Author Archives: indiraganesan

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About indiraganesan

Writer. As Sweet As Honey:A Novel (NY: Alfred A. Knopf), February, 2013 Inheritance: A Novel (NY: Knopf), 1998 The Journey: A Novel (NY:Knopf), 1990 All available from Vintage & Beacon Press

The world these days

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Amid the real suffering, and the insidious politics, the nervous fear some have of not knowing the end day, there is the ordinary day to day life of someone like me who still believes this is a situation that will only get worse, who is enraged by the racism arising from naming the virus as particular to an Asian country, but who is also, so far, darn lucky.

My problems are minor. If you live in a remote area, tend to be a loner, keep company with your work, books, cats, then social-distancing should not be a problem.  Yet all the things that make a life pleasant –the runs to a cafe for coffee and companionship, the excitement of the transformation of a sleepy town to full-blown cultural candy store as the season comes round again, the pottering about in garden centers to see what is available, and how things are growing, the daydreaming that lets the imagination take flight via airline websites and possible flights, the concerts and plays one had planned ahead with tickets already bought, the room for spontaneity in a movie run, a dinner with friends–all of that is now in the past.  

So I’ve been writing, teasing a plot of nonsense, and I’ve been reading.  Book after book I download onto my iPad, overcoming my distate of electronic reading, my appetite limitless.  I am saving Hilary Mantel’s latest, waiting until I reach a point of exasperation, so I can remember, but wait, there’s still Cromwell’s end to come. I watch Jane Austen adaptations, akin to a comparative study, and Gardener’s World, both providing ample comfort.  

And yes, I wonder if a stray cough is more than what it is, a stray cough brought on by dry inside air. And yes, I am on social media far more than necessary. And yes, I woke at four am for no reason. But right now, as I type these words, a Bach cello concerto is being played by Yo Yo Ma over the airwaves.  Read that sentence again. Is that not itself is a miracle?

There Are Always Sweet Peas

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sweet peas with Clematis

How prescient or coincidental or hubristic I wrote about my roses last week.  Bragged if you will.  Yesterday I went out to prune them, and did a fairly good job in creating empty vase shapes, taking out dead and skinny branches, despite my trepidation in cutting a living, budding thing.  I did notice that the branches had splotchy markings, and much later I investigated.

Rose Canker.  A virus of the rose that appears as splotchy spots of purple and brown, which will ultimately destroy the rose.  After researching numerous sites, including the agricultural extensions and rose societies, I determined I did infact have to act fast, and cut down each affected branch to a several inches into good healthy growth.  After my radio show, I went out with the hand pruners and tried my best.  I hacked away at my newly pruned beauties, and discovered the damage was too severe.

With heavy heart I went inside and called an old friend for sympathy, and then called my local expert at the nursery who promised to take a look.  I admit I was deeply upset.  Five bushes in all, and no recourse but to dig them up.  Then I visited a gardening friend to get some seeds for another friend, and looked at her roses, which also had canker.  I wondered if I had been too rash in cutting down the bushes so severely.  Perhaps I could have let them bloom, and enjoyed the roses until the plant gave up.  Kind of like my plan for my beloved ’92 Honda Civic.  But when the Honda began falling apart, yet still had life in her, I traded her ruthlessly in for fifty dollars toward a newer model, regretting the purchase all the while.  They don’t make Hondas like the ’92 anymore.

After a while, I rememembered I had to plant the sweet peas I had soaked overnight.  I constructed a wigwam, amd sowed the seeds.  In a week, if I am lucky, they will poke their heads out.

Meanwhile, the world as we know it has changed rapidly.  Universities, museums, and public institutions have closed to combat the spread of Covid-19.  We are told to socially distance ourselves and wash hands constantly.  The shelves are emptied of paper products, though I still fail to see the connection.

Gardening is the balm.  Getting fresh air, working in the soil, and planting for the future.

 

Midnight Pasta

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Happy to have a recipe published in the new local paper, The Provincetown independent.

For a time in the early to mid nineties, I lived in San Diego—in the Windnsea neighborhood in La Jolla, to be precise.  I knew nothing about San Diego, but took a chance and moved to there to teach fiction writing at the university.  I landed in a remarkably open, multicultural community (my main motivation to go) and found a bevy of smart, fun, and generous friends.  They were a mix of hardcore intellectuals, writers, and surfers.  I went to many parties and gave a few myself.   At one, as the music cooled and the crowd of twenty or so got their second wind, my friend Pasquale Verdicchio, a poet from Naples, told us it was time for midnight pasta.  Off we trooped into the kitchen, where I got a big pot of spaghetti going. Pasquale sliced up garlic, which he threw onto a warming pan of oil, searing them to a golden crispy almost-brown.  He skillfully, theatrically, mixed the garlicky oil into the al dente spaghetti.  A little parsley, some salt, and lots of red pepper flakes, and there we had it: midnight pasta.

I have returned to the dish many times, sometimes using angel hair pasta, sometimes linguini, if that is all I find in the house. These days, though, I mostly eat alone, accompanied by two sleepy cats and Netflix.  The dish is easy to adjust to single portions.  Just measure out the amount of pasta you’ll eat and reduce the ingredients accordingly. You will have enough for a bowl, though you might want to cut a slice of bread to run around the dish to sop up lingering sauce.

Although I think few things go together so well as  garlic, olive oil, and red pepper, you can be endlessly creative with this dish. Go ahead, zest some lemon into the bowl, add add baby spinach or arugula, with maybe a touch of nutmeg.  Or, add chunks of goat cheese and chopped toasted walnuts, swap out the garlic for torn wedges of mandarin orange, dribble a touch of balsamic vinegar, and grind black peppercorn over the dish for bite. Grated parmesan is an easy addition.  Another option is to sauté some chopped tomato, red bell pepper, and broccoli rabe with the garlic and red pepper flakes, topping the dish off with a scattering of toasted pine nuts. But at midnight, you just might want to keep it simple.

 

Midnight Pasta Recipe

(serves 6-8)

I pound spaghetti

Several cloves of garlic, thinly sliced, or minced

Olive oil, about a ½  cup

¼ cup of pasta water

Red pepper flakes

Salt to taste

Fresh Parsley, (or basil if in season)

¼ cup grated parmesan (optional)

 

 

Boil the water for the pasta.  Salt it like Ina Garten tells us, with a good amount, to mimic the sea.

Add the spaghetti. A pasta maker once told me that no pasta needs more than eight minutes in the pot.  I still test the noodles by biting them, looking for the white raw interior to vanish.

Remember to save a quarter cup of the pasta water before draining the pasta.

 

While the pasta is getting ready, heat the oil in a large saucepan, and saute the garlic, being careful not to burn it.  It should take just a few seconds to turn a beautiful golden bronze.

Add some of the saved pasta water.

Add the red pepper to the oil, as much as you and your guests prefer.

Drain the spaghetti and add it to the pan, mixing gently.

If using, add the Parmesan.

Add salt to taste.

Tear parsley into small pieces and sprinkle if you like.

 

Originally published in The Provincetown Independent, February 27, 2020