Burrata Pasta — The Thing About a Man Who Cooks for You

June hit like a switch. One day it's fifty degrees and raining, the next it's eighty-two and every fire hydrant in Southie has kids clustered around it. I love Boston summers with the desperate gratitude of someone who survives Boston winters — you earn this heat, you earn these long evenings, you earn the right to sit on your stoop with a beer and complain about the humidity after complaining about the cold for five months.

The oncology floor has been heavy. Three new admits this week, all under fifty, and I'm learning that the age of the patient changes the weight of the work. Older patients have a resignation that, while heartbreaking, has a kind of peace to it. Younger patients — my age, close to my age — carry a fury that fills the room. A woman named Sarah, thirty-eight, ovarian cancer, told me on Tuesday that she'd just gotten promoted at work and it wasn't fair, and she's right, it isn't fair, and there's nothing I can say to that except "I know" and mean it so completely that the words become enough.

Sarah's husband brings her smoothies — mango, banana, a scoop of protein powder. He makes them in a blender at home and carries them in a thermos on the Red Line and they're always a little warm by the time they arrive and Sarah drinks them anyway because the love matters more than the temperature. I watch these small food rituals and I think about what Sean D. would bring me. Pancakes, probably. In a thermos that shouldn't hold pancakes. He'd figure it out.

Speaking of Sean D., he's officially done with school for the summer, which means he's been showing up at my apartment with groceries and opinions about what we should cook for dinner. Tuesday he made a pasta with cherry tomatoes and basil from the farmer's market that was so simple and so good I wanted to frame it. "It's just pasta," he said. It's never just pasta. It's a man in your kitchen choosing to feed you, and that is not a small thing, and I will fight anyone who says otherwise.

Sunday dinner. Maureen's chicken cacciatore, which she makes twice a year and which is the only Italian dish she acknowledges. The tomato sauce was perfect. Da fell asleep again. Patrick brought Colleen. Summer in the Donovan house means the windows are open and the kitchen is hot and the whole three-decker smells like Sunday.

Sean D.’s pasta stuck with me all week—the kind of simple, perfect thing that makes you want to recreate it on your own terms. I didn’t have his exact version, but I had cherry tomatoes from the same farmer’s market and the good sense to add burrata, because if a man cooking for you deserves to be framed, so does the meal. Here’s how I made it.

Burrata Pasta with Cherry Tomatoes & Basil

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

Ingredients

• 12 oz spaghetti or linguine
• 2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for finishing
• 4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
• 2 pints cherry tomatoes
• 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more for pasta water
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/2 cup dry white wine (or reserved pasta water)
• 8 oz fresh burrata (2 small balls)
• 1/2 cup fresh basil leaves, torn
• Flaky sea salt, for finishing

Instructions

1. Salt the water. Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1 cup of pasta water before draining.
2. Blister the tomatoes. While pasta cooks, heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the cherry tomatoes in a single layer and cook undisturbed for 3—4 minutes until they begin to char and burst. Shake the pan gently, then cook another 2 minutes.
3. Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium. Add the garlic, red pepper flakes, salt, and black pepper. Cook 1 minute until fragrant. Pour in white wine (or 1/2 cup pasta water) and let it reduce by half, pressing some tomatoes gently with the back of a spoon to release their juices.
4. Combine. Add the drained pasta directly to the skillet and toss to coat, adding splashes of reserved pasta water as needed to loosen the sauce. Cook together 1—2 minutes.
5. Finish and serve. Divide pasta among bowls. Tear the burrata and place it over each serving—it will soften and melt into the hot pasta. Top with torn basil, a drizzle of olive oil, and a pinch of flaky salt. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 520 | Protein: 19g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 71g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 390mg