Tortellini Caesar Salad

I turned thirty on Friday. July 14, 2023. Thirty years old. Three decades of being alive, of being Stephanie Grace Park and then Stephanie Grace Park-Chen, of being Baby Girl #4719 and then someone's daughter and then someone's wife and, I hope, soon, someone's mother. Thirty.

James planned a dinner party. Small — twelve people at our condo. He cooked a Taiwanese feast: his beef noodle soup, three-cup chicken, Taiwanese popcorn chicken, scallion pancakes, and a sticky rice dessert his mother had taught him to make via FaceTime the week before. I was not allowed in the kitchen. I sat in the living room and received guests like a person who was not used to receiving anything, which is accurate. Priya came with wine. Grace came with homemade tteok. Mina and Tess came together. My college friend Sarah came. Karen and David drove in from Bellevue — Karen in her best cardigan, David in his tie. Karen sat in the armchair and told everyone about Stephanie at age five, Stephanie at age ten, Stephanie at age fifteen. She was performing the role of Mother at the Birthday Party, and she was performing it beautifully, and her hands were shaking and nobody mentioned the shaking because the story was more important than the tremor.

Jisoo FaceTimed at 8 PM my time, which was noon her time Friday. She sang "Happy Birthday" in Korean. She held up a cake she had made — a simple sponge with strawberries. She said, "I made this for you. I am eating a slice for you now." She ate a slice on camera. I blew out a candle James had placed on the table. The twelve people in my living room sang "Happy Birthday" in English while Jisoo sang in Korean from a screen propped on the bookshelf. Two languages. One song. The most me thing that has ever happened at a birthday party.

David pulled me aside after dinner. He said, "Thirty, kid. Thirty." He said, "Your mother and I brought you home when you were five months old and I remember thinking: this baby is going to be something. I didn't know what. But something." He hugged me. David is not a hugger. The hug was stiff and brief and the most emotional physical gesture my father has ever made in my presence and I will remember it for the rest of my life.

After everyone left, James and I cleaned the kitchen together. He washed. I dried. The condo was quiet. The leftover beef noodle soup was in the fridge. The birthday candle was in the trash. I said, "Thank you." He said, "For what?" I said, "For making a home. For making this specific home, with this specific kitchen, where twelve people ate Taiwanese food and my Korean mother sang on a screen and my American mother told stories about me at five." He said, "That's not something I made. That's something we made." He is right. It is something we made. It is the best thing we have made. Until, I hope, the next thing.

Month five of trying. No news. I am learning to hold hope the way I hold a good knife — firmly, with respect for its sharpness, without gripping so hard that my hand cramps. The hope is there. The hope is always there. The hope will be there next month and the month after and however many months it takes. James says, "We're patient." I say, "We're stubborn." He says, "Same thing." It is not the same thing. But it is close enough.

The recipe this week is James's birthday beef noodle soup, because it was the centerpiece of my thirtieth birthday and because I want to record it while the memory is fresh. Beef shank, seared. Star anise, cinnamon, Sichuan peppercorns, bay leaves. Doubanjiang, the spicy bean paste. Soy sauce, rice wine. Tomatoes. Simmer for three hours until the broth is deep and red and the beef falls apart. Serve over thick wheat noodles with bok choy and pickled mustard greens. This is James's mother's recipe. This is the dish that James made me on our second date and has made me every birthday since. This is the food that means: you are loved. You are thirty. You are just beginning.

The morning after my birthday, with twelve people’s worth of dishes finally done and James still asleep, I stood at the fridge staring at leftover bok choy and thought: I want noodles, but I want them easy, I want them mine. That’s how I ended up making this Tortellini Caesar Salad — it carries that same spirit of comfort and celebration that James built into his beef noodle soup, but in a form I could pull together quietly, by myself, on a slow Saturday morning at thirty. If his soup was the feast, this was the exhale after it.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

20 oz refrigerated cheese tortellini
1 large head romaine lettuce, chopped
1/2 cup Caesar dressing (store-bought or homemade)
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
1 cup croutons
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt to taste

Instructions

Cook the tortellini. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the cheese tortellini according to package directions, usually 3—5 minutes, until tender. Drain and rinse briefly under cold water to stop cooking and cool the pasta.
Toss with oil. Transfer the drained tortellini to a large bowl. Drizzle with olive oil and toss gently to prevent sticking. Allow to cool to room temperature, about 5 minutes.
Prep the romaine. While the tortellini cools, wash and thoroughly dry the romaine lettuce. Chop into bite-sized pieces and add to the bowl with the tortellini.
Dress the salad. Pour the Caesar dressing and lemon juice over the tortellini and romaine. Sprinkle in the garlic powder and black pepper. Toss everything together until evenly coated.
Add the cheese. Fold in the grated Parmesan cheese, reserving a small handful for garnish. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed.
Top and serve. Just before serving, add the croutons and toss lightly so they stay crisp. Transfer to a serving platter or individual bowls and top with extra Parmesan. Serve immediately, or refrigerate without croutons for up to 4 hours and add croutons right before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Tortellini Caesar Salad — The Noodle That Showed Up When I Needed It Most