Spinach Manicotti

Fall. The light in Seattle changes in late September — lower, warmer, more golden, as though the sun is doing its best impression of a lamp in a well-designed restaurant. I walked through Volunteer Park on Sunday and the maples were beginning to turn and I thought about the fact that by the time the trees are bare, I will be six months pregnant, and by the time they leaf out again, I will have a baby. The baby will not see the leaves this fall. The baby will see the leaves next fall, in my arms, and I will point at the colors and say: look. This is autumn. This is your first one. And the baby will not understand, and I will say it anyway, because mothers narrate the world to their children even before the children can parse the narration. Karen did this for me. Jisoo would have done this for me if she could have.

Banchan Labs: the first subscription month is in the books. 2,000 boxes shipped. 1,847 subscribers retained for month two (92.3% retention, which James says is "very strong"). The October box is themed "Comfort" — kimchi jjigae, sundubu jjigae, tteokguk, and a guide to making bone broth. I developed the recipes last week. Grace approved the kimchi jjigae card on the first draft, which is unprecedented. She said, "Your kimchi jjigae is now correct." Not "good." Correct. From Grace, "correct" is the highest compliment. I will take it.

I have started packing for Busan. Two weeks — I leave October 3. The packing is excessive. I am bringing gifts for Jisoo (a Le Creuset Dutch oven, because she admired mine on a FaceTime call and because I want her to have something from my kitchen in hers), for Jihoon (a book about specialty coffee, recommended by Kevin), for Eunji (a scarf from a Seattle designer), for Jun-ho (maple syrup, again, because he asked again). My suitcase weighs forty pounds and I have not yet packed clothes. James said, "You are bringing your entire life to Korea." I said, "I am bringing selected portions of my life to Korea. My entire life does not fit in a suitcase." He said, "It's getting closer."

Dr. Yoon and I had a session focused on the Busan trip. She said, "What are you hoping for?" I said, "Closeness. Ordinary closeness. Cooking together. Eating together. Being a pregnant woman in my mother's kitchen. The things that would have been ordinary if my life had been ordinary." She said, "Your life has never been ordinary, Stephanie. What you are building is extraordinary closeness from extraordinary distance. That is more valuable, not less." I am bringing that sentence to Busan with me. It will fit in the suitcase.

Karen sent me off on Sunday with a care package: prenatal vitamins (in case I run out in Korea), ginger candies (for nausea), a mystery novel (for the plane), and a note that said, "Come home safe. Come home with stories. Tell Jisoo I said hello." Karen and Jisoo have never met. They communicate through me — through my voice, my reports, my translations. They are co-mothers connected by the person they both, separately, raised. Karen said "hello" to Jisoo, and I will carry that hello across an ocean, and it will arrive in Busan with the weight of thirty years of shared motherhood.

The recipe this week is a packing-day meal — something fast and nourishing before a two-week trip. Ramyeon — Korean instant noodles, upgraded. The noodles from a packet (Shin Ramyun, because it is the best and this is not debatable). Add an egg, cracked in during the last minute. Add kimchi on top. Add a slice of American cheese (controversial, delicious, fight me). Add sliced scallions. Eat from the pot. This is not fine dining. This is a thirty-year-old pregnant woman eating instant noodles from a pot the night before flying to Korea to see her birth mother. The noodles are perfect. The moment is perfect. Everything is exactly as imperfect and beautiful as it should be.

The ramyeon from the pot was perfect—I meant every word I wrote about it—but it was the spinach manicotti earlier that week that actually steadied me. Recipe development for the October “Comfort” box had taken over my kitchen and my brain, and I needed something that felt nurturing without requiring me to think too hard: cheese, greens, pasta, sauce, oven. The kind of dish that holds its shape while everything around it is in motion. I made a pan of it on Wednesday and ate it for three dinners, and it carried me right to the packing-day ramyeon and the airport beyond.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

8 manicotti shells
15 oz whole-milk ricotta cheese
10 oz frozen chopped spinach, thawed and squeezed very dry
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 1/2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese, divided
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
1 tsp garlic powder
1/2 tsp onion powder
1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/4 tsp black pepper
1/4 tsp dried Italian seasoning
24 oz marinara sauce, divided
Fresh basil leaves, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Heat oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish.
Cook the shells. Boil manicotti shells in well-salted water for 2 minutes less than package directions (they will finish cooking in the oven). Drain carefully, rinse with cold water, and lay flat on a lightly oiled baking sheet so they don’t stick together.
Make the filling. In a large bowl, combine ricotta, squeezed-dry spinach, egg, 3/4 cup of the mozzarella, Parmesan, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning. Stir until evenly combined.
Assemble. Spread half the marinara sauce in an even layer across the bottom of the prepared baking dish. Using a spoon or a piping bag, carefully fill each manicotti shell with the ricotta-spinach mixture and arrange them in a single layer over the sauce.
Top and cover. Spoon the remaining marinara sauce evenly over the filled shells. Scatter the remaining 3/4 cup mozzarella over the top. Cover the dish tightly with aluminum foil.
Bake covered. Bake for 35 minutes, until the pasta is tender and the filling is set.
Uncover and finish. Remove the foil and bake for an additional 10 minutes, until the cheese on top is melted and lightly golden at the edges.
Rest and serve. Let the manicotti rest for 5 minutes before serving. Garnish with fresh basil and extra Parmesan if desired.

Nutrition (per serving)

Spinach Manicotti — Noodles Before the Journey Home