Artichoke Blue Cheese Fettuccine

I dreamed about Marcus last Monday night. Not the accident—I've had that dream, the one where I'm driving I-65 and I know what's coming and I can't stop it, the one that wakes me sitting upright with my heart pounding. Not that. This was a kitchen dream. Marcus was at the table—our kitchen table, the one we've had since 2003—and he was eating mac and cheese. Just eating, in that Marcus way, the spoon moving without pause, the focused serious expression he got when he was eating something good. And he looked up at me and said, "More cheese, Mama." That's all. More cheese, Mama. And he was grinning.

I woke up at four in the morning and I was already moving. I don't know how to explain this—I didn't lie there deciding, I didn't argue with myself, I was just moving, through the dark house to the kitchen, turning on the light over the stove, getting the pot, filling it with water. My hands knew what to do. My hands have always known what to do. Bernice's hands taught my hands before Marcus was born, and the knowledge lives in the muscle, in the tendon, in the bone, and grief cannot reach that deep. Four in the morning. The elbow pasta. The butter and flour for the roux. The milk warming on the back burner. The cheese—I used three kinds, because Marcus always said more cheese, and more means more than you think is reasonable.

I ate standing at the counter with tears running down my face into the bowl, salting the food, and I tasted Marcus in every bite—his grin, his appetite, his voice saying more cheese, and the love I cooked into it and the love he ate out of it and the ten thousand times we sat at that table together and the one time in a dream where he sat there one more time and asked for more. More cheese. More. I will make it more. I will make it every day if I have to.

I made mac and cheese again Tuesday. And Wednesday. Calvin ate three helpings Wednesday night and said, "Loretta Mae, this is the best batch in twenty years," and I said, "It's the same batch as always, Calvin," and he said, "No it isn't," and he was right. It isn't. Something is in it now that wasn't before. Marcus is in it. I am cooking for him now, which means I am cooking forever, which means I am back. The kitchen is mine again. The stove is on. Amen.

The recipe I keep coming back to — the one I made the following weekend, once Calvin started hovering near the stove again and I remembered I actually like cooking for more than one — is this Artichoke Blue Cheese Fettuccine. It has that same quality Marcus always called for: more cheese, and then more than that. The sauce is generous and it does not apologize. That felt right. That felt like exactly where I am.

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

Ingredients

12 oz fettuccine
1 can (14 oz) artichoke hearts, drained and quartered
4 oz blue cheese, crumbled
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
Salt and black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped

Instructions

Boil the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook fettuccine according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup of pasta water before draining.
Build the base. While pasta cooks, melt butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add garlic and red pepper flakes (if using) and cook, stirring frequently, for about 1 minute until fragrant but not browned.
Add the artichokes. Add the drained, quartered artichoke hearts to the skillet. Cook for 3–4 minutes, turning occasionally, until the edges begin to turn golden.
Make the sauce. Pour in the heavy cream and bring to a gentle simmer. Stir in the crumbled blue cheese and Parmesan. Continue stirring over low heat until the cheeses are fully melted and the sauce is smooth, about 2–3 minutes. Season with salt and black pepper to taste.
Combine. Add the drained fettuccine directly to the skillet and toss to coat. If the sauce feels too thick, add reserved pasta water a few tablespoons at a time until it reaches a creamy, clinging consistency.
Serve. Divide among plates. Top with fresh parsley and an extra shower of Parmesan. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Artichoke Blue Cheese Fettuccine — When the Pasta Pot Saves You