New Year's Eve with a seven-month-old. The wild version: Anaya asleep by 7:30 PM, Raj and I on the couch by 8, both of us asleep by 10:30, woken at midnight by distant fireworks that made Anaya cry for seven minutes before she settled back down.
Happy New Year. 2019. The year we turn three (married), the year Anaya turns one (alive), the year I turn thirty-two (aging). The year of whatever comes next.
I made no elaborate meal. Raj heated leftover biryani from Christmas. I made chai — the simple, quotidian act that punctuates every transition in my life. End of the year: chai. Beginning of the year: chai. The constant.
I've been thinking about the year ahead. The blog is growing — two thousand readers, a monthly column, an identity I didn't plan for. The pharmacy is solid — the MTM program runs without me needing to hover, Jessica is competent and increasingly confident. Anaya is healthy, growing, discovering the world one spoonful of rasam rice at a time.
But Amma. Amma's follow-up cognitive test is this month. Another number. Another data point on the line I'm watching.
I haven't written about Amma's memory on the blog. Not yet. The sambar posts and the Christmas tree posts and the wet grinder post — those are about Amma as she is, as I know her, as I want to preserve her. The memory lapses are part of the story, but they're not the part I'm ready to share with strangers.
Maybe someday. When I can write about it without my hands shaking. When the words don't feel like glass.
I sat in the rocking chair at midnight with Anaya asleep on my chest and listened to the world celebrate and thought about all the years behind us and all the years ahead and the woman who makes sambar without measuring and the daughter who writes it all down.
2019. We begin.
The chai that night was enough — it always is — but it got me thinking about the flavors that have always marked my transitions: cardamom, cumin, the slow bloom of garam masala in hot oil. When I want to carry that feeling forward, to cook something that honors where I come from without requiring the hours I no longer have, I reach for chana masala. It comes together quickly, it smells like Amma’s kitchen, and it asks almost nothing of you — which is exactly what a new year deserves.
Easy Chana Masala
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 2 tablespoons neutral oil or ghee
- 1 medium yellow onion, finely diced
- 4 garlic cloves, minced
- 1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated
- 1 teaspoon cumin seeds
- 1 teaspoon ground coriander
- 1 teaspoon garam masala
- 1/2 teaspoon turmeric
- 1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper (adjust to taste)
- 1 can (14 oz) crushed tomatoes
- 2 cans (15 oz each) chickpeas, drained and rinsed
- 1/2 cup water
- 1 teaspoon salt, or to taste
- 1 tablespoon lemon juice
- Fresh cilantro, for garnish
- Cooked basmati rice or warm naan, for serving
Instructions
- Bloom the spices. Heat oil or ghee in a large skillet or saucepan over medium heat. Add cumin seeds and let them sizzle for 30 seconds until fragrant.
- Cook the aromatics. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 6–8 minutes until softened and golden at the edges. Add garlic and ginger and cook another 2 minutes.
- Add the ground spices. Stir in coriander, garam masala, turmeric, and cayenne. Toast for 1 minute, stirring constantly so the spices don’t scorch.
- Build the sauce. Pour in the crushed tomatoes and stir well to combine with the spice base. Simmer for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the oil begins to separate slightly from the tomatoes.
- Add the chickpeas. Stir in the chickpeas and water. Season with salt. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer uncovered for 10 minutes, until the sauce thickens and the chickpeas are heated through and coated.
- Finish and serve. Stir in lemon juice and taste for seasoning. Ladle over basmati rice or serve with warm naan. Garnish generously with fresh cilantro.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 310 | Protein: 13g | Fat: 9g | Carbs: 44g | Fiber: 11g | Sodium: 620mg
About the cook who shared this
Priya Krishnamurthy
Week 144 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.