News from Sarah Chen: the proposal received interest from three publishers. Three. Not rejection — interest. Editors who read about my mother's sambar and said: yes, tell me more.
I was at work when the email came. I read it between patient consultations, standing in the medication room, and I put my hand over my mouth and said nothing because the medication room is not the place for screaming.
Three publishers. They want meetings. They want to talk about the book — the shape of it, the audience, the marketing, the everything. Sarah says this is "a strong response" and that she's "cautiously optimistic," which in agent language means she's doing cartwheels.
I called Raj. He did not do cartwheels (cardiologists don't cartwheel) but he did say "I told you" three times, which is his version.
I haven't told Amma yet. I want to wait until there's an actual offer, an actual deal, an actual yes. Because Amma will tell Kamala Aunty and Kamala Aunty will tell the temple and the temple will tell all of Edison and I'd rather have the whole story before Edison gets involved.
Anaya is seventeen months old and her newest word is "cook." She says it when she sees me in the kitchen — "Amma cook!" — with an excitement that suggests she considers cooking a performance art, which, honestly, it kind of is.
I made Amma's kootu tonight. The chayote version. The dish I've made a hundred times, the dish that tastes like Sunday, the dish that started as Amma's and has become mine through repetition and love and the specific alchemy of making something so many times it enters your DNA.
Three publishers. The sambar is spreading.
I'm not telling Amma yet. But I made her kootu and thought about her sambar on editors' desks in New York and felt the specific, private joy of watching your mother's food travel further than she ever imagined.
The kootu I made that night was Amma’s recipe — specific, practiced, mine — and I’m not quite ready to share that one yet, not until the book exists and the story has its ending. But the spirit of it lives in any dish where you take a humble vegetable and give it patience and fat and heat until it becomes something that feels like a hug: this creamy zucchini is that dish. It’s what I reach for when I need to stand at the stove and let the cooking be the celebration, when the joy is private and the kitchen is the only place that knows.
Creamy Zucchini
Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 20 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 3 medium zucchini, halved lengthwise and sliced 1/4 inch thick
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
- 1/2 cup sour cream or full-fat plain yogurt
- 2 tablespoons fresh parsley or cilantro, chopped
- 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
Instructions
- Prep the zucchini. Halve each zucchini lengthwise and slice into 1/4-inch half-moons. Pat dry with a paper towel to reduce excess moisture before cooking.
- Saute in butter. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the zucchini in a single layer (work in batches if needed) and cook undisturbed for 3–4 minutes until the cut sides are lightly golden. Stir and cook another 2 minutes.
- Add garlic and seasoning. Reduce heat to medium. Push zucchini to the edges of the pan and add garlic to the center. Cook 30 seconds until fragrant, then stir to combine. Season with salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes if using.
- Stir in the cream. Remove the pan from heat and let it cool for one minute — this prevents the sour cream from breaking. Add sour cream or yogurt and stir gently to coat all the zucchini. Return to very low heat for 1–2 minutes just to warm through; do not boil.
- Finish and serve. Remove from heat. Stir in lemon juice and fresh herbs. Taste and adjust salt. Serve immediately as a side dish, over rice, or alongside flatbread.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 110 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 8g | Carbs: 7g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 310mg
About the cook who shared this
Priya Krishnamurthy
Week 192 of Priya’s 30-year story
· Edison, New Jersey
Priya is a pharmacist, wife, and mom of two in Edison, New Jersey — the town she grew up in, surrounded by the sights and smells of her mother's South Indian kitchen. These days, she splits her time between the hospital pharmacy, school pickups, and her own kitchen, where she cooks nearly every night. Her style is a blend of the Tamil recipes her mother taught her and the American comfort food her kids actually want to eat. She writes about the beautiful mess of balancing two cultures on one plate — and she wants you to know that ordering pizza is also an act of love.