A few days ago I walked into the house after model school and saw my host mom in our basement covered in flour and making some kind of dough. Usually she makes dough in the kitchen so it was very strange that she was down in the storage room. I asked her if I could help, and she said a little. As I entered the room I saw a bunch of huge piles of dough, just sitting around. I figured she was just making bread, I know sometimes she sells it. So I start to help her add the amount of flour, eggs and salt that she directs me to add and kneed together a batch of dough. The whole time she is just watching me, making sure I don’t screw up her bread. When my arms feel they are going to fall off I tell her ok, and I leave the room, knowing that she is glad that I wanted to help, but is glad that I am not going to ruin anymore batches.
As I sit down to eat dinner with my host sister some 4 hours later, I see smoke coming up out of the window. I ask her what is going on and she tells me to look. I look out the window and see this round cylinder with fire coming out of it, and my host mom still covered in flour tossing dough like you would to make a pizza. Lavash, my sister says. I sit down and pretend not to care as I finish my dinner, but the whole time I am wondering why I wasn’t invited to help make Lavash. After dinner I think of the perfect excuse to see the Lavash being made, I go down to take my laundry off the line. As I do it, I peep over the corner hoping for an invitation to join. Getting none, I take my laundry upstairs. Then I think of another idea. I grab my camera and run downstairs. I tell my host mom I want a picture of her making lavash, they know I always want pictures of everything so it’s perfect. I snap a few photos and then stand looking around, hoping to be asked to help. I am not. Finally I bust out some Armenian, and ask if I can try. My host mom looks at me and laughs and says as you wish.
So this is me making Lavash. The first one I made was horrible, it’s really tough to roll the dough out, it’s so dry! But the last one I made was all right, although really thick, more like Pita bread than lavash. I told my family it was like Greek bread and they thought that was cool. I worked for about 30 mins, sometimes rolling the dough, sometimes putting it on the cylinder of fire, but after I burnt my finger for the third time, I said thank you and excused myself. I don’t think I am cut out for making lavash, though my host brother said it was very delicious lavash when he tried it a few days later.