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Avocado Pesto Pasta — What I Cook When I’m Practicing for Something That Matters

The video call with Jisoo has been scheduled for March 11 — the second big call of our reunion. I want it to be different from the first one. I want it to be less freighted and more ordinary. I have been writing Jisoo about what I want: less crying, more kitchen. I want her to show me her kitchen. I want to show her mine. I want her to watch me cook and tell me what I am doing wrong. Jisoo wrote back: "Yes. Let me watch you cook. Let us be in the kitchen together." The agency approved the call. Hye-jin will translate. Two hours. Friday evening mine, Saturday morning hers.

To prepare, I have been practicing a dish I can cook during the call — something I can do one-handed while looking up, something visually interesting, something Jisoo will have things to say about. I landed on sundubu jjigae — soft tofu stew. It is quick. It is visually striking (the soft tofu breaks into curds in a red broth). It can be done on camera. I have been making it every other night for two weeks. I have gotten good at it. James has been my audience. He says it is the best sundubu he has ever had. He would say this.

Dr. Yoon: we did a prep session. She said, "This is a different kind of call. You are not asking, you are sharing. That is a shift." I said, "I know." She said, "Share as yourself, not as a daughter performing." I said, "Okay." She said, "Your Korean is getting better, yes?" I said, "Slowly." She said, "Use some. Use the words you know. Don't wait for Hye-jin to do everything." I said, "Okay." That is the new goal. Use Korean in the call where I can. Even bad Korean. Let her hear me try.

Work: I had a breakthrough moment on Tuesday. I was in a design review, and I said a true thing about the architecture that nobody else had said. The director took it in. The director said, "Yes. That's right. We need to rescope." The rescoping will save the team six weeks. Priya texted me after: "That was the intervention of the year. Well done." I texted her back: "Thanks." I did not feel proud of myself exactly. I felt competent. Competent is different from proud. Competent is what you feel when you do your job well. Proud is what you feel when the work matters to you in a way that goes beyond competence. I have not felt proud at Amazon in a long time.

Karen and David hired a part-time home aide, three mornings a week, four hours at a shot. Karen was resistant and eventually accepted. The aide, whose name is Rosa, started on Monday. Karen called me Monday night and said, "She's very nice. But I don't need her." David got on the phone and said, "You do." Karen said, "Not yet." I said, "Mom, you hired her. It's okay to let her help." Karen said, "Fine. Fine." She will adjust. Karen always adjusts eventually. She resists first, adjusts second, and then she insists she never resisted in the first place. It is a specific Karen sequence.

The recipe this week is sundubu jjigae — soft tofu stew. Start with a red chili oil base (vegetable oil, gochugaru, garlic, scallion, smoked paprika for depth). Add seafood stock or clam juice. Add a whole tube of soft tofu, broken into large curds. Add clams and shrimp. Cover, simmer five minutes. Crack a raw egg into the bubbling stew in the last minute — it will half-cook in the heat, rich and custardy. Serve with rice. Eat immediately. Eat it hot enough to burn your tongue. Eat it like it is your first time and also your thousandth.

The sundubu gets every other night, but the nights in between belong to something simpler — something that doesn’t ask me to think, just to move. This avocado pesto pasta has become that dish: bright, fast, forgiving, ready before I’ve finished worrying about whether my Korean is good enough or whether I’ll cry again on the call. Dr. Yoon said to share as myself, not as a daughter performing — and I think this is the recipe that taught me what that feels like in the kitchen. You don’t have to be impressive. You just have to show up.

Avocado Pesto Pasta

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

Ingredients

  • 12 oz linguine or spaghetti
  • 2 ripe avocados, pitted and peeled
  • 1 cup fresh basil leaves, packed
  • 3 cloves garlic
  • 3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (about 1 large lemon)
  • 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
  • 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
  • 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more for pasta water
  • 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
  • 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
  • 1/3 cup reserved pasta cooking water
  • Cherry tomatoes and fresh basil, for garnish

Instructions

  1. Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Before draining, reserve 1/3 cup of the starchy pasta water. Drain and set aside.
  2. Make the avocado pesto. While the pasta cooks, combine avocados, basil, garlic, lemon juice, olive oil, Parmesan, salt, and black pepper in a food processor or blender. Process until smooth and creamy, scraping down the sides as needed.
  3. Thin the sauce. With the processor running, add the reserved pasta water one tablespoon at a time until the sauce reaches a silky, pourable consistency. Taste and adjust salt and lemon juice as needed.
  4. Toss and coat. Add the drained pasta to a large bowl. Pour the avocado pesto over the top and toss thoroughly until every strand is evenly coated. Work quickly — avocado pesto is best served immediately.
  5. Serve. Divide into bowls and top with extra Parmesan, a scatter of cherry tomatoes, fresh basil leaves, and a pinch of red pepper flakes if using. Eat right away.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 520 | Protein: 14g | Fat: 24g | Carbs: 65g | Fiber: 7g | Sodium: 340mg

Stephanie Park
About the cook who shared this
Stephanie Park
Week 305 of Stephanie’s 30-year story · Seattle, Washington
Stephanie is a software engineer in Seattle, a new mom, and a Korean-American adoptee who spent twenty-five years not knowing where she came from. She was adopted as an infant by a white family in Bellevue who loved her completely and never cooked Korean food. At twenty-eight, she found her birth mother in Busan — and then she found herself in a kitchen, crying over her first homemade kimchi jjigae, because some things your body remembers even when your mind doesn't.

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