by Chupsie Medina

MANILA, PHILIPPINES - People old enough would remember Behrouz Mojdeh for his nondescript corner stall on Timog Ave. in Quezon City and its beef and lamb kebabs served with a generous slathering of home-made yoghurt and grilled tomatoes.

This was more than two decades ago, an era in Philippine history when young Iranians and Jordanians sought refuge here from their homelands to escape repressive political regimes and conflicts.

The young Behrouz then, perhaps homesick for the companionship of his countrymen and its food, would start a fire in his grill late in the afternoon and lay on the skewered meats. The flavorful aroma would bring in the customers, most of them compatriots and Middle Easterns.

There would be basmati rice with butter or flat bread with humus to go with the herbed kebabs, comfort food for people who had left their families and traveled half the globe to seek new fortunes. As a sort of bonus, there would be stories from home -- food for the soul to stave off the loneliness.

In the early years, Behrouz was content to earn just enough to keep the operations sustainable. But later, with a Filipina wife and two children plus the fact that many of his foreign friends were returning to their respective countries or simply moving on, the need to keep the grill alive became an imperative.

Modj, Behrouz's only son, remembers his dad giving away free samplers to Filipinos who would care to even glance at the kebabs. The questions would come next, fast and furious, eagerly imbibing precious feedback on how Persian cuisine could become more acceptable to the local palate.

Slowly, with adjustments here and there, Behrouz's clients grew to appreciate the food. It was still being sold at a stall with no name, and those who had heard about his Persian dishes would call him Kuya, a familiar face with a nondescript name that stuck for some time.

When the Timog stall was demolished to give way to a commercial building, Behrouz moved to a nearby apartment unit along Sct. Tobias St. It was here that his kebabs already adapted to the Filipino taste buds, acquired its famed notoriety, bringing in queues of hungry customers eager for more. Here too, the nameless stall acquired a name: Behrouz Persian Cuisine.

'It seemed such a fine name,' says Modj, who at that time was already a college student. In Iranian, it meant 'one bright day,' an apt description to the steadily growing business and to a father he was fiercely devoted to.

In between classes, Modj would help out at Behrouz -- buying only the freshest ingredients, coordinating delivery of ample supplies, manning the huge grill, even serving at the tables. It left his father with more time to talk to old and new patrons, to continuously refine and improve on the menu.

After graduation, Modj, born Mohammad Harold de Leon Mojdeh, took on even more responsibilities in running the business. By this time, Behrouz had taken over the whole apartment row to accommodate the ever growing number of diners.

NEW IDEAS, NEW LESSONS

As Modj found himself enjoying the challenge of managing the business, his father became more supportive. When a friend offered a partnership for their first branch to be located in the rapidly expanding Libis commercial area located on the eastern fringes of Quezon City, father and son agreed.

The new outlet did well but the friends' relationship did not; in the end, to keep their friendship, Modj and partner decided to end the business. On his own, and with his father's financing, Modj opened another branch outside but adjacent the Libis area. It did not do well and eventually closed.

Modj had lost money, but it taught the eager young man a few basic lessons in doing business, including the value of finding the right location. Behrouz opened next on Wilson St. in the Greenhills commercial area in San Juan, then at the Metrowalk complex in Pasig City. Both continue to do well.

To keep an eye on all three busy outlets, Modj has learned to divide his time during the week. 'The business demands personal attention,' he says. He juggles his evening watch, which continues to be the restaurant's peak hours, to keep an eye on staff and also to actively solicit feedback from customers.

One of the new ideas he has brought to the business is the expanded serving hours. 'We received a lot of suggestions to open for lunch,' Modj says. He had also introduced nipa huts just large enough to cover a table and chairs: 'This is part of the 'Filipinization' of Behrouz,' says Modj.

Other than improvisations designed to create a more pleasant dining experience, Modj is also learning about how to improve the business model. 'We used to have a bakery for the flat breads,' he says. They now rely on sub-contractors for the supply, in the process freeing the restaurant to focus on the core dishes.

They have also purchased a farm in Tagaytay which would soon supply the increasing volume of vegetables needed by the outlets. And they have also started to breed and raise lamb, a plan that hopefully will insulate Behrouz from the instability of the meat's supply and prices.

'I still defer to my dad for every major decision that has to be made,' Modj says, although he had never found any incident where they differed. At the time of the interview, Modj was single-handedly running the show, his father having gone to Iran for a much-needed break.

Like his dad, he would linger at the tables and ask people for suggestions on how to improve the food and service. It's a habit he has picked through the years, seeing how it has helped the business grow.

With the Internet, Modj is trying to keep up with the technology. Admitting he is not partial to cyberspace technology, he has asked his wife to monitor feedback from popular food blogs and review sites. These, he says, have also provided valuable insights.

Customers, who are now his friends, would ask him where his duty for the night would be. Modj happily obliges with the information, basking in the knowledge that the personal attention he has been giving the business is much appreciated.