The Iraqi community – inside and outside of Iraq - is indeed in a crisis. An offender swims the rivers and streams of a land that has been hit by a disease so incurable and so dangerous. Just one bite and you are overtaken. No fish will ever be good enough for you again. And the taste in your mouth lingers, for a very, very, very long time. I am a victim. My name is Iman, and I suffer from Dreaming of Simach Masgoof Syndrome.

You think I am joking don’t you…Well here is how the story goes….Before my trip to Iraq, I was told not to eat fish in Iraq. Depleted Uranium, Nuclear Chemicals, Sewage has unfortunately polluted our rivers and thus polluted our fish. So I went to Iraq with the intention of staying away from two things; tap water and fish. It was quite disappointing since whenever I had in the past heard anyone talk about Iraq, Simach Masgoof always comes into the discussion somewhere. But when we arrived to Iraq, there seemed to be no controversy about fish, fish was a staple dish in all the homes I visited. So one week in, I was having fish galore. But, I wanted to try Simach Masgoof on the river, in one of those restaurants who specialize in Simach Masgoof.

Apparently Abu Nowass has been closed off and is now exclusively an American Soldiers paradise. Only Americans allowed. And apparently they can’t get enough of our Kebab and Simach Masgoof, so that was not an option for us. So we went to a Simach Masgoof restaurant in Kathemiya on the river. Now, I am going to skip all the unnecessary talk and go straight into the ‘experience’. The fish arrived, we had ordered Carp (Birri). It was cut open in half, slightly blackened, glistening and ready to be devoured. I didn’t want bread or any side dishes; I just wanted to experience this fish all on its own. As soon as it entered my mouth, it melted. What did it melt into you may ask? How do I describe this? It melted into a taste indescribable. Smoky, Fresh, Buttery, it was unreal. There was no need for the kitchen staff at this place to wash the plate, because we literally had wiped the plate off clean, we didn’t even do the skin any mercy, just a pile of bones sat in the plate - I am surprised we didn’t gulp down the bones either. I am not a big fish fan, but this was something else. Simach Masgoof was a taste of Iraq. It was the closest thing to discovering what our land tastes like, or tasting what our rivers taste like. Maybe that’s why I found eating Simach Masgoof to be more than just ‘having fish’.

Iraqis inside of Iraq consider eating food a lot more of an occasion than we do. Mainly because of the simple fact that during all the wars they had to survive through, families stuck inside their houses had nothing else to do but eat. Lunch would be over, and already there is a discussion about what to have for dinner, and after a quick sip of chai you find them in the kitchen preparing for dinner. And indeed, fish is something Iraqis look forward to without much ado. For the rest of my stay in Iraq, I dreamt of Simach Masgoof constantly, I had it a few more times thankfully, but not enough to stop me thinking about it. Fish is easy, requires hardly any effort and fish in Iraq has a flavor original to its own kind. Yes, readers. I suffer from Dreaming of Simach Masgoof syndrome.