By The garden is producing — not the tomatoes yet, they're still green and stubborn, but the herbs are magnificent: basil fat and fragrant, dill feathery and tall, parsley in bushels. I planted more this year than ever because the garden is the only place I go that is not this house, and going to the garden is going somewhere, even if somewhere is fifteen feet from the back door. The zucchini are coming. Mrs. Berman was right: zucchini grows with the enthusiasm of a species that has decided to take over the world, one backyard at a time.
I had my first in-person interaction with another human being who is not Marvin in eleven weeks. My neighbor Harriet and I sat in lawn chairs in her driveway, six feet apart, wearing masks, drinking iced tea, and talking, and the talking was so normal and so necessary and so human that I nearly cried, which I did not do because crying with a mask on is a logistical challenge I was not prepared for. Harriet's husband passed three years ago — she understands isolation in a way that predates the pandemic, the long isolation of a woman who lost her companion and learned to live in a quiet house. We talked about Marvin. She talked about Len. We compared notes on the specific loneliness of being married to memory — hers to a man who is gone, mine to a man who is going.
I made a pasta salad — bow-tie pasta, cherry tomatoes (store-bought, a concession), olives, feta, basil from the garden, a lemon vinaigrette. It's a summer food, a picnic food, and I made enough for two households and brought Harriet's portion to her front porch and rang the bell and left, which is how we deliver love in 2020: doorbell, porch, wave, leave. The intimacy of distance. The generosity of a bowl of pasta left on a step. It's not nothing. It's not enough. It's what we have.
The salad I brought Harriet that afternoon was something like this one — pasta, protein, bright acid, fresh herbs from the garden — because pasta salad is the food you make when you want to feed someone without fuss, when the gesture matters more than the recipe. I’ve been making variations of it all summer, adjusting what’s on hand, and the chicken version has become the one I reach for when I need to feel like I’m doing something real for another person, even from six feet away. It travels well. It keeps. It says: I thought of you, I made something, here it is on your porch.
Chicken Pasta Salad
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 12 oz bow-tie (farfalle) pasta
- 2 cups cooked chicken breast, shredded or cubed
- 1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
- 1/2 cup Kalamata olives, pitted and halved
- 1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
- 1/3 cup red onion, thinly sliced
- 1/2 cup cucumber, diced
- 1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, torn
- 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
- 3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
- 1 teaspoon lemon zest
- 1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
- 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
- 1 clove garlic, minced
- 1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more for pasta water
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Instructions
- Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook bow-tie pasta according to package directions until al dente. Drain, rinse under cold water to stop cooking, and set aside to cool completely.
- Make the vinaigrette. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the lemon juice, lemon zest, Dijon mustard, and minced garlic. Slowly drizzle in the olive oil while whisking until emulsified. Season with salt and pepper.
- Combine the salad. In a large bowl, combine the cooled pasta, chicken, cherry tomatoes, olives, feta, red onion, and cucumber. Toss gently to mix.
- Dress and finish. Pour the lemon vinaigrette over the salad and toss until everything is evenly coated. Fold in the fresh basil and parsley.
- Chill and serve. Refrigerate for at least 20 minutes before serving to allow flavors to meld. Taste and adjust seasoning. Serve cold or at room temperature. Keeps well covered in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 420 | Protein: 24g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 42g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 520mg