Fourth of July. The most American holiday, celebrated in the most Indian-American way possible: at a potluck in the Edison Community Park with forty Indian families, a DJ playing Bollywood remixes, and a dessert table that was 90% Indian sweets and 10% store-bought apple pie that no one touched.
This is Edison. This is my town. The Fourth of July here looks like Independence Day filtered through the subcontinent — American flags next to rangoli, hot dogs next to samosas, kids running around with sparklers while their grandmothers sit in lawn chairs eating pani puri and discussing everyone else's children.
Amma brought her signature potluck dish: masala vada — crispy lentil fritters spiced with curry leaves, ginger, and green chilies. She makes approximately one hundred of them for every community event, and they disappear within twenty minutes. Amma stands by the table guarding them from children who try to take more than two, and accepts compliments with the gracious modesty of a woman who knows she's the best cook at the park and doesn't need to say so.
I brought curd rice — thayir sadam — because it's the perfect potluck food: simple, cooling, travels well, and everyone's amma made a version of it. Mine has pomegranate seeds on top, which is my addition and which Amma considers "decorative nonsense" but which people seem to like.
Raj brought watermelon. Cut into cubes. In a Tupperware. "It's a potluck," he said. "Someone needs to bring fruit." This is the man I married. A cardiologist who brings watermelon cubes to an Indian potluck. I love him unreasonably.
Arvind came up from Trenton with a cooler of beer and a bag of fireworks that were probably illegal in New Jersey but definitely purchased in Pennsylvania. He and Appa set them off in the parking lot after dark while Amma pretended not to know them and I recorded it on my phone for future blackmail purposes.
The fireworks were spectacular — not because they were good (they were mediocre, whistling snakes and Roman candles), but because Appa and Arvind were doing something together. Voluntarily. Joyfully. Appa was laughing — actually laughing — and Arvind was grinning and they looked, for a moment, like a father and son who never had a decade of silence between them.
I stood in the dark with Raj's arm around me and watched my family — complicated, imperfect, held together by sambar and stubbornness — celebrate America in their own way. This is what belonging looks like. Not a melting pot. A potluck. Everyone brings what they have. Everyone eats.
Thayir sadam is always my potluck answer — cooling, forgiving, and deeply familiar to every South Indian auntie in the park — but the version I keep coming back to on nights when I want something warm and savory with just as much comfort is this miso fried rice. It has the same logic as curd rice: use what you have, make it simple, let the flavor do the work. Standing in that parking lot watching Appa laugh in the dark, I thought about how the best food at a potluck is always the dish that asks nothing of you except to eat it. This is that dish.
Miso Fried Rice
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 3 cups cooked long-grain white rice, preferably day-old and chilled
- 2 tablespoons white (shiro) miso paste
- 1 tablespoon soy sauce (or tamari for gluten-free)
- 1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil
- 2 tablespoons neutral oil (such as avocado or vegetable), divided
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated
- 1 cup frozen peas and carrots, thawed
- 3 large eggs, beaten
- 3 green onions, thinly sliced
- 1 tablespoon unsalted butter
- Sesame seeds, for garnish
- Crushed red pepper flakes, optional
Instructions
- Make the miso sauce. In a small bowl, whisk together the miso paste, soy sauce, and sesame oil until smooth. Set aside.
- Cook the aromatics. Heat 1 tablespoon of neutral oil in a large skillet or wok over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add the garlic and ginger and cook, stirring constantly, for about 30 seconds until fragrant. Do not let them brown.
- Add the vegetables. Add the peas and carrots to the skillet and stir-fry for 2 minutes until heated through and beginning to blister at the edges.
- Scramble the eggs. Push the vegetables to one side of the pan. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon of oil to the empty side and pour in the beaten eggs. Scramble gently until just set, then fold into the vegetables.
- Fry the rice. Add the chilled rice to the pan, breaking up any clumps with the back of a spatula. Spread into an even layer and let it sit undisturbed for 1 to 2 minutes to develop some crisp on the bottom, then toss and repeat once more.
- Add the miso sauce. Pour the miso mixture over the rice and toss well to coat evenly. Add the butter and stir until melted and incorporated, about 1 minute.
- Finish and serve. Remove from heat and fold in most of the green onions. Transfer to a serving bowl or transport container. Top with remaining green onions, sesame seeds, and red pepper flakes if using.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 340 | Protein: 11g | Fat: 13g | Carbs: 44g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 610mg
About the cook who shared this
Priya Krishnamurthy
Week 15 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.