Asparagus Spaghetti — The Pasta I Make Every June 18th

Our anniversary. June 18. Thirty-one years. Mamma's princess cake arrived at three PM, delivered by Erik, carried with the same reverence he carries her meatball pans. The cake was perfect — the green marzipan dome smooth and glossy, the pink rose on top, the layers visible when I cut it: sponge, cream, jam, sponge, more cream, marzipan. The cake that Mamma made for our wedding in 1988. The same recipe. The same hands. Thirty-one years older. I brought Paul a slice — pureed, blended with a little cream to make it smooth enough to swallow. The taste was preserved: vanilla, almond, raspberry. He ate it from the spoon I held and his eyes closed and I said, "Do you remember the wedding cake?" He typed: "I remember everything. Your dress. Your father crying. My glasses were dirty." The machine said it. I laughed. "Your glasses are always dirty," I said. He typed a smiley face. I made the spring pasta for dinner, as requested. Peas, asparagus, cream, Parmesan. Paul had it pureed. I set the table with the good dishes — the wedding dishes, the ones with the etched S pattern, eleven left now (one broken by Paul's hand, back when hands could break things). I lit candles. I put flowers on the table — wildflowers from the yard, nothing fancy. Two places. Two candles. Two plates. We ate. Paul from the cup, me from the plate. The pasta was the same as every year and different from every year and the difference was everything. After dinner, I put on music — not the Lightfoot song, not shipwrecks, just music, the Swedish folk songs that we danced to at our wedding reception in the church basement. "Vñrvindar friska" — "Fresh Spring Winds." The melody filled the kitchen and I stood by Paul's wheelchair and I put my hand on his shoulder and he couldn't hold me, couldn't dance with me, couldn't do anything except sit and feel my hand on his shoulder and hear the music that was playing when we were twenty-eight and thirty and the whole world was ahead of us. He typed: "Dance, Linda." I said, "I can't dance alone." He typed: "You're not alone. I'm right here." The machine said it. I put both hands on his shoulders and I swayed to the music and his eyes were on mine and we danced. Not the way we danced in 1988 — not upright, not holding each other, not spinning across the church basement floor. But we danced. My hands on his shoulders. His eyes on mine. The music playing. The candles burning. Thirty-one years. In sickness and in health. The vows were written for this. The vows were written for the princess cake and the pureed pasta and the dancing that's just hands on shoulders and eyes meeting eyes. The vows hold.

This is the pasta I made for dinner that night — the same pasta I have made every June 18th for more years than I can count now. Peas, asparagus, cream, Parmesan, a little lemon to brighten it. Paul requested it this year the same way he requested it last year, and the year before that, typed out on his device one letter at a time. I pureed his portion smooth and served mine on the wedding dishes, and we ate by candlelight with wildflowers on the table, and it was ordinary and sacred all at once. This is that recipe.

Asparagus Spaghetti

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

Ingredients

• 12 oz spaghetti
• 1 lb fresh asparagus, tough ends trimmed, cut into 1-inch pieces
• 1 cup frozen peas, thawed
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 3/4 cup heavy cream
• 3/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
• 1 teaspoon lemon zest
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• 2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped

Instructions

1. Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook spaghetti according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta cooking water before draining.
2. Blanch the asparagus. In the last 2 minutes of the pasta’s cook time, add the asparagus pieces directly to the boiling pasta water. Drain together with the spaghetti.
3. Build the sauce. In a large skillet over medium heat, melt the butter. Add the garlic and cook, stirring, for about 1 minute until fragrant — do not let it brown.
4. Add the cream. Pour in the heavy cream and bring to a gentle simmer. Cook for 2–3 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the cream thickens slightly.
5. Combine. Add the drained spaghetti and asparagus to the skillet along with the thawed peas. Toss everything together over low heat, adding a splash of the reserved pasta water as needed to loosen the sauce.
6. Finish with Parmesan and lemon. Remove from heat. Stir in the Parmesan, lemon zest, and lemon juice. Season generously with salt and pepper. Toss until the cheese is melted and the sauce coats the pasta evenly.
7. Serve. Divide into bowls and top with chopped parsley and additional Parmesan. Serve immediately with good candles on the table.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 520 | Protein: 19g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 64g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 320mg