By Valentine's Day dinner. Sean had booked the North End place—Giacomo's again, same as the year before Liam was born—and I wore the same dress again because it still fits, barely, at thirty-four weeks, because I am one of those people who carries forward and the dress adjusts. We ate spaghetti alle vongole and tiramisu to share and talked about Nora and talked about Liam and then talked about things that had nothing to do with either of them, which is the dinner goal. To be Sean and Kate for two hours.
We are good at this still. Thirteen-plus years into knowing each other and we still have things to say. This should not be surprising and yet I find it quietly remarkable, the way I find all endurance remarkable. The things that last take work and also, sometimes, they just take two people who keep wanting to sit across the table from each other.
There's something in the news about a new virus in China. I've been following it the way hospital nurses follow new infectious things—with professional attention, not personal alarm, noting it on the WHO reports and in the infection control newsletters that come through the hospital. Nothing to act on yet. Something to watch.
Thirty-four weeks. Liam has been talking to Nora through the belly every morning when he wakes up and Sean puts him on the bed before his breakfast. He says "good morning, Nora" and pats the stomach twice. He started doing this about two weeks ago without being asked. Nora kicks when he does it. These two people have already found each other.
Spaghetti alle vongole at Giacomo’s will always hold a specific kind of magic for us, but what stayed with me after that dinner wasn’t just the clams—it was the way a beautiful bowl of pasta can hold a whole evening inside it, unhurried and soft. When I found myself wanting to recreate that feeling at home, something elegant enough to feel like a occasion but gentle enough for thirty-four weeks and a toddler’s bedtime on the other side of the wall, this pasta with creamy fennel sauce was exactly right: the fennel carries that same faintly sweet, anise-kissed warmth that makes Italian cooking feel like being looked after.
Pasta with Creamy Fennel Sauce
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 12 oz linguine or fettuccine
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 1 large fennel bulb, thinly sliced (fronds reserved for garnish)
- 1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
- 4 cloves garlic, minced
- 1/2 cup dry white wine
- 1 cup heavy cream
- 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more to serve
- 1 teaspoon lemon zest
- 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
- Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
- Pinch of crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
Instructions
- Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta water before draining.
- Soften the fennel and onion. While pasta cooks, heat olive oil and butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add fennel and onion with a pinch of salt. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 12–15 minutes until very soft and beginning to caramelize at the edges.
- Add garlic. Stir in garlic and cook for 1 minute until fragrant.
- Deglaze with wine. Pour in the white wine and let it simmer for 2–3 minutes, scraping up any browned bits, until mostly reduced.
- Build the cream sauce. Reduce heat to medium-low and stir in the heavy cream. Simmer gently for 4–5 minutes until the sauce thickens slightly. Add lemon zest, lemon juice, and red pepper flakes if using. Season with salt and pepper.
- Finish with Parmesan. Stir in the Parmesan until melted and smooth. Add the drained pasta and toss to coat, adding splashes of reserved pasta water as needed to loosen the sauce to a silky consistency.
- Serve. Divide among bowls and top with additional Parmesan, fennel fronds, and a crack of black pepper.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 610 | Protein: 18g | Fat: 30g | Carbs: 68g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 390mg