was certainly not alone. I went through atrotious feats to survive my journey to a dream. And I couldn’t have done a single part of it, if in those early days, I did not console with a cartoon rat who believed that he was so much more than just that. Lessons are not always hidden in the most mature respects. We frame whatever necessary to inspire us to seek more out of this life. I certainly watch that movie from time to time as an adult to be reminded of that fire and that courage that carried me this far in life. And to make ratatouille every now and then is the reminder that regardless of who you are, and where you come from, “anyone can cook, but only the fearless can be great”. My community is called “Moosh” because they are a collection of the most courageous people I know in New York city, paving the way for countless dreams and progressive changes. And so, I’ve come to learn that the single only difference between a mouse and a rat then – is bravery.

Before we can begin, a few small pieces of advice…

– Journey to the farmer’s market. The only experience more important than making this dish, is the shopping behind in. Find your closest farmer’s market and explore. Collect the most beautiful ingredients you can get your hands on. The quality of what you use most especially sings loudly through this dish – do not comprise on any produce that is less than extraordinary.

– There is more than one way to make a rat. “Ratatouille” is simply the french version of a springtime harvest dish that can be found throughout several cultures in the world. In Sicily it’s called “caponata” in Iran we make a variation of it called “Dopiaza” with meat. Allow the ingredients that are in season to inform your shopping and to inspire you.

– Get ready the garnishes. A glass of something natty from Beaujolais, some music in the background to carry you through you prep, some crusty baguette to spoon the ratatouille over. Some recipes you have to blow through so you can get back to your day and get things dones. This is not one of those recipes. Take the day off – go enjoying making ratatouille.