By October 2025. Table celebrated its first full year of service with a private dinner for family and the restaurant's original investors. Ethan invited us and we went: Gary and me, Olivia home for the weekend, Noah dressed in an actual jacket. The meal was a retrospective — dishes from throughout the year, each one representing a different phase of the first year's learning. Twelve courses. Twelve tables of guests. The kitchen visible through the glass, Mia and the team moving in the precise choreography of a kitchen that has found its rhythm.
Ethan gave a brief speech before the meal. He thanked his team. He thanked his investors. He said, "I want to thank my mother, who taught me that food is care and that a kitchen is a place of repair. Everything in this room started in her kitchen." He didn't look at me when he said it. He was talking to the room. I was crying into my napkin, which is a very un-restaurant-appropriate thing to do and which I did not attempt to hide.
Gary put his hand on my back. Noah, who was on my other side, said very quietly: "He meant that." I said, "I know he did." Noah said, "So did she." He meant Grace. He meant the thing I've never said out loud to Noah but that he has somehow always known was the reason for everything. My youngest child. He knows.
Twelve courses. The duck. The pasta. A dessert of apple and caramel that contained everything autumn has to offer. I ate all of it. That's my review. I ate every bite.
The pasta course at Table that night was the one that quieted the room — something about the brightness of it, the way it tasted like a chef had decided to trust simple things entirely. I am not a restaurant chef. I am a woman who learned to cook because someone needed to eat, and then kept cooking because it turned out to matter. But after that evening — after Ethan’s speech, after Noah’s quiet words, after eating twelve courses like someone finally allowing herself to be fed — I came home and made this arugula pesto pasta, because it reminded me of that dish, and because making it felt like carrying something back from the table with me.
Arugula Pesto Pasta
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 12 oz linguine or spaghetti
- 3 cups fresh arugula, packed, plus more for garnish
- 1/2 cup fresh basil leaves
- 1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
- 1/4 cup pine nuts, lightly toasted
- 2 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
- 1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
- 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
- 1/2 teaspoon lemon zest
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more for pasta water
- 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
- 1/2 cup reserved pasta cooking water
Instructions
- Toast the pine nuts. In a small dry skillet over medium heat, toast the pine nuts for 2–3 minutes, stirring frequently, until golden and fragrant. Remove from heat and let cool.
- Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil. Cook the linguine according to package directions until al dente. Before draining, reserve 1/2 cup of the starchy pasta cooking water. Drain the pasta and set aside.
- Make the arugula pesto. In a food processor, combine the arugula, basil, Parmesan, toasted pine nuts, and garlic. Pulse until coarsely chopped. With the processor running, stream in the olive oil until the pesto is smooth but still has some texture. Add the lemon juice, lemon zest, salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes if using. Pulse once more to combine. Taste and adjust seasoning.
- Combine pasta and pesto. Return the drained pasta to the pot over low heat. Add the pesto and toss to coat, adding reserved pasta water a few tablespoons at a time until the sauce clings to the noodles and is silky rather than thick.
- Serve. Divide among shallow bowls. Top with a small handful of fresh arugula, an extra grating of Parmesan, and a drizzle of olive oil. Serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 560 | Protein: 15g | Fat: 28g | Carbs: 63g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 380mg