Creamy Prosciutto Pasta — Something Warm to Come Home To

November 10. The anniversary of the Edmund Fitzgerald sinking. Paul's day. The day Paul observed every year of our marriage by playing the Gordon Lightfoot song and reading aloud from at least one shipwreck book and standing at Park Point looking out at the lake at the time of day the ship went down (around 7:10 PM, somewhere east of Whitefish Point in a storm so bad the wave heights were estimated at thirty-five feet). This is the second November 10 without him. The first one I was numb. This one I am not. I played the Gordon Lightfoot song on Wednesday morning while making coffee. The wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. "The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead." I sang along, badly, alone in the kitchen, and Sven looked at me with the patience of a dog who has heard worse from this woman. I read the chapter on the Fitzgerald from Paul's favorite book — a paperback called "Lake Superior Shipwrecks" by Frederick Stonehouse, well-thumbed, with Paul's pencil notes in the margins. Paul's handwriting was small and tidy and slanted slightly to the left. I traced the letters with my finger. "Captain McSorley's last transmission: 'We are holding our own.'" Paul had underlined that sentence twice. We are holding our own. I drove to Park Point at 7:00 PM on Wednesday. The lake was black. The wind was from the northeast, twenty miles per hour, gusting to thirty. I parked at the marina end and I walked out to the breakwater (carefully — November breakwaters are slippery) and I stood at the lighthouse and I looked east toward where Whitefish Point would be, three hundred miles away in the dark, where the Fitzgerald went down forty-six years ago this evening. I said, out loud, to the lake or to Paul or to no one, "We are holding our own." The wind took the words. I made whitefish chowder when I got home. Lake Superior whitefish, bought from a fisherman at Russ Kendall's smokehouse (he sells fresh out of a cooler in his back room if you ask). Potatoes, onions, celery, leeks, cream, butter, salt, white pepper, a little dill. The chowder simmered while I changed out of my wet boots and put on dry socks. The chowder was hot and the kitchen was warm and the wind outside was loud. I ate two bowls. Sven got a piece of the whitefish skin. The candle on the dining room shelf — the one I lit for Paul on All Saints' — was still lit, somehow, days later. I let it burn. Thursday at the Damiano Center: wild rice soup as usual. Gerald asked if I was okay. I said yes. He said, "Last year you were not okay on the tenth of November." I had not realized he had remembered. He said, "I remember everything. It's the only thing I have left." I gave him an extra bowl. Friday: I baked Paul's favorite cookies. Pepparkakor — Swedish gingersnaps. Thin, dark, snappy, smelling of clove and cinnamon and ginger and pepper (yes, pepper, that is the secret). Paul ate them by the dozen. I made three dozen. I gave a dozen to Mamma. I am eating a dozen myself. I will give a dozen to Gerald next Thursday. The wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Paul's day. The lake holds her dead and we hold our own and the chowder is good and the cookies are crisp and the candle burned down and the kitchen is warm. We are holding our own. Paul was right. The transmission stands.

The chowder that night was the most important thing I cooked all year — but it is not a recipe I can hand to you in any tidy form, because it was made from a fisherman’s cooler and grief and muscle memory and whatever was left in the pantry at 8 PM in wet socks. What I can give you is this: something equally warm, equally undemanding, equally good at filling a cold kitchen with the smell of something worth coming home to. Creamy Prosciutto Pasta has been my other November standby for years — the kind of dish Paul would have eaten two bowls of without comment, which, from him, was the highest praise. It takes thirty minutes, it asks almost nothing of you, and it does its job.

Creamy Prosciutto Pasta

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

Ingredients

• 12 oz penne or rigatoni pasta
• 4 oz thinly sliced prosciutto, torn into rough pieces
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 medium shallots, finely diced
• 1/3 cup dry white wine
• 1 cup heavy cream
• 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan, plus more for serving
• 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste
• Pinch of nutmeg
• 2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped
• Reserved pasta water (1/2 cup set aside before draining)

Instructions

1. Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until just al dente. Before draining, scoop out 1/2 cup of pasta water and set aside. Drain and set aside.
2. Crisp the prosciutto. While pasta cooks, heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the torn prosciutto pieces in a single layer and cook, turning once, for about 2—3 minutes until the edges begin to crisp. Remove to a paper-towel-lined plate and set aside. Do not discard the oil in the pan.
3. Build the base. Add butter to the same skillet over medium-low heat. Add shallots and cook, stirring occasionally, for 3 minutes until softened. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant. Do not let it brown.
4. Deglaze. Pour in the white wine and scrape up any bits from the bottom of the pan. Let it simmer for 2 minutes until reduced by about half.
5. Make the cream sauce. Pour in the heavy cream. Add the pinch of nutmeg and black pepper. Simmer gently over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, for 4—5 minutes until the sauce thickens enough to coat a spoon.
6. Finish with cheese. Remove the skillet from heat and stir in the grated Parmesan until fully melted and smooth. Taste and adjust salt as needed.
7. Combine. Add the drained pasta directly to the skillet and toss to coat. If the sauce feels too thick, add reserved pasta water a splash at a time until it reaches a silky, coating consistency.
8. Serve. Plate the pasta and top with the crispy prosciutto pieces, a scatter of fresh parsley, and an extra grating of Parmesan. Serve immediately in warm bowls.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 540 | Protein: 21g | Fat: 29g | Carbs: 50g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 810mg