I started to feel drowsy from the post-iftar food coma, the still air in the room, and the melancholic rhythm of the preacher’s recitation. I tried reading the Farsi subtitles to stay focused, but my eyes were tearing yawn after yawn.
We don’t talk, for instance, about wine at dinner parties, or wine at house warmings, or boxed wine on the front stoop, or beers at the game, or mommy…