The news has started talking about a virus. Something in China. Something spreading. Something that sounds far away and abstract and nothing like the thing that will, in a few weeks, change everything.
I'm not paying much attention. I'm cooking dinner. I'm writing the column. I'm chasing a fifteen-month-old who has discovered that opening cabinets is the most thrilling activity available to a person his size. The virus is a headline, not a reality.
Ryan mentioned it at dinner. 'They're briefing us about it at the base. Something called coronavirus. Probably nothing.'
Probably nothing. Famous last words of early 2020.
The blog continues to grow. Three hundred thousand total views. The reader submission series — 'Your Kitchen, Your Story' — has become the most popular feature. Women from every branch, every base, every state are sending recipes. A Coast Guard wife sent her Cape Cod clam chowder. An Army wife from Fort Hood sent her Texas chili (different from Mom's — more peppers, no cocoa). A Marine wife from Okinawa sent a recipe for goya champuru that her Okinawan neighbor taught her.
The binder is international now. My recipe collection spans twelve countries and thirty states, all connected by the common thread of military life. Each recipe is a woman, a kitchen, a story. Each one says: I was here. I cooked this. I survived.
Mom called tonight with a topic suggestion: 'Write about canned goods. Military wives need to know about canned goods. The commissary has a sale next week and people should stock up.'
'Mom, that's boring.'
'Boring keeps you alive during a snowstorm. Or a power outage. Or a —'
'Pandemic?'
'Don't be dramatic, Rachel. Write about canned goods.'
(She was right. She's always right. But we didn't know that yet.)
I made Mom's minestrone tonight — a canned-good recipe, ironically. Canned tomatoes, canned beans, canned broth, plus whatever vegetables are in the fridge. It's the soup of nothing-specific, the soup of Tuesday, the soup of 'I need to use these things before they expire.'
It was good. Uncomplicated. Warm.
The virus is in the headlines. The soup is on the stove. And life continues, the way it always does, until it doesn't.
Mom’s minestrone was on my mind when I went back to the kitchen the next night — but I had Italian sausage to use and a bag of tortellini that had been waiting in the fridge long enough. This sausage and spinach tortellini soup is the same spirit as that minestrone: pantry-driven, forgiving, built for a Tuesday when you’re half-listening to the news and half-chasing a toddler out of the cabinet under the sink. It’s the soup of nothing-specific, and right now, nothing-specific is exactly what I need.
Sausage and Spinach Tortellini Soup
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 1 lb mild Italian sausage, casings removed
- 1 medium yellow onion, diced
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
- 4 cups low-sodium chicken broth
- 2 cups water
- 1 tsp Italian seasoning
- 1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
- 1 package (9 oz) refrigerated cheese tortellini
- 3 cups fresh baby spinach
- Salt and black pepper to taste
- Grated Parmesan cheese, for serving
Instructions
- Brown the sausage. In a large pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat, cook the sausage, breaking it into crumbles with a wooden spoon, until no longer pink, about 6–8 minutes. Drain excess fat, leaving about 1 teaspoon in the pot.
- Soften the aromatics. Reduce heat to medium. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until translucent, about 4 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more, until fragrant.
- Build the broth. Stir in the diced tomatoes (with their juices), chicken broth, water, Italian seasoning, and red pepper flakes if using. Bring to a boil over high heat.
- Cook the tortellini. Add the tortellini and reduce heat to a steady simmer. Cook according to package directions, typically 7–9 minutes, until the tortellini are tender and floating.
- Wilt the spinach. Stir in the spinach in two handfuls, letting each addition wilt into the broth before adding the next, about 1–2 minutes total.
- Season and serve. Taste and adjust with salt and black pepper. Ladle into bowls and finish with a generous handful of grated Parmesan.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 390 | Protein: 23g | Fat: 19g | Carbs: 31g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 890mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 203 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.
