Basil Parmesan Pasta Sauce

Full planting weekend. Everything in the ground that can go in the ground: tomatoes, peppers, basil, squash, beans. Helen had the schedule mapped out on a notepad she keeps on the counter — which bed gets what, in what order, so nothing gets crowded or shaded by its neighbor. I follow the schedule. I have been following her schedule for forty years and the garden has never failed. I consider this evidence of something.

The tomatoes go in with a handful of crushed eggshells at the bottom of each hole, which Helen says prevents blossom end rot, which I cannot entirely explain biochemically but which seems to work, and in gardening as in cooking, if it works you do not require a full explanation before continuing to do it. The basil goes in a warm spot near the kitchen door, because basil wants heat and because having basil by the kitchen door means you can grab a handful on the way to the stove without putting on shoes. This is a system optimized for efficiency and I endorse it completely.

David called Saturday — he and Karen are coming up with all three kids for Memorial Day weekend in three weeks. Teddy is playing Little League this spring, which David reports he does with the same watchful intensity he brings to everything. I said I would come to a game if there was one near enough. David said there's one in Burlington on Memorial Day Saturday. I said I would be there. Helen said she would make sandwiches. We have a plan. This is what grandparents do in May: they make plans that involve sandwiches and a nine-year-old playing left field and the green Vermont spring making everything look possible.

The French radishes will be ready in three weeks. I can already taste them: the small, round ones, sharp and peppery, with a knob of good butter and coarse salt. This is the first taste of the kitchen garden every year, before the tomatoes, before the squash, before everything that requires patience. The radishes are the garden's first promise fulfilled.

The basil won’t be ready for weeks yet — it needs the heat to settle in, the roots to find their footing — but I planted it by the kitchen door for exactly this reason: the day it’s ready, I want to be able to grab a handful without putting on shoes and have something worth eating on the table before I’ve had time to overthink it. This sauce is what I have in mind when I push those seedlings into the warm soil every May. Simple, direct, and exactly as good as fresh basil deserves to be.

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

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (28 oz) crushed tomatoes
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 cup fresh basil leaves, loosely packed, roughly torn
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
1 lb pasta of your choice (spaghetti, penne, or rigatoni work well)

Instructions

Sauté the garlic. Heat olive oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the minced garlic and cook, stirring frequently, for 1 to 2 minutes until fragrant but not browned.
Build the sauce. Pour in the crushed tomatoes and stir to combine with the garlic. Add sugar, red pepper flakes if using, salt, and black pepper. Stir well.
Simmer. Reduce heat to medium-low and let the sauce simmer uncovered for 15 to 18 minutes, stirring occasionally, until it thickens slightly and the flavors come together.
Cook the pasta. While the sauce simmers, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook pasta according to package directions. Reserve 1/2 cup of pasta water before draining.
Finish with basil and Parmesan. Remove the sauce from heat. Stir in the torn fresh basil and grated Parmesan. Taste and adjust salt as needed. If the sauce is too thick, loosen with a splash of reserved pasta water.
Combine and serve. Toss the drained pasta with the sauce until well coated. Serve immediately with additional Parmesan grated over the top.

Nutrition (per serving)

Basil Parmesan Pasta Sauce — The First Handful from the Kitchen Door