Gingered Carrots

New Year's Eve into 2024. Eight years since the wedding. A lifetime. Amma didn't come for New Year's — she was tired, Appa said, which means she was confused and agitated and the evening was hard. Margaret was there until 5 but the evenings are worst — sundowning, the phenomenon where Alzheimer's symptoms worsen at dusk, the brain losing its grip as the light fades. I FaceTimed them at midnight. Appa answered. Behind him, Amma was asleep in her chair, the brass filter on the counter, the labeled spice jars catching the kitchen light. 'Happy New Year, Appa.' 'Happy New Year, kanna.' 'How is she?' 'She's sleeping. She had a difficult evening.' 'I'm sorry.' 'Don't be sorry. Be here tomorrow. Bring the children. She's better in the mornings.' She's better in the mornings. The disease is a tide — it recedes with the dawn and returns with the dark. The mornings are the good hours. The mornings are when she's most herself. I made pongal for New Year's morning and drove it to her house at 8 AM. Amma was awake, in the kitchen, making chai. Making chai. The first act of every morning, unchanged by the disease. The body's first prayer: boil water, add tea, add ginger, add milk. She looked at me and smiled. 'Priya. You brought pongal?' 'Happy New Year, Amma.' 'Is it a new year?' 'It's 2024.' 'How old am I?' 'Seventy-one.' 'That's very old. I don't feel seventy-one.' 'You don't look it either.' 'Hmph.' The hmph. Still there. Diminished in frequency, softened in delivery, but still there. The hmph is the last sound Lakshmi Krishnamurthy will make, I'm convinced. When everything else fades — the names, the routes, the recipes — the hmph will remain. 2024. We continue.

Amma’s hands knew ginger before anything else that morning—into the chai, without hesitation, without needing to think. I keep coming back to that. When I want to feel close to her in my own kitchen, I reach for ginger too: these gingered carrots are humble and bright and they fill the room with the same warm, sharp smell that hit me the moment I walked through her door on New Year’s Day. It isn’t pongal, and it isn’t chai, but it carries that same quiet insistence—that some things in us simply remain.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 pound carrots, peeled and sliced diagonally into 1/4-inch pieces
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, finely grated
2 tablespoons honey
1/4 cup water
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
Fresh parsley or cilantro, chopped, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Prep the carrots. Peel and slice carrots on the diagonal into 1/4-inch rounds. Uniform thickness ensures even cooking.
Bloom the ginger. Melt butter in a wide skillet over medium heat. Add the grated ginger and cook, stirring, for about 1 minute until fragrant and just beginning to soften.
Add carrots and liquid. Add the sliced carrots, water, honey, salt, and pepper to the skillet. Stir to coat the carrots evenly in the butter and ginger.
Simmer covered. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover, and cook for 10–12 minutes, stirring once halfway through, until the carrots are just tender when pierced with a fork.
Glaze and finish. Remove the lid and increase heat to medium-high. Cook for 2–3 more minutes, stirring frequently, until the liquid reduces to a shiny glaze that coats the carrots.
Serve. Transfer to a serving dish and scatter fresh parsley or cilantro over the top if desired. Serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Gingered Carrots — The Spice That Stayed