Tomato Basil Fettuccine

Something is wrong with Mom. I can't name it yet — it's not a fact, it's a feeling, the kind of knowing that lives below language, in the body, in the part of me that has been watching Marlene Weber for forty years and can detect a shift in her gravity the way a seismograph detects a tremor before the earthquake arrives. She's tired. She's been tired since last year, since before the pandemic, the tiredness I noticed in February 2019 and again in the driveway visits. But this is different. This tiredness has a weight to it. This tiredness sits behind her eyes.

I called and she said she's fine. "Fine" is the Iowa diagnostic — it covers everything from a paper cut to a heart attack, and the only way to know which end of the spectrum you're dealing with is to listen for the pause. The pause was longer this time. The "fine" took a beat too long to arrive. I told Kevin. He said, "Your mother is sixty-eight and she's been taking care of your father for two years post-surgery and she's in a pandemic. She's tired." He's right. And he's wrong. Because tired is one thing and this is another thing, and I don't know what the other thing is yet, but I know it's there, the way you know a storm is coming before the clouds form.

I made chicken pot pie — the comfort food, the concern food, the food I make when worry needs a vessel and the vessel is a pie crust and the worry is my mother and the crust is golden and flaky and does nothing to cure the worry but at least gives my hands something to do while my mind circles the phone call and the pause and the extra beat before "fine."

The garden is producing at full speed. Cherry tomatoes by the pint, green beans by the bushel, peppers stacking up in the refrigerator. Jack harvested the first Mortgage Lifter tomato — enormous, red, ribbed, ugly in the beautiful way that heirloom tomatoes are ugly, the way that real things are ugly when compared to the smooth perfection of things designed to look good rather than taste good. We sliced it with salt and ate it over the sink, the juice running down our hands, and the tomato tasted like the garden and the garden tasted like the summer and the summer tasted like the work of a boy who planted a seed named after financial relief and grew something that fed his family.

The chicken pot pie took care of the worry — my hands, the crust, the hours. But that Mortgage Lifter tomato Jack pulled from the vine deserved its own moment, its own meal, something that didn’t drown it in a sauce or ask it to be anything other than exactly what it was. This tomato basil fettuccine is what I made the next night: barely cooked, just enough heat to pull the sweetness forward, the basil from the same garden, the whole thing tasting unmistakably of August and of a boy who grew something real.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

12 oz fettuccine pasta
2 tablespoons olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 lbs fresh heirloom or garden tomatoes, roughly chopped (about 4 cups)
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more for pasta water
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup fresh basil leaves, torn, plus more for garnish
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1/3 cup reserved pasta cooking water

Instructions

Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil. Cook fettuccine according to package directions until al dente. Before draining, reserve 1/3 cup of pasta cooking water. Drain and set aside.
Build the sauce. While pasta cooks, heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add minced garlic and cook, stirring frequently, for about 1 minute until fragrant but not browned.
Add the tomatoes. Add the chopped tomatoes, red pepper flakes, salt, and black pepper to the skillet. Cook over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally, for 10–12 minutes until the tomatoes have broken down and released their juices into a loose, chunky sauce.
Combine pasta and sauce. Add the drained fettuccine directly to the skillet with the tomato sauce. Add the butter and reserved pasta water, a splash at a time, tossing everything together over medium heat until the pasta is well coated and the sauce clings, about 2 minutes.
Finish with basil and cheese. Remove from heat. Fold in the torn basil leaves and grated Parmesan, tossing gently to combine. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed.
Serve immediately. Divide among bowls and top with additional fresh basil, a drizzle of olive oil, and extra Parmesan at the table.

Nutrition (per serving)

Tomato Basil Fettuccine — The Garden That Tasted Like Summer