September approaching. The kitchen renovation starts next month, which means I need to plan for six weeks of no kitchen. Six weeks. No stove. No counter. No wet grinder. The thought makes me physically anxious.
I've started pre-cooking — making batches of food to freeze, the same way Amma prepared for my maternity leave. Sambar concentrate cubes. Rasam paste. Poriyal portions. I am Amma's daughter and I prepare for crisis by filling the freezer.
At work, the MTM program has forty patients. Jessica is effectively co-leading now — she handles half the caseload independently, which frees me to focus on the more complex cases and the administrative side. The published paper has generated interest: two other hospitals in New Jersey have contacted us about replicating the program. My model is spreading.
The pharmacist is spreading. The writer is spreading. The cook is about to lose her kitchen for six weeks.
I wrote the first pages of the book proposal this week. The sample chapter: about sambar. About Amma's sambar specifically — the recipe that has no measurements, the dish that tastes different every time but is always right, the food that connects a village in Tamil Nadu to a kitchen in Edison.
The writing came fast. Two thousand words in one sitting, between Anaya's bedtime and midnight. The words were already there — they've been accumulating in the journal for three years, fermenting like dosa batter, getting better with time.
I made Amma's sambar while writing about Amma's sambar. The meta-ness was not lost on me. I stood at the stove and typed on my laptop between stirring and tasted the sambar for accuracy while describing the tasting for the reader.
The sambar was good. The writing was — I don't know yet. Good and good-enough are different when the audience is a publisher, not a blog reader.
But the words are on the page. The sambar is in the pot. The book is beginning.
That night, while the sambar was doing what sambar does — deepening, thickening, becoming itself — I needed something steady and simple on the side, something that wouldn’t demand my attention the way the laptop was demanding it. Walnut Rice has become my quiet companion on evenings like that: it comes together almost on its own, the toasted walnuts giving the rice a warmth and nuttiness that somehow makes everything on the table feel more intentional. If you’re making a pot of sambar (or thinking about it, or writing about it), this is the rice you want underneath it.
Walnut Rice
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 1 cup long-grain white rice, rinsed
- 1/2 cup walnuts, roughly chopped
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter or neutral oil
- 1 small yellow onion, finely diced
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 cups vegetable broth or water
- 1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley or cilantro, chopped (for garnish)
Instructions
- Toast the walnuts. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, add the chopped walnuts and toast dry, stirring frequently, for 3–4 minutes until fragrant and lightly golden. Remove and set aside.
- Sauté the aromatics. In the same saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 4–5 minutes until softened and translucent. Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute more.
- Add the rice. Stir the rinsed rice into the pan and cook for 1–2 minutes, stirring to coat the grains in the butter and let them toast slightly.
- Simmer. Pour in the vegetable broth, add the salt and pepper, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, cover tightly, and cook for 18 minutes until the liquid is absorbed and the rice is tender.
- Rest and fluff. Remove from heat and let the rice rest, covered, for 5 minutes. Fluff with a fork, then fold in the toasted walnuts.
- Serve. Transfer to a serving bowl and garnish with chopped parsley or cilantro. Serve warm alongside sambar, dal, or any braised vegetable.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 310 | Protein: 6g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 40g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 380mg
About the cook who shared this
Priya Krishnamurthy
Week 179 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.