Three years. One hundred and fifty-six weeks of writing about food and life. Three years of sambar and dosa and biryani and pot pie and curd rice and the wet grinder and the Christmas tree and the miscarriage and the baby and the blog.
Three years ago this week, Raj and I were newlyweds in a two-bedroom apartment, arguing about catering negotiations and learning each other's kitchens. Now we're parents, in the same apartment (for now — the house hunt continues), with a nine-month-old daughter who says Amma and Dada and pulls herself up on kitchen cabinets and eats rasam rice with her fingers.
Three years ago, Amma scored unmeasured on a test that didn't exist yet, because nobody was worried yet. Now she scores 24 out of 30, and we see a neurologist, and I write her recipes down with the urgency of someone archiving a burning library.
Three years ago, I was a pharmacist who cooked after work. Now I'm a pharmacist who writes a monthly food column and has five thousand blog readers and a leather journal with a hundred and forty pages of my mother's recipes.
Three years ago, Arvind was an HVAC tech with a GED and a complicated relationship with Appa. Now he has a contractor's license and a business plan and a father who says "good work, kanna."
Three years. Everything changed. Nothing changed. Amma still makes sambar without measuring. Appa still gives birthday cards with just his name. The wet grinder still sounds like a jet engine. The murukku spirals are still too wide.
I made dosa tonight. From scratch. The full production — soaking, grinding, fermenting, cooking. The same dosa I've been making since week one. The same batter. The same wet grinder. The same crispy, golden discs that Amma makes perfectly and I make close-to-perfectly and Anaya eats with her hands, getting sambar in her hair and chutney on her eyebrows.
Anaya ate dosa tonight. Her grandmother's dosa, made by her mother, in a kitchen that might not be their kitchen for long (the house hunt). She ate with both hands, with full commitment, with the appetite of someone who doesn't know that food is complicated — who just knows that this is good, this is warm, this is hers.
Three years. One hundred and fifty-six chapters. The story continues.
Week one hundred and fifty-seven starts tomorrow. I'm still writing. I'm still cooking. I'm still here.
For Amma. For Anaya. For the kitchen that remembers everything.
The dosa was the ritual — the thing I made tonight to mark the three years — but I’m giving you muffins, because Anaya woke up this morning before I’d even started the batter and stood at the kitchen cabinet banging on the door like she owned the place, and I thought: fine, we’ll make something for morning, too. Buttermilk muffins felt right in the same way dosa feels right — the tang of something fermented, something slightly alive, something that takes a little patience and gives back warmth. Amma never measured. I measure now, and write it down, and someday Anaya will have the number.
Buttermilk Blueberry Muffins
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 12 muffins
Ingredients
- 2 cups all-purpose flour
- 3/4 cup granulated sugar
- 2 teaspoons baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1 cup buttermilk, well shaken
- 1/3 cup neutral oil (such as canola or vegetable)
- 2 large eggs
- 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
- 1 1/2 cups fresh or frozen blueberries (do not thaw if frozen)
- 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour (for tossing the blueberries)
- 2 tablespoons turbinado or coarse sugar (for topping)
Instructions
- Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 400°F (205°C). Line a standard 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners or grease each cup well with butter or nonstick spray.
- Mix the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the 2 cups flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt until evenly combined.
- Mix the wet ingredients. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the buttermilk, oil, eggs, and vanilla extract until smooth and fully combined.
- Combine wet and dry. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and fold gently with a rubber spatula until just combined. The batter will be lumpy — do not overmix or the muffins will be tough.
- Fold in the blueberries. Toss the blueberries with the 1 tablespoon of flour to coat (this helps prevent sinking). Gently fold the coated blueberries into the batter with just a few strokes.
- Fill the tin. Divide the batter evenly among the 12 muffin cups, filling each about 3/4 full. Sprinkle the tops generously with turbinado sugar.
- Bake. Bake at 400°F for 18–22 minutes, until the tops are golden and a toothpick inserted into the center of a muffin comes out clean or with just a few moist crumbs.
- Cool and serve. Let the muffins cool in the tin for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack. Serve warm or at room temperature. Store covered at room temperature for up to 3 days.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 210 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 34g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 210mg
About the cook who shared this
Priya Krishnamurthy
Week 156 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.
