Seafood Medley With Linguine

July sky. The light at nine PM still warm. Yoga Tuesday and Thursday at the studio. The classes were full. The body was the body.

Miya, 9, can shape onigiri without falling apart. She uses wet hands. She knows the order without being told. Barbara called Sunday. We talked for twenty minutes. She told me about the play she is directing. I told her about the kitchen.

Cold somen Saturday lunch. The thin noodles in ice water. The dipping sauce sharp.

Tomi home soon. The kitchen quiet.

I drove to Uwajimaya Wednesday. Kombu, bonito flakes, white miso, a small bag of mochiko for tomorrow's project. The store smells like home.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. Wiped the counters. Reorganized the drawer where the chopsticks live. Sharpened the knife. The reset was the reset.

Sunday farmers market in the rain. The vendors knew me. The Hood River apple stand had honeycrisps. I bought four pounds.

Made dashi at five-thirty AM. Ten minutes in the kitchen alone with the kombu and the bonito flakes. The day's first prayer.

Coffee with a friend Saturday morning. We talked about books, about kids, about the way our forties became our fifties. The talking is the thing.

The rain in long sheets Tuesday afternoon. I made tea. I watched it from the porch. The cottonwoods on the next block were silver in the wet.

Tomi watered the garden Saturday morning. The shiso was head-high. The shishito peppers were producing. The kabocha was running on the fence.

I read for an hour Sunday night. A book of essays by a Korean-American writer about food and grief. I underlined a paragraph that said exactly what I had been trying to say in the newsletter for months.

A panic flicker Tuesday evening, brief, manageable. I breathed. I drank water. I went outside and walked around the block. The flicker passed. The body did its work.

Therapy Tuesday. We talked about the wedding. We talked about Barbara. We talked about Fumiko. The hour passed. The work continues.

I texted Miya a photo of the shiso. She texted back a heart and a single word: home.

The cat was the cat. Mochi at fifteen sleeps most of the day. She still eats with enthusiasm. She still sits at the kitchen window watching the back garden.

Miya's old room is now my office. The desk is by the window. The shiso outside. The newsletter in progress. The afternoons are quiet.

A reader sent me a handwritten card this week. Her grandmother had cooked Japanese food in 1970s Boise. She had felt alone in it. The newsletter, she wrote, made her feel less alone. I taped the card to the wall above my desk.

Yoga Tuesday morning. The studio in Sellwood. Eight students. The class was the class.

The neighbor's dog barked at nothing for twenty minutes Sunday afternoon. The neighbor apologized. I told him I had been writing through it and the white noise was helpful. He laughed.

I wrote at the kitchen table from six to eight. The newsletter was forming. The opening sentence was the hard sentence — they always are. I rewrote it five times. The fifth time was the right time.

I made onigiri for tomorrow's lunch. Three triangles. Salted plum in the center. Wrapped in nori. The cling wrap. The drawer where I keep them. The system.

Miya is in elementary school. The Saturday Japanese school continues. She still complains. She is still going.

The cold somen on Saturday was its own complete thing — thin noodles in ice water, the dipping sauce sharp, the kitchen quiet in exactly the right way. But by the time the week had run its full course, with the dashi at five-thirty AM and the onigiri folded for tomorrow’s lunch and Tomi nearly home, I wanted noodles again, this time warm, with something from the sea, something a little more substantial. This seafood medley with linguine is what I made when the week finally let me exhale. The preparation is straightforward and honest, and that’s what I needed.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

12 oz linguine
1/2 lb large shrimp, peeled and deveined
1/2 lb sea scallops, patted dry
1/2 lb mussels or clams, scrubbed
3 tablespoons olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 cup dry white wine
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1/4 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Lemon wedges, for serving

Instructions

Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil. Cook linguine according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta water before draining. Set pasta aside.
Sear the scallops. Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet over high heat. Season scallops with salt and pepper. Sear without moving for 2 minutes per side until golden. Transfer to a plate.
Cook the shrimp. Add another tablespoon of olive oil to the same pan over medium-high heat. Season shrimp with salt and pepper. Cook 1 to 2 minutes per side until pink and just cooked through. Transfer to the plate with scallops.
Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium. Add remaining tablespoon of olive oil and sauté garlic and red pepper flakes for 1 minute until fragrant. Add white wine and scrape up any browned bits from the pan. Simmer 2 minutes.
Steam the mussels or clams. Add mussels or clams to the pan, cover, and cook 3 to 5 minutes until shells open. Discard any that do not open. Add cherry tomatoes and stir gently.
Combine everything. Add the drained linguine to the pan along with butter and a splash of reserved pasta water. Toss to coat, adding more pasta water as needed to loosen the sauce. Return the shrimp and scallops to the pan and toss briefly to warm through.
Finish and serve. Remove from heat. Scatter fresh parsley over the top. Taste and adjust seasoning. Serve immediately with lemon wedges alongside.

Nutrition (per serving)

Seafood Medley With Linguine — The Noodles You Make When the Week Finally Settles