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Sausage and Mushroom Pasta — Because the Kitchen Doesn’t Stop Just Because the Holiday Did

Post-Thanksgiving. Turkey carcass into the stock pot, same as always. Made turkey pot pie Wednesday — leftover turkey, peas, carrots, cream sauce, crust. Ate it three days. Pot pie is not boring, pot pie is resourceful.

The cough woke me Tuesday at 4 AM. Not the regular morning cough — deeper, from the bottom of the lungs, the kind that makes you sit up and grip the mattress and wait. It passed but left behind the knowledge that this is not seasonal, not a cold. Connie was awake. She rubbed my back in small circles, the way you rub a child's back, and I let her because the circles felt like someone holding me together from outside. She said in the morning: you're going to the doctor. I said December. She said December. I said fine.

Made ham and bean soup from the Thanksgiving ham bone. Nothing wasted, everything used. Betty would say throwing away a hambone is a sin that doesn't need a Bible verse. Use the bone. Make the soup. Feed the family.

The ham and bean soup ran out by Thursday, and by then I wasn’t much in the mood to excavate another carcass or soak another bean. Connie had her doctor’s appointment circled on the calendar and I had mine marked for December, and in between there were still mouths to feed and a stove that doesn’t care about any of that. Sausage and mushroom pasta is what happened next — nothing from a bone, nothing that needed two days and a stock pot, just a skillet and something warm that asked very little of me while giving back plenty.

Sausage and Mushroom Pasta

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 12 oz penne or rigatoni pasta
  • 1 lb Italian sausage (mild or hot), casings removed
  • 8 oz cremini or button mushrooms, sliced
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1/2 medium yellow onion, diced
  • 1/2 cup dry white wine (or chicken broth)
  • 1 cup heavy cream
  • 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
  • Salt and black pepper, to taste
  • 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped

Instructions

  1. 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 before draining. Set pasta aside.
  2. Brown the sausage. Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add sausage, breaking it apart with a spoon, and cook until browned and cooked through, about 6–8 minutes. Transfer to a plate and set aside, leaving drippings in the pan.
  3. Sauté the vegetables. Add remaining tablespoon of olive oil to the skillet. Add onion and cook over medium heat until softened, about 3 minutes. Add mushrooms and cook until they release their moisture and begin to brown, about 5 minutes. Stir in garlic and red pepper flakes, cooking another 30 seconds until fragrant.
  4. Deglaze the pan. Pour in the white wine (or broth) and scrape up any browned bits from the bottom of the skillet. Let it simmer for 2 minutes until slightly reduced.
  5. Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium-low. Stir in the heavy cream and bring to a gentle simmer. Cook for 3–4 minutes until the sauce thickens slightly. Return the browned sausage to the skillet and stir to combine.
  6. Finish and toss. Add the drained pasta to the skillet and toss to coat, adding reserved pasta water a splash at a time if the sauce needs loosening. Stir in Parmesan and adjust salt and pepper to taste.
  7. Serve. Divide into bowls and top with fresh parsley and additional Parmesan as desired.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 680 | Protein: 28g | Fat: 38g | Carbs: 54g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 820mg

Craig Hensley
About the cook who shared this
Craig Hensley
Week 397 of Craig’s 30-year story · Lexington, Kentucky
Craig is a retired coal miner from Harlan County, Kentucky — a man who spent twenty years underground and seventeen hours trapped in a collapsed tunnel before he was twenty-four. He moved his family to Lexington when the mine closed, learned to cook his mama Betty's Appalachian recipes from memory because she never wrote them down, and now he's trying to get them on paper before they're lost. He says "reckon" and "fixing to" and means both. His bourbon-glazed ribs are, according to his wife Connie, "acceptable" — which is the highest praise she gives.

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