Springtime Penne

Five years. September 14th, 2016. I went to Holy Sepulchre in Worth like every year — sunflowers, the same ones, I stop at the same flower stand near the cemetery every year that has had sunflowers both times I needed them, which is either coincidence or the universe being careful. I sat with Jess for an hour in the late September morning light and I talked to her out loud the way I always do because she would have hated anything less direct.

I told her it has been five years. I told her that I got married this summer — I said it like it was news even though she already knows from last September, the way you tell someone the same good thing multiple times because it keeps being true. I told her Ryan would have been her friend, that she would have liked him immediately and given him a hard time about it for years and eventually decided he was good enough for me, which is the highest possible Jess endorsement for anyone I date. I told her she would have been my maid of honor and she would have given a speech that made everyone uncomfortable and I would have loved every second of it. I said all of this out loud at her grave in the September morning and the person in the next row over did not look at me, which was the right thing to do.

I drove home and Ryan was there. He had made dinner without telling me he was going to: pasta with the simple tomato sauce, the same one he made three years ago when I came home from the cemetery and the same one he made the year after that. He does not vary it. He does not improve on it. He just makes it on the night I need it, from San Marzano tomatoes and garlic and olive oil and a long simmer. He said I could talk when I was ready. I talked eventually. He listened. Then I cried in the shower and then I slept.

Five years. Another year I have that she did not. I count them for both of us. I will keep counting.

Ryan doesn’t need a recipe card for this. He’s made it enough times now that it lives in his hands — the garlic going in low and slow, the San Marzanos crushed by hand, the long simmer that fills the apartment with something that smells like being taken care of. I’m sharing the closest version I can put into words, a springtime penne that carries the same spirit: simple, unhurried, made for someone you love on a hard day. If you make it for someone, don’t explain it too much. Just have it ready.

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

Ingredients

12 oz penne pasta
3 tablespoons olive oil
5 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 can (28 oz) whole San Marzano tomatoes, crushed by hand
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1 cup fresh asparagus, trimmed and cut into 1-inch pieces
1/2 cup frozen peas
1/2 cup fresh basil leaves, torn
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Freshly grated Parmesan, for serving

Instructions

Salt and boil. Bring a large pot of heavily salted water to a boil. Cook the penne according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta water before draining.
Build the base. While pasta cooks, heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-low heat. Add the garlic and red pepper flakes and cook, stirring occasionally, until the garlic is pale golden and fragrant, about 4–5 minutes. Do not rush this step — low and slow is the whole point.
Add the tomatoes. Pour in the crushed San Marzano tomatoes with their juices. Stir to combine, breaking up any large pieces. Raise the heat to medium and simmer uncovered for 15 minutes, until the sauce deepens in color and thickens slightly. Season with salt and pepper.
Add the spring vegetables. Stir in the cherry tomatoes, asparagus, and peas. Cook for 4–5 minutes, until the asparagus is just tender and the peas are warmed through.
Finish the pasta. Add the drained penne to the skillet and toss to coat, adding splashes of reserved pasta water as needed to loosen the sauce. Cook together for 1–2 minutes so the pasta absorbs some of the sauce.
Serve. Divide among bowls. Top with torn basil and a generous amount of Parmesan. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Springtime Penne — The Sauce He Always Makes on the Night I Need It