“I like to change people’s minds about aubergine,” smiles Faranak Habibi who owns Konj in Edinburgh. This is what we thought of the home-style Iranian eatery
“I like to change people’s minds about aubergine,” smiles Faranak Habibi. A familiar challenge. When someone tells me they aren’t a fan, I assume they’ve never eaten Iranian food. They are imagining something slimy and greige, perhaps a little bitter or bland. They certainly haven’t tried the bademjon shekampor at Konj, Faranak’s restaurant in Edinburgh, where the aubergine is roasted until its skin wrinkles, stuffed with tomatoey minced beef and sprinkled with sumac, pomegranate seeds and flaked almonds.

Konj has been on my to-visit list ever since a fellow half-Iranian told me about the home-style Persian cafe good enough to stand up to her mum’s cooking. Back then it was at Tollcross and more of a coffee shop, serving traditional breakfast fare such as omelette Irani, a shakshuka-style dish, along with some of Faranak’s own fusion creations (“I invented the saffron latte,” she says proudly, handing me a glass).
Word got out, her customer base grew and soon she was looking for a bigger place to serve lunch, dinner, hot drinks and Persian cakes. She found it next to the Lyceum on Grindlay Street; a two-floor premises that she spent five months renovating, filling it with ornate art and rugs from her homeland before finally opening at the tail-end of last year.

Faranak is no stranger to bold moves. She relocated to the UK from the Kurdish-Iranian city of Sanandaj 17 years ago, worked as a flight operator in London, quit her job, moved to the Scottish capital then opened Konj in 2019. There’s a handful of Iranian restaurants in Scotland, mostly in Glasgow, but none that matched her vision: authentic, yes, but also soulful, beautiful. “I cook from my heart,” says the chef-patron, who makes everything except the kebabs, which are grilled by a dedicated Iranian kebab chef. “And I spend time designing the food – we eat with our eyes first.”

Problem is, the food smells so intensely delicious I doubt many diners spend much time admiring her artistry. This is food to dive into. Fortunately I’m with my best friend, so we don’t need to be polite. She tears the flatbread in two and loads it with sabzi o paneer, a whipped feta and mint dip garnished with cucumber, radishes and walnuts. I go spoon-first into the mirza ghasemi, a smoky, garlicky mash of aubergine, tomatoes and eggs that lights up my tongue, brain and life.

Together we crack open the golden crust of a perfectly round tahchin, a savoury saffron rice cake layered with buttery chicken and topped with crimson barberries. Then a scoop of the bademjon shekampor, then more paneer, then – oh man – out comes my favourite, joojeh kebab. The tender wedges of chicken, soaked in yoghurt, saffron and lemon, belong in last-meal-on-earth territory.

I grew up not knowing how to explain the food I ate at home to my friends. How the stews were nothing like curries, and the rose petals weren’t just for decoration. Now I’m older, I understand that food is a language. You open minds by cooking what you love and sharing it with others. Or you take them to Konj and let Faranak lead the way.
Konj
5 – 17 Grindlay Street
Edinburgh
EH3 9AX
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