Saturday, January 19, 2013

Peas and Shells Alfredo

I write you from a distinctly uncool coffee shop. I'm people watching and admiring the faint outline of a sign that used to say OYSTERS. 

I feel quiet. 

I love it when you know that Life is Happening, and things are exciting. 
Life is Happening is events: the party where you meet someone new, or a conversation that changes you, or a new job or move. 
When Life is Happening it feels like the gears of a watch are clicking into place. 



You can almost hear it. 

I used to believe that the exciting, crazy "Life is Happening" moments, are when you become who you are, and know what you're about. 

Now I think, that maybe those moments are just the product of the quiet, thoughtful days where nothing is really going on. The days when you're quietly and slowly figuring out how to make the dial of your watch click forward on your own. 



I made this pasta with some of the people I love the most. 
We had a round of toasts and then ate and laughed together. 
I realized then, that maybe, becoming the person you want to be, can be as simple as eating the meal you want to eat, with the people you want to eat it with. 



Maybe I'm all wrong. 

But I swear, this pasta made me feel like all the gears in all my watches were clicking into place. 


Peas and Shells Alfredo
from The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook by Deb Perelman 

Yield: serves 2 generously or 4 petitely. (We made extra, so about a pound of pasta.) 

Salt to taste
1/2 pound dried small pasta shells
1 cup fresh shelled peas (about 1 pound in the pod, but we used canned peas because we're lazy)
1 cup heavy cream
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon finely grated fresh lemon zest
1 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Add the pasta and cooking according to package instructions. Add peas to cook during the last 30 seconds of pasta cooking time. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta cooking water, and set aside. Drain the pasta and the peas together. 

Dry out the pasta pot and pour in the heavy cream. Bring the cream to a simmer, and cook it until slightly reduced, about 4 minutes, stirring frequently. Add the butter, and stir it until it has melted. Generously season the sauce with freshly ground black pepper, add a pinch of salt as well as the lemon zest. Add 3/4 cup of the Parmesan, and stir it until the sauce is smooth, then toss in the drained pasta and peas. Cook the pasta in sauce for 2 minutes, until the sauce has slightly thickened. Add the reserved pasta water by the spoonful if needed to loosen the sauce. 

Divide the pasta among bowls. Garnish with remaining Parmesan and the flat-leaf parsley. 

Note: We also added the meat of one rotisserie chicken, mushrooms and some shredded spinach. For extra goodness. 

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

LUCKY 13


We are HERE. 
We're HERE and it's 13 and I'm worried. 
I'm really worried. 
I'm worried because I don't know what's coming next and if 12 taught me anything it was that predicting things is impossible impossible impossible. 


 I'm scared about the future, because it is big. 

But it's okay. 

It's okay, because I've got a lot of hopes: 

I hope you're doing OK. 
I hope you've got dreams up your sleeves and plans drawn in blue pencil, and datebooks that are full of important events, and I hope there are people you want to meet and talk to and laugh with and kiss and sleep with, and I hope there are clean socks, and nice showers. I hope the soap smells mighty fine, and that your siblings win at life. 
I hope you get the girl, love the boy, live the dream. 
I hope you learn how to pray, wear the false eyelashes, and don your party hats of newspaper and flowers.
 I hope you go out, and I hope you get drunk.
 I hope you get wasted. 
I hope you write something nice, and I hope you make the right/wrong decision. And I hope you preserve your sense of self in this mad world, where everyone 
pushes you and pulls you and pushes you and pulls you. 
I hope you sleep well. 
Read more. 
Dance more. 
I hope you stay up until 3 am, talking under twinkle lights. 
I hope you wear a pair of killer shoes, and help someone unexpected, and I hope you tell everyone how much you love them. 
Because life is too short. 
I hope you eat more breakfast tacos, and drink the right amount of coffee so that you're not anxious, just jazzed. 
I hope you don't hurt too much. 
I hope you're not lonely. 
I hope you sing a lot. 
I hope you figure it out. 
I hope you are under the right disco ball in the right room in the right bar in the right city at the right time.


I hope 13 is lucky. 
Oh Beloveds. 
I hope it's a year to remember. 

XOXO