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A little over a year ago, I married an Armenian woman (it’s going great – thanks for asking!). One unanticipated consequence of this is that my in-laws make some of the most incredible food on the planet. There’s the standard Persian/Armenian fare, of course:

• Rice pilaf – my mother-in-law’s is the envy of the entire parskahye (Armenian from Iran) community!
• Khorovats – Armenian barbecue; my father-in-law’s is the envy of… well, you get it.
• Khoresht – various delectable stews for serving over pilaf.
• Ikra – this is actually a spread/dip of Russian origin that was created as a substitute for Caviar. But I think it’s better. It’s made from grilled eggplant and tomato, and is one of my favorite things in the world.
• Lahmadjoun – Armenian flatbread “pizzas”, which are really tasty (sadly, my experience with these has been limited thus far – my father-in-law likes to break out the big guns with the Khorovats almost every time we visit them)
• Lots of other terrific/unexpected things, like pickled garlic and Borscht and Halim (a labor-intensive savory oatmeal-like dish made from wheat and meat)

Soon after we got engaged, my mother-in-law made a different sort of pilaf. Rather than being made from the standard Basmati rice, it was made from some other kind of whole grain. It was nutty, chewy, and completely delicious, and it became an instant favorite of mine. They called it “parinj” (prounounced “pareenj”).

Let me reiterate: Parinj pilaf is delicious.

Of course, being scientifically-minded, my first response was to ask, “What kind of grain is this?” (OK, my second response. My first was to eat as much of the stuff as possible while making “yummy” noises.) To my dismay, nobody could tell me. Was it barley? No, not barley. Was it some kind of wheat? Durum? Bulgur? Farro? Emmer? Nobody knew what the heck I was talking about.

The first thing I learned was that this stuff is rare. Most Armenians don’t even know about it – my mother-in-law had never seen it until she met my father-in-law. Apparently, it’s well-known in the Peria (Fereydan) region of Iran, but outside of that region it isn’t well-known (this would become important later on).

Ever since then, I have searched high and low in order to discover the botanical identity of this delicious grain. Today, my friends, with a little Holmesian elementary, I have accomplished that goal. It’s been well over a year of sleuthing, but I now know that parinj is actually Triticum timopheevii, a Georgian (country, not state) tetraploid wheat variety known to the Georgians as Zanduri. Once I discovered this variety of wheat, it became obvious that this was the solution:

1. My mother-in-law supplied us with an uncooked package of parinj for our future use. It is labeled “Adjar”. Adjar is a region of Georgia, to which the cultivated version of this wheat is indigenous.
2. As I already mentioned, the grain is well-known in Fereydan, which is a largely Georgian area of Iran.
3. The wild-growing variety of this grain grows across the Caucus, including Armenia, and is called Triticum araraticum. This is a dead giveaway, because it’s clearly named for Mt. Ararat in Armenia.

Since there was such a dearth of information about this grain on the internet, I decided to write this post in the hopes that the storm-tossed googler might have an easier time making the same discovery.

Now, how can the average American get access to this delicious product? It is very difficult to find outside of an Armenian market, and knowing its botanical identity unfortunately didn’t help me find any internet sources for the grain. If you can’t find it, and you want something close, I think your best bet is an Egyptian wheat called Khorasan wheat, which is sold under the trade name KAMUT®. You can get it online directly from Bob’s Red Mill (if you’re a stay-at-home foodie, I’m sure you’re already familiar with Bob’s Red Mill). This will be a good substitute for parinj; it’s almost – but not quite – entirely unlike the real thing.

And now, for completeness, I will divulge my mother-in-law’s procedure for making Parinj Pilaf:

1. Sweat 1 medium onion, chopped, in the bottom of a pot until translucent. Use enough oil or butter to cover the bottom of the pot well.
2. Add 2 cups of water and 1 tablespoon salt (ed: or 2 cups of stock).
3. Add about a tablespoon of tomato paste – more or less to taste. Bring to a boil over high heat.
4. Wash 2 cups of parinj well – wash it several times by submerging it in plenty of cool water, swishing it and straining off the water. You want to remove as much starch as you can, and also make sure that no rocks make it into the pot.
5. When the contents of the pot come to a boil, add the parinj to the pot. Allow it to come to a boil.
6. Let it boil over high heat until the surface of the parinj is just about to poke through the surface of the water. When this happens, reduce the heat to low and cover. Cook for another 20-25 minutes or until tender but chewy.
7. Spread it onto a large platter to serve – hopefully along with some tasty khoresht or kabob!

Keep in mind that my mother-in-law is an excellent cook, and the art of making pilaf can’t really be properly codified into a recipe. Your mileage may vary.