5-Ingredient Bacon Asparagus Pasta — What the Kitchen Holds When Everything Else Falls Apart

The funeral was on a Saturday. Greater Grace Temple. Over three hundred people. The sanctuary was full — plant workers, church members, family, neighbors, people Marc knew from every job and every phase of his short, bright, unfinished life. The choir sang. Reverend Williams preached. Mama sat in the front pew and held Keisha's hand (Keisha came back for the funeral — she came back for Marc). Dad sat next to Mama and his hands shook and his face was carved from stone and the stone was wet. I catered the repast. This was not a choice — it was a compulsion, a need that overrode the grief the way instinct overrides thought. I cooked for two days straight, starting the morning before the funeral and finishing the morning of. Smothered pork chops (Marc's favorite). Baked chicken. Mac and cheese. Collard greens. Cornbread. It was the biggest meal I had ever made and the saddest. I cooked alone, in my apartment kitchen, at two AM, the night before my brother's funeral, and the tears fell into the food and the food absorbed them and nobody who ate the food knew it was seasoned with grief, but it was, and it is the seasoning you cannot buy and would never choose. Three hundred people ate my food at the repast. Three hundred people ate smothered pork chops and mac and cheese and cornbread, and the food was perfect — not because I was at my best, but because the food does not care about your state of mind. The food responds to technique, to seasoning, to time and heat and the accumulated muscle memory of six years of cooking. The food is reliable even when you are not. The food holds even when you cannot. After the repast, after the family left, after the church was empty, I went home and sat in my kitchen and made one more plate: Marc's plate. Smothered pork chops, mac and cheese, greens. I set it on the table, across from my chair, and I sat down and I looked at it and I cried in a way I have not cried since my knee blew out on that gym floor fifteen years ago. The same scream. The same emptiness. The same awareness that something essential has been taken and will not be returned. I ate my plate. Marc's plate went cold on the table. The food holds. Even when the person it was made for is gone.

I’m not going to pretend this pasta is smothered pork chops. Nothing is smothered pork chops but smothered pork chops, and that recipe lives in a part of me that’s still standing in my kitchen at two in the morning the night before Marc’s funeral. But this — five ingredients, thirty minutes, one pan — is the kind of cooking I came back to in the weeks after, when the grief was still there but the body still needed feeding and the hands needed something to do. It’s the same lesson the repast taught me: the food doesn’t ask how you’re doing. It just holds.

5-Ingredient Bacon Asparagus Pasta

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 8 oz linguine or spaghetti
• 6 slices thick-cut bacon, cut into 1-inch pieces
• 1 bunch asparagus (about 1 lb), trimmed and cut into 2-inch pieces
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
• Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

1. Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Before draining, reserve 3/4 cup of pasta water. Drain and set aside.
2. Render the bacon. While pasta cooks, place bacon in a large skillet over medium heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until bacon is crispy and fat has rendered, about 7–8 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer bacon to a paper-towel-lined plate. Leave drippings in the pan.
3. Cook the asparagus. Increase heat to medium-high. Add asparagus to the skillet with the bacon drippings. Season lightly with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until asparagus is bright green and just tender, about 4–5 minutes.
4. Add the garlic. Push asparagus to the side of the pan. Add garlic to the center and cook, stirring, until fragrant, about 60 seconds. Stir to combine with asparagus.
5. Bring it together. Add drained pasta to the skillet. Pour in 1/4 cup of the reserved pasta water and toss everything together over medium heat for 1–2 minutes, adding more pasta water a splash at a time until the pasta is glossy and lightly sauced.
6. Finish and serve. Remove from heat. Add crispy bacon back to the pan. Sprinkle Parmesan over the top and toss once more. Taste and adjust salt and pepper. Serve immediately with extra Parmesan on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 430 | Protein: 19g | Fat: 17g | Carbs: 51g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 530mg