Pepperoni Pasta Salad

Summer settles in. The routine: restaurant six days a week (Tuesday through Sunday, closed Mondays — the only day the restaurant breathes and I breathe with it). Catering delivery on Wednesdays (the tech company lunch — forty meals, packed in insulated bags, driven across Nashville in the Altima that still has the dent and now also smells permanently of brisket and cornbread). Kids in summer mode: Chloe at the restaurant most days (she's practically an employee now, though I don't pay her because paying your fourteen-year-old daughter would require tax paperwork that even Rita isn't ready for), Jayden at summer soccer and summer reading program at the library (the boy splits his time between kicking balls and reading books, the duality of Jayden Mitchell), Elijah at church summer camp (finger painting, juice boxes, the orange guitar making appearances at "talent show" hours where he strums one chord repeatedly and the counselors clap with the enthusiasm of people who are being paid to be supportive).

The restaurant turned three this month. Three years on Gallatin Pike. One year expanded. The anniversary isn't a big production — I don't throw parties for the restaurant, the restaurant throws parties for everyone else — but I stood behind the counter at 5 AM on the anniversary morning and I made the first cornbread of Year Four in the same kitchen where I made the first cornbread of Year One and the kitchen is bigger now but the silence is the same. The pre-dawn silence. The just-me silence. The silence that is the prayer and the cornbread is the altar and the sizzle of batter hitting bacon grease in a hot skillet is: the amen. Three years. The restaurant that started on a napkin. The restaurant that grew from six stools to twelve, from lunch to dinner, from walk-ins to a catering contract worth $93,600 a year. Three years. The distance is: already impossible and also not enough. The table grows. The growing doesn't stop. The growing IS the restaurant. Amen.

Mrs. Henderson brought me flowers. On the anniversary. She walked in at 11 AM with a bouquet of sunflowers — the flower on my wrist, the flower she's seen every time I reach across the counter to set down her cornbread — and she said: "Three years. You're the best thing on this street." The best thing on this street. Gallatin Pike has a lot of things on it: restaurants, bars, shops, the fire station, the thrift stores, the taco trucks, the whole East Nashville ecosystem. And Mrs. Henderson, who has eaten at all of them, says the best thing is: mine. The sunflowers are on the counter now, in a mason jar, next to the cash register, where every customer can see them and know that someone thinks this place is: the best thing.

Dinner at home: sloppy joes. The summer standard. The meal that takes fifteen minutes, feeds three kids, requires no plates (buns are edible plates), and tastes like the kind of summer evening where the windows are open and the bugs are hitting the screen and the kids are loud and the noise is: music. The sloppy joe is: the anti-restaurant-meal. The meal that proves I don't always cook like a restaurant owner. Sometimes I cook like a tired mom with ground beef and a can of Manwich and three hungry kids and the Manwich is: fine. The Manwich is: honest. The Manwich is: Tuesday.

The sloppy joes are Tuesday’s answer, but this pepperoni pasta salad is the whole summer’s answer—the dish I make when I’ve already given the restaurant every creative thing I had and I need dinner to just: happen. It’s cold, it’s ready in the time it takes Chloe to set the table and Jayden to finish one more chapter, and it requires nothing from me except boiling water and opening a bag. On the night of the anniversary, after Mrs. Henderson’s sunflowers and the 5 AM cornbread and the full lunch rush, this was on the table by six. The Manwich is honest and the pasta salad is honest and sometimes honest is exactly what the evening needs.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

12 oz rotini pasta
6 oz pepperoni slices, halved
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1 cup black olives, sliced
1 cup green bell pepper, diced
1/2 cup red onion, finely diced
1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
3/4 cup Italian dressing (store-bought or homemade)
1 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
Salt and black pepper to taste
Fresh basil for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook rotini according to package directions until al dente, about 8—10 minutes. Drain and rinse under cold water until completely cooled.
Prep the add-ins. While the pasta cooks, halve the cherry tomatoes, slice the olives, dice the bell pepper and red onion, and halve the pepperoni slices.
Combine. In a large bowl, add the cooled pasta, pepperoni, cherry tomatoes, olives, bell pepper, red onion, mozzarella, and Parmesan. Toss to distribute evenly.
Dress and season. Pour the Italian dressing over the salad. Sprinkle in the Italian seasoning and garlic powder. Toss well to coat everything. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed.
Chill or serve. Serve immediately at room temperature, or cover and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes to let the flavors come together. Stir again before serving and add a splash more dressing if it looks dry. Garnish with fresh basil if you have it.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pepperoni Pasta Salad — The Summer Standard That Feeds Everyone Without Asking Anything of Me