February tomorrow. The month of love, according to CVS, which has replaced the Christmas aisle with Valentine's Day chocolates so quickly it suggests the existence of a seasonal-aisle SWAT team.
But I have different things on my mind. Raj and I had The Conversation this week. Not a fight — a conversation. The kind you plan for, the kind you have with full eye contact and no phones, the kind that changes things.
We want to start a family.
I know this isn't breaking news — we've talked about kids in the abstract since before we got married. "Someday" has been part of our vocabulary since the engagement party. But this week, "someday" became "now." Or rather, "now-ish." We agreed to start trying.
The conversation happened on Sunday night, after dinner, in that quiet space between eating and sleeping where important things get said. Raj brought it up — surprising, because he's usually the one who follows my lead on life decisions. "I've been thinking about timing," he said, in his careful cardiologist way, as if he were presenting a case study.
I said I'd been thinking about it too. We talked about logistics (my insurance, his schedule, the apartment space), about fears (mine: becoming my mother in the wrong ways; his: not being present enough), about hopes (both of us: a child who grows up knowing both cultures, both kitchens, both languages). We talked until midnight and then we went to bed and I lay awake for another hour, my brain doing what it always does — spinning, planning, worrying, hoping.
Both sets of parents have been asking. Amma deploys the indirect approach: "Kamala Aunty's daughter has three children now. Three! And she's younger than you." Pushpa goes direct: "When are you giving us grandchildren?" Appa says nothing because discussing reproduction with his daughter would require acknowledging that his daughter has a body, which is beyond his emotional capabilities.
I'm excited. I'm terrified. I'm thirty years old (almost — birthday in April) and I know the statistics and the timelines and the medications involved because I'm a pharmacist and I can't turn off the clinical part of my brain even when the topic is my own uterus.
I made dal tonight — Amma's toor dal, the everyday version, the one she makes three times a week without ceremony. It's the most basic thing in her repertoire: pressure-cook the dal, temper with mustard seeds, cumin, asafoetida, curry leaves, and dried red chilies, then add tomato and tamarind. It takes thirty minutes and tastes like home.
I'm ready to make this dal for someone new. Someone small. Someone who doesn't exist yet but who I already love with a fierceness that frightens me.
Someday is now.
The dal I made on Sunday — Amma’s version, the one I’ve eaten three hundred times and still can’t quite replicate exactly the way she does it — carried more weight that night than it ever has. When I want to get as close to that feeling as possible on a weeknight, without the pressure cooker and the precise memory of watching her hands move, I turn to these Quick Coconut Curry Lentils with Greens: warming, deeply savory, built on the same mustard-seed-and-cumin backbone that makes toor dal feel like a hug. It’s not Amma’s recipe exactly, but it belongs in the same lineage — the kind of pot I can imagine making for someone small, someone who doesn’t exist yet, someday very soon.
Quick Coconut Curry Lentils with Greens
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 1 cup red lentils, rinsed well
- 1 can (14 oz) full-fat coconut milk
- 1 1/2 cups vegetable broth or water
- 1 can (14 oz) diced tomatoes
- 3 cups baby spinach or chopped kale
- 1 medium yellow onion, finely diced
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated
- 2 tablespoons coconut oil or neutral oil
- 1 teaspoon black mustard seeds
- 1 teaspoon cumin seeds
- 1 teaspoon ground turmeric
- 1 teaspoon ground coriander
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper, or to taste
- 1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt, plus more to taste
- 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
- Fresh cilantro, for serving
- Cooked basmati rice or warm flatbread, for serving
Instructions
- Bloom the whole spices. Heat the coconut oil in a large saucepan or deep skillet over medium heat. Once shimmering, add the mustard seeds and cumin seeds. Let them sizzle for 30–45 seconds until the mustard seeds begin to pop.
- Build the aromatics. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5–6 minutes until softened and lightly golden. Add the garlic and ginger and cook for another 1–2 minutes until fragrant.
- Add the ground spices. Stir in the turmeric, ground coriander, ground cumin, and cayenne. Cook for 30 seconds, stirring constantly, to toast the spices into the oil.
- Simmer the lentils. Pour in the diced tomatoes (with their juices), coconut milk, and vegetable broth. Stir in the rinsed red lentils and salt. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to medium-low. Simmer uncovered for 18–20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the lentils are completely soft and the curry has thickened.
- Wilt the greens. Stir in the spinach or kale in two handfuls, allowing each batch to wilt before adding the next, about 2 minutes total.
- Finish and season. Remove from heat. Stir in the lemon juice and taste, adjusting salt and cayenne as needed.
- Serve. Ladle over basmati rice or alongside warm flatbread. Top with fresh cilantro.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 390 | Protein: 16g | Fat: 20g | Carbs: 40g | Fiber: 9g | Sodium: 480mg
About the cook who shared this
Priya Krishnamurthy
Week 45 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.