One Skillet Pasta

Angela called on a Tuesday. "Ate." The soft "Ate." The one that means something is enormous. "I'm pregnant." The scream — the Santos scream, the involuntary response — came before the thought. I screamed into the phone. Angela laughed through tears. James was in the background making the sound a man makes when good news overwhelms his ability to form words — a kind of exhale that contains everything.

Nine months of trying. Nine months of the monthly cycle of hope and disappointment. Nine months of Angela not talking about it, carrying it silently, the Santos woman silence that speaks volumes. And now: pregnant. Due in January 2022. A winter baby. An Alaskan baby. A Santos baby. Another link in the chain that stretches from Iloilo to Mountain View to wherever the Santos women go next.

I told Lourdes. The telling was unnecessary — Lourdes already knew. The auntie network had delivered the information approximately forty-five minutes before my call, through a chain so complex and efficient that the CIA should study it. Lourdes's response: tears, then cooking, then more tears into the cooking. She made pancit — for long life, the tradition — and the noodles were extra long and the tears were extra salty and the cooking and the crying were one activity, indistinguishable, the way love and food are indistinguishable in the Santos household.

I made lumpia that evening. Fifty. The celebration wrap. Fill, fold, roll, seal. Each lumpia a prayer: for Angela, for James, for the baby who will arrive in January in the Alaskan darkness and be welcomed by a family that knows darkness intimately and has learned to cook through it, to eat through it, to stand in kitchens during the darkest months and produce light in the form of garlic and oil and the golden wrappers of lumpia frying in a pan.

Lourdes made pancit because that’s what Santos women do when life hands them something too large for words — they cook noodles, long ones, for long life. I didn’t have rice noodles that Tuesday evening, and I’d already used my hands folding fifty lumpia, but the urge to keep cooking, to keep honoring Angela’s news with something warm and given, didn’t leave me. This one-skillet pasta isn’t pancit, but it carries the same spirit: one pan, honest ingredients, everything tangled together the way a family is, the way love is, long and unbroken.

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

Ingredients

12 oz spaghetti or linguine, uncooked
3 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 1/2 cups water
1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon dried basil
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped

Instructions

Combine in skillet. In a large, wide skillet or straight-sided sauté pan, add the uncooked pasta, chicken broth, water, sliced onion, garlic, diced tomatoes (with liquid), red pepper flakes, basil, salt, pepper, and olive oil. The pasta should be mostly submerged — press it down gently if needed.
Bring to a boil. Set the pan over high heat and bring to a full boil, stirring frequently to prevent the pasta from sticking together.
Simmer and stir. Reduce heat to medium and continue cooking, stirring every 1–2 minutes, for 12–15 minutes or until the pasta is tender and most of the liquid has been absorbed into a light, saucy coating.
Check consistency. If the skillet looks dry before the pasta is cooked through, add water 1/4 cup at a time. If it looks soupy after the pasta is done, raise the heat briefly and stir until the liquid reduces to your liking.
Finish and serve. Remove from heat. Stir in the grated Parmesan until melted and silky. Taste and adjust salt and pepper. Divide among bowls and top with fresh parsley. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

One Skillet Pasta — Noodles for Long Life, Made the Night Angela Called