By The biopsy results came back. Linda has early-stage breast cancer.
She told us at the kitchen table again. Same table, same calm voice, same matter-of-fact delivery. "The doctor said it's early. They caught it early. That's good." She outlined the plan like she was reading a grocery list: lumpectomy in two weeks, six weeks of radiation after that. Her oncologist is optimistic. The margins are expected to be clean. The prognosis is good.
The prognosis is good. I keep repeating this to myself like a prayer. The prognosis is good. The prognosis is good.
Tom was stoic. Tom is always stoic. He nodded along while Linda talked. He asked one question: "What do you need from us?" Linda said, "Normal. I need normal." So we tried to be normal. Tom watched the TV. I made coffee. Linda talked about church. Normal. Fake normal. The kind of normal you perform when you're terrified and pretending you're not.
I caught Tom in the garage later. He was sitting on the stool, hands on his knees, staring at nothing. His hands were shaking. I've never seen Tom's hands shake. Tom's hands have rewired buildings, fixed leaky pipes, gripped hockey sticks. They don't shake. They were shaking. I sat next to him. I didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. We sat in the garage for fifteen minutes in silence, and the silence was the most honest conversation we've ever had.
I didn't cook that night. Megan ordered pizza. She called Linda to check in. She called her own mother. She held me on the couch and I didn't cry because Kowalski men don't cry, except I did, quietly, into her shoulder, and she let me and she didn't say it was going to be okay. She just let me.
Tomorrow I'll cook. Tomorrow I'll make soup and pierogi and something for Linda to eat while she's recovering. Tomorrow I'll be useful. Tonight I'm just scared.
Megan ordered pizza that night because I couldn’t stand at a stove — and honestly, that was the right call. But when I said tomorrow I’d cook, I meant it, and when tomorrow came, I didn’t want anything fussy or delicate. I wanted something that felt like the pizza we ate on the couch but made with my own two hands, something warm and unglamorous and honest. Pepperoni pasta is exactly that: it’s the flavors of a pizza night rendered into something you can ladle into a bowl and eat while you’re still figuring out how to be okay.
Pepperoni Pasta
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 12 oz penne or rigatoni pasta
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 3 oz sliced pepperoni, halved
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
- 1 can (28 oz) crushed tomatoes
- 1 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning
- 1/2 teaspoon sugar
- Salt and black pepper to taste
- 1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
- 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
- Fresh basil or parsley, for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta water, then drain and set aside.
- Render the pepperoni. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the pepperoni and cook for 3–4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the edges curl and the fat renders out. Remove about half the pepperoni and set aside for topping.
- Build the sauce. Add garlic and red pepper flakes to the skillet with the remaining pepperoni. Cook 30 seconds until fragrant. Pour in the crushed tomatoes, Italian seasoning, and sugar. Season with salt and pepper. Simmer over medium-low heat for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sauce thickens slightly.
- Combine. Add the drained pasta to the skillet and toss to coat. If the sauce is too thick, stir in a splash of the reserved pasta water to loosen it.
- Finish and serve. Divide into bowls. Top with the reserved crispy pepperoni, shredded mozzarella, and grated Parmesan. Garnish with fresh basil or parsley if desired. Serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 520 | Protein: 22g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 67g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 890mg