Navaratri. The festival that keeps arriving whether my kitchen is ready or not.
My kitchen is NOT ready. The cabinets are in but the range hasn't arrived (backordered — the universe's sense of humor is impeccable). So I celebrated Navaratri at Amma's house, which is where I should be celebrating anyway, because Amma's Navaratri is the standard against which all Navaratris are measured.
She made the full production. The kolu with seventy-four dolls. The nine sundals. The vadai. The payasam. The decorations, the prayers, the community visits. At sixty-six, with a cognitive test score of 24, with a diagnosis of mild cognitive impairment, Lakshmi Krishnamurthy made Navaratri happen exactly the way she's made it happen every year since 1985.
The recipes are intact. The cooking is intact. The woman who scores 24 out of 30 on a cognitive test makes nine types of sundal without consulting a single recipe.
This is the cruelest hope: her cooking is the last fortress. The routes fall, the words slip, the measurements require cups where hands used to suffice. But the cooking holds. The deep knowledge — the forty-year muscle memory of spice and flame and timing — holds.
For how long?
Anaya sat on Amma's lap during the puja. She pointed at each doll on the kolu and said "da!" (her word for everything she finds interesting). Amma named each one: "That's Saraswati. That's Krishna. That's the elephant. That's the doll Paati had when she was small."
Anaya touched the old doll — the tiny, faded one from Chennai. She held it gently, the way toddlers hold things they sense are important.
"She knows," Amma said.
I made sundal at home — chickpea sundal, the simplest of the nine, made on the hot plate with the determination of a woman who refuses to let a missing range stop Navaratri. One pot. One sundal. One festival, scaled to the equipment available.
The sundal was good. Amma's sundal was better. But mine existed, which is its own kind of victory.
The chickpea sundal I made on the hot plate was not Amma’s sundal — nothing I make will ever be Amma’s sundal — but it existed, and existence is enough. When I want that same grounding feeling outside of Navaratri, when I want the comfort of a legume that holds its shape and takes on spice and reminds me that some things are simple and enduring, I turn to this Moroccan chickpea soup. One pot, twenty minutes, and the same quiet dignity as a festival dish: chickpeas doing exactly what chickpeas have always done, which is show up and feed people without drama. It’s not a sundal, but it carries the same spirit — the spirit of a kitchen that refuses to be stopped by circumstances.
20-Minute Moroccan Chickpea Soup
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 medium yellow onion, diced
- 4 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1 teaspoon ground coriander
- 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
- 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (or to taste)
- 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 2 cans (15 oz each) chickpeas, drained and rinsed
- 1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, with juices
- 3 cups vegetable broth
- 1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
- 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
- 1/4 cup fresh cilantro or parsley, roughly chopped
- Crusty bread or warm pita, for serving (optional)
Instructions
- Saute the aromatics. Heat the olive oil in a medium saucepan or pot over medium heat. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 4—5 minutes until softened and translucent.
- Bloom the spices. Add the garlic, cumin, coriander, paprika, turmeric, cayenne, and cinnamon to the pot. Stir constantly for 60 seconds until fragrant, being careful not to let the garlic burn.
- Add the chickpeas and tomatoes. Pour in the drained chickpeas and the diced tomatoes with their juices. Stir to coat everything in the spice mixture.
- Simmer the soup. Add the vegetable broth and salt. Raise the heat to bring the soup to a gentle boil, then reduce heat and simmer uncovered for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the broth has deepened in color and the flavors have melded.
- Finish and serve. Remove from heat and stir in the lemon juice. Taste and adjust salt and cayenne as needed. Ladle into bowls and top with fresh cilantro or parsley. Serve with bread or pita if desired.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 280 | Protein: 12g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 44g | Fiber: 10g | Sodium: 680mg
About the cook who shared this
Priya Krishnamurthy
Week 185 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.