Nani Power - Ginger and Ganesh

Acknowledgments

THERE ARE SO many people to thank concerning this book that I dont know where to begin, but I might as well start at the beginning: I want to thank my parents, Ann and John McCarty, who have provided endlessand I mean endlesslove and support to this woman who is struggling in the world. This project took a huge amount of time and love, and they helped me in many, many waysfinancially, emotionally, and were always ready to take their grandchildren if I needed time. I dont know that many people who have their loving patience and I am truly grateful. I also want to thank my father, Mark Power, for his considerable love and respect for my work, which is a big deal to me. Heand my stepfather, John McCartyhave shown me through example the honorability of being a devoted artist. I respect their unwavering devotion to their own work, as well, as great examples of commitment. Many thanks to PRW group and especially Cathy B. for much support.

I thank my children for their endless joy and love, and for sampling my cooking experiments. My dear friends who always tell me how wonderful my work isI love you all: Natalie, Tracey, Lisa, Briget, and Cathy.

I want to thank V.A., whom I write about in this book. His devotion, love, and kindness are exemplary. Ive never met anyone like him and I doubt I ever will.

My amazing agent Wendy Sherman has stood by me in many years of writing with endless support, advice, wisdom, and friendship. She is savvy and yet very, very kind. Thank you.

My editor on this book, Laura Mazer, what a delight you have been. I loved your warmth, charm, and brilliance. I am also amazed by the skillful editing of Trish Hoard, whose eagle eye really shaped this book. Katherine Little I must thank as well for also patiently helping lift this project off the ground.

Lastly, I want to thank a group of womenstrangerswho came into my life and taught me Indian cooking. I thank them for being so brave to come to a new country and start anew. I thank them for loving their culture and food so much that they would care to teach me the gift of such a thing. And for their trust and yes, love, to allow me to learn, eat, and even worship with them. Such generosity can never be forgotten.

About the Author

NANI POWER IS the author of a memoir and three novels, including the critically acclaimed Sea of Tears, and her stories have appeared in numerous literary magazines. She lives in Virginia.

The Ad

Please Teach Me Indian Vegetarian Cooking! (Northern Va)

IN A SIMPLE desire to learn Indian cooking hands-on, I placed this ad on Craigslist not knowing how much it would change my life. I wanted to cook real Indian food. I didnt want the sterile environment of a restaurant or the studied air of a professional teacher. I craved the person-to-person teaching of yesteryear amidst the homey-ness of a real kitchen. I wanted to learn the art of curries and chutneys through the senses, not just through the measuring and timing of a cold cookbook.

You see, Im not really American, at least in terms of my palate. I seem to be hard-wired with South Asian taste buds, a person that craves the burn of chilies and mustard seed, the warm heat of ginger, cumin, and cinnamon, and the bitterness of asafetida and black salt. I dont know why. I have been like this as long as I can remember.

I go to barbecues, picnics, and dinner parties inwardly yawning. I crave the waft of a fresh masala, the stain of turmeric far beyond the yellow hue it offers Frenchs mustard.

So what did Ispice craver, born in the land of bland fooddo before this, during the first part of my life in the casserole-laden, fonduefixing 60s? What any reasonable person does: I bought cookbooks and studied them. I ground stale supermarket cumin seeds and cinnamon sticks, sizzled spice after spice, a lone voyager for flavor. I wrestled with samosa dough, and ended up eating a lot of watery, soulless curries and stone-hard samosas. Sigh. Went to restaurants and visited the steam buffets consisting of endless anonymous brown mixtures. I was somewhat satisfied (it was better than a burger) and yet, I felt there was something missing. My palate seemed to insist it was so.

So many things in my life seem to follow this patternthe search for love and my vocation, as well. A person exists in a semi-pleased daze of unrecognition, colorless, for the blind do not know colors. Then, there comes the fateful day when you are awakened and color bursts in.

Fast forward to now: I am a single woman in my forties who uses Craigslist for most everythingbuying an entertainment center or sofa, meeting up with fellow salsa dancers, advertising writing classes. One desperate Friday evening I bought cheap eyelash extensions from a young Korean beauty student, and a rather bad haircut as well. Once, I traded a homemade apple pie with an electrician for installing dimmers in my house. His wife, who was eight months pregnant, was too tired to bake. They came as a couple to my house, where I greeted them with the wafting smells of sweet apples and cinnamon. The wife, young and Filipino, sat and chatted with me, while her husband, an American in a large Redskins jersey, pulled out his tools. But one day, while eating another tepid version of Aloo Gobi, I finally had a brainstorm and placed the ad.

TO MY COMPLETE shock, my email account was instantly flooded with responses from every age and from every region. Wading through themthey ranged from perfect English to unintelligible, from polite to sharpI managed to set up a few appointments. They would supply the ingredients and I would just show up. I was so excited, and still am, every time I stand on the front stoop, listening to the soft rustling of a stranger unlocking the door. It is somehow both a great mystery and a profound gift, to be able to enter someones house for food. One surprising thing I found, entering these houses, leaving my shoes at the door, roasting spices with strangers, laughing, tasting, and sharing their lives, was that much more than cooking occurred. A certain antique rite, a female coming-of-age, so to speak, was being reenacted. I was learning to cook in the most ancient of wayswoman to woman, with all the senses and a great deal of warmth. I was welcomed like a family member, and taught in the same patient and loving ways their own mothers had guided them through the years.

This book is about the masala of my own lifemy journey resembled the separate spices of who I am transforming into an intricate blend. I will take the reader through the doorways of these women, where we lovingly cooked together and bonded in our cultures. The recipes are not your typical Indian curry take-out. These are treasured family recipes from vegetarian homes in Indiafrom Shahi Paneer, a dish of homemade cheese cubes in a rich tomato and cashew curry, to coconut-stuffed okra, to luscious potato-curry dumplings.

These recipes will be a welcome addition to any Indian aficionados repertoire, as well as a temptation for the average cook seeking to expand his or her roster of healthy vegetarian foods. They are the well-known comfort foods of any vegetarian home in India. Ask an Indian about Pau Bhaji, found on Mumbais Chowpatty beach, or the rich, dark chickpea stew with fried bhaure bread called Chole Bhature, famous in the Punjab, and youll see a visceral look of desperate home-sickness and drool. These foods are the staples of longing and memory. They are dishes you will make again and again.