Being the youngest of three and the only daughter to an immigrant Iranian family, I was the only one born in London, and in many ways that made me the outsider.

My brothers would tell me about the arid, dusty days playing in grandma’s courtyard garden, feeding the chickens, playing with the pet goat, and being able to pick pomegranates straight off the tree. They were taught to squeeze the fruit like bubble wrap and drink the juice straight from the fruit, and in the oppressive summers the whole neighbourhood would sleep on the flat roofs of their buildings, hoping to get some cool relief. I loved to listen and daydream about what their world was like.

I spent my early years in West London mixing with other second-generation kids like myself, eating incredible and complex home-cooked feasts while secretly craving a takeout pizza.

The rest of my youth was stretched out in Hertfordshire. I was officially Anglicised and drifted further away from the ideal daughter my mother wanted me to be. Daringly and lovingly known to my brothers as the black sheep of the family, I was always creating ways to avoid suspicion and detection by my parents and the extended family. I was free-spirited by nature, and my long, dark, curly hair only confirmed my desire to be disobedient and my unwillingness to conform.

Now as a mum of two and divorced, I have fallen in love with my maiden name that I so desperately wanted to be rid of in exchange for something simpler. I embrace the amazing foods and intense flavours that have shaped my taste buds and given me a passion for food. I love the warmth and generosity the culture has taught me, all of which will be passed through to my children.

I will always hang on to my status as black sheep, though, if only in the shadows of my life – just to keep things interesting!