Pasta with Artichokes, Tomatoes and Feta

I listed 8 new properties this week — each one a different story, a different kitchen, a different family waiting to happen. The spring market is alive with the particular energy of people who have decided this is the year they change their address and their life.

Sophia is working on a project with an intensity that would concern me if it were directed at anything other than biology. She talked about it at dinner for twenty minutes and I understood approximately half of it but all of the joy behind it.

The bakery smelled like honey this morning when I stopped by. That smell — warm honey and butter and the faint yeast of dough rising — is the smell of my childhood and my mother and my father and every Sunday morning of my life. Some smells are time machines. The bakery is mine.

I grilled halloumi tonight with a squeeze of lemon and a drizzle of honey. The cheese squeaked between my teeth the way good halloumi should. The kitchen smelled like olive oil and the coming rain and I thought: this is what survives. Not the money or the stress or the arguments about phyllo. The food survives. The recipes survive. The love baked into every dish survives.

The house was quiet this evening. I sat at the kitchen table with a glass of wine and the remains of dinner and I thought about all the tables I have sat at — Mama's table in Tarpon Springs, the table in the South Tampa house I lost, the table in the apartment where I started over, this table where I have fed my children for years. Every table is a different chapter. The food connects them all.

After a night of grilled halloumi and a glass of wine at a table that holds so many chapters, I wanted to write down the recipe that has become my quiet companion through all of them — a pasta that asks almost nothing of you and gives everything back in flavor. The artichokes are a little briny, the tomatoes carry some sweetness, and the feta crumbles over the top the way my mother would have scattered it: generously and without measuring. It is Mediterranean the way my childhood was Mediterranean — simple, honest, and full of something that is hard to name but easy to feel.

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

Ingredients

12 oz penne or rigatoni pasta
2 tablespoons olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (14 oz) artichoke hearts, drained and quartered
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, with juices
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
1/4 cup fresh basil or flat-leaf parsley, roughly torn
Extra olive oil for drizzling

Instructions

Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup of pasta cooking water before draining.
Build the base. While pasta cooks, heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add garlic and red pepper flakes and stir for about 1 minute until fragrant, being careful not to let the garlic brown.
Add the vegetables. Add artichoke hearts and tomatoes (with their juices) to the skillet. Stir in oregano, season with salt and pepper, and simmer for 8—10 minutes until the sauce thickens slightly and the flavors come together.
Combine. Add the drained pasta directly to the skillet and toss well to coat, adding splashes of reserved pasta water as needed to bring the sauce together and help it cling to the pasta.
Finish with brightness. Stir in the lemon juice and adjust seasoning to taste. Remove from heat and scatter the crumbled feta and fresh herbs over the top. Drizzle with a little extra olive oil and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pasta with Artichokes, Tomatoes and Feta — The Food That Connects Every Table