A Simple Summer Sauce (with notes on cooking + writing)

The last time I attempted to write was on May 3rd. On May 3rd I started to log all of my fire escape meals and then stopped, it was sudden. The onset likely spurred from an online dating burn, I can tend to get lost in my thoughts and in my mind. I’ll cook, create and eat - there’s always eating - but the first thing I stop doing is writing about all of it. Details falling through the cracks, each meal made, eaten and barely mentioned - at least not here. Writing brings me calm, evenness - similarly to cooking - and it also takes mental energy, focus and honesty. When I’m sad I shelve the things I know I need, human nature I think.

My kitchen floors were recently updated, walls re-plastered and fresh coats of paint applied. I took the month of July as an opportunity to update my kitchen, to detail it in such a way that would promote not only hours of cooking but hours of writing. Fit with a new island, a bistro table and barstools - I can imagine I’m in a cafe writing, eating, being. I can sit at my table and look into the expanse of my tiny kitchen that opens a whole new world. Some days I’m not here, but far away in my mind. Maybe in Naples, in Nice, sometimes back in Brooklyn. It depends.

Half rotten tomatoes sat atop the oak butcher block of my new kitchen island. Black spots, little dots of white surrounding the periphery of said black spots - most people might have trashed the tomatoes. Not here. Not with garlic on hand, fresh basil and cooked pasta from Sunday’s dinner leftover, along with a chunk of fresh mozzarella.

I chopped tomatoes, but this time it was different. I could feel my weight settle into my feet, grounding me to the new floor - the knife slicing through the tomatoes with ease. Something felt easy, finally. Garlic and oil cooked until I could smell their marriage. Tomatoes tossed into the popping oil; ripe for a sweet sauce that came to life in 10 minutes. The cold, pre-cooked pasta placed into the pan with basil and haphazardly cut squares of mozzarella which I knew would melt to a gooey finish. With a wooden spoon I skimmed the periphery of the pan, gently turning the pasta until the tomatoes coated their spirals and the mozzarella melted. It was the perfect song to myself. A perfectly simply meal to finally share and write about here.

I set my bistro table for one. Greek music hummed from my kitchen radio, then some flamenco. Talk radio never ceases to surprise me with its guests and musical nods. And I like that I can still surprise myself after all these years of cooking. I can still time travel to Italy or my grandmas basement - all through memory, cooking and writing. I finally remembered what it was I was missing. It wasn’t the dating burn, it was myself. It was the power to imagine more.

Fresh Tomato Sauce

3 ripened plum tomatoes, chopped into chunks
3 cloves of garlic, smashed, skin removed and sliced
1 healthy swirl of olive oil in a warm pan
Salt
Fresh mozzarella and basil, if you have it on hand *makes for a goopy surprise in every few pasta bites!
Grated pecorino romano or parmigiano reggiano

Heat the olive oil and garlic in warm pan, adding tomatoes and a sprinkle of salt. Cook for 10 minutes over medium low heat, until the tomatoes break down (skin will come off and you’ll have seeds, that’s the beauty of a fresh sauce - perfectly imperfect). Add cooked pasta, mozzarella and basil directly to the pan, toss to coat and finish with a drizzle of olive oil. Top with additional basil and grated cheese.