Our Amazing Indies

As some of you know, I was recently in Northern California as part of my paperback book tour for Palace of Illusions.  I didn't have much time between an afternoon event at Authors on Google and a reading at Bookshop Santa Cruz (a great, rambling independent store I want to just live in every time I visit it). But I made it a point to stop by at some of my favorite independent bookstores along the way, such as Keplers in Menlo Park, Books Inc. in Mountain View and Capitola Book Cafe, to sign books and say hello to the booksellers.

The atmosphere in each indie bookstore I've been in is unique and inviting in a special way. There are nooks to sit in and read, sometimes a cafe for a snack (Capitola Book Cafe has great sandwiches and quiches--I know, because I ate dinner there that night!) but most of all, dedicated, intelligent and well read booksellers who always have time to talk to you and recommend books. These people are there, sometimes battling economic odds, because of their love for books. They are the ones who often "discover" books by new, unknown writers and enthusiastically handsell them. That was certainly the case with my first book of stories, Arranged Marriage, which would have never made it onto the SF Chronicle bestseller list--and thus onto the radar of award committees--without their passionate support.

What was so heartwarming was that these booksellers remembered me even though I'd moved to Texas years ago. They'd say things like, "I remember every event you've done here--and I've been at all of them," or "I remember when you used to come in and ask for book recommendations, even before your first book was published."

In this day of shifting allegiances and relationships that are blurry with speed, that counts for a lot.

We're blessed here in Houston with 2 great independents: Brazos Books and Blue Willow Bookshop. They bring in the best authors from all over the country. I've read at both & I'm looking forward to doing an event at Blue Willow on March 30--so come if you're in the area.

Folks, I urge you to support your independent bookstore, if you're lucky enough to have one where you live. They are truly our national treasures--and an endangered species.

If you have a favorite bookstore, or a bookstore story, do write in and let us know.

Mango Memories

Okay, here's the mango ice cream recipe that Karen had asked for. My children love this recipe, and as you'll see, it's amazingly easy.
Karen mentioned that she owns a mango farm, so I'm going to give you two versions of this recipe.
Take a half gallon of your favorite vanilla ice cream and leave it out on the kitchen counter until it softens.
Take six ripe mangoes, peel, seed, chop, and blend. When the mangoes are pureed, fold them into the ice cream. Pour into a plastic container with a tight-fitting lid (such as a Tupperware container) and freeze. It takes about 3 hours to freeze again.
Or, if you are in a city with an Indian grocery, buy a large can of mango pulp. Fold the pulp into the softened ice cream, and freeze as described above. (This is what I do, except in mango season).
You can serve this with a topping of chopped mangoes.
Did you know, there's supposed to be about a thousand varieties of mangoes that grow in India?

Mangoes remind me of my grandfather's home in our ancestral village, where he had a small grove of trees behind the house. In mango season, we were allowed to climb the trees and pick our own mangoes. Unfortunately, as a city-child who only visited on holidays, I was very bad at climbing trees and was forced to depend on my cousins' capricious goodwill for my mangoes. (Incidentally, they almost drowned me in the pond behind our house once, but that's another story.)

My mother claims she saw a ghost in the mango orchard one time, a woman who was picking mangoes after a storm, and who disappeared when my mother approached her. After I heard the story, I wished and wished I would see a ghost, too, but none appeared to me. I had to be satisfied with putting one into my novel, Sister of My Heart.

When I first came to this country, I was very homesick for India, for the tastes and smells of home. I was living in the Midwest then,  in a smallish town. Indian foods were rare. One day I remember walking into a grocery, and there was a pile of mangoes. They cost $3 each, which at that time, for a poor hourly-wage student like I was, was exorbitant. I bought one anyway.  I was so looking forward to eating it. But it turned out to be really sour.

One more mango story.  Early in our marriage, my husband Murthy and I went to Hawaii on vacation. On our last day, we came across a mango tree on a public road. It was full of mangoes, and many ripe ones had fallen to the ground. I picked up six of them to bring home. But at the airport I was told I couldn't carry any fruit back to the mainland. Murthy was ready to throw them away, but I refused. I sat there by the customs checkpoint and ate all six mangoes while the customs officers stared and Murthy pretended he didn't know who I was.

I hope you'll share some of your food memories with me.