There’s a certain quiet in London’s Persian restaurants right now — not a silence of absence, but one of thoughtful pause. And as Nowruz, the Persian New Year, is here, that quiet feels especially pronounced.
Traditionally, Nowruz (meaning ‘new day’) is a season of brightness: tables laid with the haft-sin, homes scented with hyacinth and orange blossom, kitchens alive with sabzi polo and lovingly marinated fish.
It marks renewal, the spring equinox, the precise moment the earth tilts back towards light. For millions of Iranians, it is the most important date in the calendar — a time for family, hope and new beginnings.
Over the past decade in London, we’ve watched Persian kitchens ripple with energy around this time of year. Chefs pushed tradition forward, diners discovered herby rice and traditional Nowruz fish for the first time, and our community found joy and pride at every table.
But as Iran is enduring a period of transition, Iranians wait and feel understandably adrift.
The latest massacre during mass protests by the regime in January, in which tens of thousands of Iranians were killed, was followed by a period that has brought both hope and anxiety, in equal measure, to Iranians in Iran and beyond. If you head outside Downing Street on a Saturday or Sunday, you’ll see it in every face, in every tear, in every smile.
Many restaurants, and people more broadly in the Iranian diaspora, are quiet on social media, but they are making their voices heard at protests against the regime every weekend. The once proudly noisy social media activity around Nowruz has been replaced by real-life chants thanking the US for taking action against a brutal regime, and showing their love for Crown Prince Reza Pahlavi, hoping for change.
The noise has found a new home
Today, as Nowruz arrives, what should be a season of celebration has instead become a moment of reflection.
Our usually bustling restaurants are becoming safe spaces for this.
Recently, I was reminded of what these spaces are really for. Sitting in a small Persian restaurant with four friends, plates of rice and stew between us, we spent hours talking — not about menus or marketing, but about parents, cousins, childhood homes, late-night phone calls, and the loved ones we worry about every day.
There were tears, long silences, and moments of laughter too. It was heavy, and somehow, it was healing.
In that room, food became more than comfort: it became a bridge, a way of holding each other up when words alone weren’t enough.
Perhaps this year, more than any other, Nowruz is not just about renewal — but resilience
It’s easy to see the hesitation around promotion and publicity at Nowruz as paralysis. Many restaurateurs are unsure how to shout about their businesses while human rights abuses unfold back home, and pray that the barbaric regime finally falls.
But this pause isn’t retreat — it’s respect. It’s a collective deep breath. An acknowledgement that celebration and solidarity must now walk hand in hand.
And perhaps this year, more than any other, Nowruz is not just about renewal — but resilience.
And so, as Nowruz arrives — gently, almost quietly — it feels right to honour the places that continue to nourish London’s Iranian food community.
Move on
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Kiani Tea feels like a living archive of Tehran’s café culture. Family-run — it’s a place where time slows — steaming glasses of tea arrive alongside saffron-scented cakes. Despite being relatively new to the London scene, it is already a firm favourite with Iranians and non-Iranians alike. Try the Persian Pashmak and a saffron latte.
Sana, the owner of Shiraz Patisserie, is said to be the first woman to open a café in her hometown, Shiraz. And what better way to mark that than to open a cafe in London named after her birthplace? Since opening in 2023, the patisserie has built a reputation for producing some of London’s most refined Persian pastries. The extra good news is that you can buy them in bespoke boxes to share with family and friends.
In Soho and Borough, Berenjak captures the spirit of Tehran’s hole-in-the-wall kebab houses with sharpened precision. Skewers grill over charcoal, bread is torn and shared, and stews warm your soul. Trendy and traditional, Berenjak bridges generations. Better still, they’ve now opened a new restaurant in Mayfair.
Not all Nowruz tables are set in restaurants. I Got It From My Maman, an Instagram-led cookery platform by Hami Sharafi, offers online Persian cooking courses, brings the new year into people’s homes. Its ethos is beautifully simple: learn the recipes your mother learned from hers. Through guided classes, participants master sabzi polo, kuku sabzi and the elusive art of tahdig. In a year when outward celebration feels complicated, this digital kitchen offers something intimate and powerful – the ability to cook Nowruz for yourself, to keep tradition alive at your own table.