Venkatesh retired. Fully, officially, at seventy-three. He'd been semi-retired for years — consulting, part-time, the gradually diminishing role of a software engineer whose technology has moved past him. But this week he cleaned out his desk at the company where he'd worked for twenty-eight years and came home at noon on a Tuesday and sat in his chair and said to Amma: "I'm home."
"You're always home by five," she said.
"I mean permanently."
"Permanently? What about work?"
"I retired, Lakshmi."
"When?"
"Today."
"You could have told me."
"I'm telling you now."
This is the Krishnamurthy approach to major life decisions: execute, then inform. Appa retired and told Amma the same day. The same way Amma took her first donepezil without telling anyone until after she'd swallowed it.
The retirement is strategic: Appa is now Amma's full-time companion. Not caretaker — not yet, not formally — but the person who is always there. The person who makes sure the medication is taken, the stove is turned off, the car keys are where she can find them.
He's aging ten years for every one she declines. I see it in his posture, in the lines around his eyes, in the way he watches her with the constant, exhausting vigilance of love.
Arvind came over on Sunday. He and Appa sat in the living room — two men, father and son, thirty years of complicated history between them — and watched cricket. They didn't talk much. They didn't need to. The shared grief of watching Amma change has given them a language that doesn't require words.
Some things only grief can fix.
I made Amma's Sunday thali — the full production. Sambar, rasam, kootu, poriyal, rice. I made it in my kitchen and brought it to theirs, because the cooking that used to flow from Amma's kitchen to mine is now flowing in reverse.
The daughter is feeding the parents. The current has changed direction. This is what happens. This is what's supposed to happen. But knowing that doesn't make it feel right.
The thali I made that Sunday — sambar, rasam, kootu, poriyal, rice — was Amma’s recipe carried in my hands instead of hers, and I won’t pretend I didn’t cry once in the car on the way over. But on the Sundays when I want something I can bring that travels well, that holds its warmth, that asks nothing of the people receiving it except that they sit down and eat — I make this portobello parmesan. It isn’t South Indian, it isn’t Amma’s, but it is whole and hot and made entirely from love, which is what the current reversed direction was always about anyway.
Easy Portobello Parmesan
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 30 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 large portobello mushroom caps, stems and gills removed
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1 cup marinara sauce
- 1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
- 1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
- 1/4 cup panko breadcrumbs
- Fresh basil leaves, for serving
Instructions
- Preheat oven. Heat oven to 400°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper or lightly grease with cooking spray.
- Prepare mushrooms. Brush both sides of each portobello cap with olive oil. Sprinkle the gill side with garlic powder, Italian seasoning, salt, and pepper.
- First bake. Place mushrooms gill-side down on the prepared baking sheet and roast for 10 minutes to release excess moisture. Remove from oven and carefully pat the tops dry with a paper towel.
- Add sauce and cheese. Flip mushrooms gill-side up. Spoon 3–4 tablespoons of marinara sauce into each cap. Top evenly with mozzarella, then Parmesan, then a light scattering of panko breadcrumbs.
- Final bake. Return to oven and bake for 18–20 minutes, until cheese is melted and bubbling and breadcrumbs are golden brown. For extra color, broil on high for the final 2 minutes, watching closely.
- Rest and serve. Let sit for 5 minutes before serving. Scatter fresh basil over the top. Serve directly from the baking dish alongside crusty bread, pasta, or a simple green salad.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 240 | Protein: 14g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 15g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 580mg
About the cook who shared this
Priya Krishnamurthy
Week 302 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.