Ricotta Tomato Corn Pasta

Spring is starting. The azaleas are budding. The light is changing. And I am about to plant the garden for the sixth time since this blog began, and for the third time since Earl died, and for the second time since a virus tried to close the world, and the garden doesn't care about any of that. The garden just grows.

Cherokee Purples again. Always Cherokee Purples. Ugly, beautiful, the tomato that defined Earl's garden and now defines mine. Peppers — cayenne, habanero, and the Sapelo peppers from Miss Cornelia's seeds, which are now in their second generation in this soil. Okra. Herbs. The same lineup, the same faith, the same dirt.

Kayla came over Saturday and helped me plant. She's not a natural gardener — she's a nurse, her hands are precise but her relationship with dirt is tentative — but she tries. She put the tomato seedlings in the ground with the same careful attention she gives an IV line, and I told her, "Baby, the plants are tougher than your patients. You don't have to be that gentle." She said, "Granny, everything deserves gentleness." She's right. Everything does. Even tomatoes.

I'm thinking about the cooking classes. The community center is reopening, slowly, with capacity limits and masks. They asked if I want to do another series. I said yes. Four weeks. Shrimp and grits, she-crab soup, Frogmore stew, peach cobbler. The same menu as before. Because the menu doesn't change. The students do. And every new person who learns to make shrimp and grits is another pair of hands carrying the tradition forward.

Made Frogmore stew tonight. Practice for the class. Shrimp, sausage, corn, potatoes. Old Bay. The splash of vinegar. Perfect. The kitchen is ready. The teacher is ready. The world is opening.

Now go on and feed somebody.

The Frogmore stew is what the classes are built around, but it’s the corn and the tomatoes — those Cherokee Purples Kayla pressed into the ground with her nurse’s hands — that have been on my mind all week. This ricotta tomato corn pasta is what I make when the garden starts talking to me before it’s quite ready to deliver: a reminder of what’s coming, creamy and bright and just a little hopeful, like any good spring ought to be. It’s not Frogmore stew, but it’s the same spirit — honest ingredients, nothing hidden, nothing wasted.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

12 oz penne or rigatoni pasta
1 cup whole-milk ricotta cheese
2 medium ripe tomatoes, diced (about 2 cups)
1 1/2 cups fresh or frozen corn kernels (from about 2 ears)
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, torn
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
Salt and black pepper to taste
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, for serving

Instructions

Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Before draining, reserve 1/2 cup of pasta cooking water. Drain and set aside.
Build the base. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add garlic and cook, stirring, for about 1 minute until fragrant but not browned.
Add the vegetables. Add corn kernels to the skillet and cook 3 to 4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until just tender. Add diced tomatoes and cook another 2 to 3 minutes until they begin to soften and release their juices.
Stir in the ricotta. Reduce heat to low. Add the ricotta and stir gently to combine with the vegetables, loosening the sauce with a splash of the reserved pasta water until you reach a creamy, flowing consistency.
Combine with pasta. Add the drained pasta directly to the skillet and toss to coat evenly. Season with red pepper flakes, salt, and black pepper. Add more pasta water a tablespoon at a time if the sauce feels too thick.
Finish and serve. Divide among bowls and top each serving with torn fresh basil and a generous amount of grated Parmesan. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Ricotta Tomato Corn Pasta — A Garden-to-Table Taste of What’s Coming