Artichoke Florentine Pasta

I practiced. I actually practiced. In the bathroom mirror, at 6 AM, while Megan was still asleep. I held the ring box and said the words out loud. "Megan, will you marry me?" Too short. "Megan, I love you. Will you marry me?" Better. "Megan, from the moment you told me nobody asked me about the nachos, I knew—" Too long. I am a man who practices proposals in the bathroom and I am not ashamed. Okay, I am slightly ashamed.

I scouted the Hoan Bridge this week. Drove there after work on Tuesday. The bridge at sunset is everything I remembered — the city behind you, the lake ahead of you, the sky doing that thing where it turns pink and gold and purple and you understand why people write songs about sunsets even though songs about sunsets are terrible. The east side of the bridge has a walking path. There's a spot near the apex where you can see both the lake and the city. That's the spot. That's where I'm going to ask.

At the brewery, life continues. Spring production, sour beers, the daily rhythm of making something with my hands. I find myself thinking about the proposal during brew days — measuring grain, checking temperatures, my mind wandering to Megan's face when she sees the ring. I hope she cries. Not sad crying. Happy crying. Megan crying — that's how you know it worked.

Made a simple pasta for dinner — spaghetti aglio e olio, which is fancy Italian for garlic and olive oil spaghetti. Four ingredients: pasta, garlic, olive oil, red pepper flakes. Plus parmesan. Plus parsley if you're feeling ambitious. The simplest dishes are the hardest to get right because there's nowhere to hide. The garlic has to be golden, not brown. The oil has to be hot, not smoking. The pasta has to be perfectly al dente. I made it for Megan and she said, "How is this so good?" I said, "Because there's nothing in it." She looked confused. Some truths are counterintuitive.

With the ring in the nightstand and the proposal spot scouted, I needed something to do with my hands that wasn’t pacing. Cooking has always been where I go when my brain won’t quiet down, and I kept coming back to pasta — that same philosophy of beautiful simplicity I was chasing with the aglio e olio, but built out just enough to feel like a real occasion. This Artichoke Florentine Pasta is exactly that: a handful of honest ingredients that, when you treat them right, taste like you’ve been doing this for years. Which, at this point, I have — at least in the kitchen.

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

Ingredients

12 oz fettuccine or penne pasta
1 can (14 oz) artichoke hearts, drained and quartered
3 cups fresh baby spinach
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
3 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup dry white wine or vegetable broth
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
Salt and black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped (optional)

Instructions

Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Before draining, reserve 1/2 cup of pasta cooking water. Drain and set aside.
Bloom the garlic. While the pasta cooks, heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the sliced garlic and red pepper flakes. Cook, stirring frequently, for 2—3 minutes until the garlic is golden and fragrant but not browned. Watch it closely — golden is the goal; brown is a different dish entirely.
Add the artichokes. Add the quartered artichoke hearts to the skillet and cook for 3—4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until lightly golden on the edges.
Deglaze and add cream. Pour in the white wine or vegetable broth and let it reduce for 1—2 minutes. Stir in the heavy cream and bring to a gentle simmer. Let cook for 2 minutes until slightly thickened.
Wilt the spinach. Add the fresh spinach to the skillet and stir until just wilted, about 1 minute.
Combine with pasta. Add the drained pasta directly to the skillet. Toss to coat, adding reserved pasta water a splash at a time if the sauce needs loosening. Remove from heat and stir in the Parmesan until melted and glossy.
Season and serve. Taste and adjust salt and black pepper. Divide among bowls and top with additional Parmesan and chopped parsley if using. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Artichoke Florentine Pasta — When the Simplest Things Are the Hardest to Get Right