Brussels Sprouts and Parmesan Pasta

The school went fully remote this week — a cluster of cases in the junior class, then one in the faculty, and the principal made the call on Monday: virtual instruction until further notice. I am back at the kitchen table, teaching through the laptop, my chalkboard replaced by a shared screen, my classroom replaced by a kitchen where Marvin occasionally walks through the frame and my students have learned to wave at him, and he waves back, the wave of a man who doesn't know why strangers are waving at him from inside a computer but who has the manners to wave back.

The return to full remote is a defeat — not mine, not the school's, but the virus's victory over the normalcy we tried to build, the careful architecture of plexiglass and six-foot spacing and one-way hallways that was never enough but was something, was better than nothing, was the difference between teaching in a room with real students and teaching in a room with a laptop and a sixty-nine-year-old man who sometimes sits behind me and falls asleep, which the students find both funny and heartbreaking, and which I find both funny and heartbreaking, and the overlap between their perception and mine is the closest thing to connection I have with these kids right now.

I made a pot of minestrone — a big pot, enough for a week, the kind of soup that gets better each day it sits in the refrigerator and is reheated, the flavors deepening and merging the way flavors do when they're given time and containment. Beans, pasta, tomatoes, zucchini, carrots, kale, Parmesan rind in the broth for depth. It's not Ashkenazi. It's Italian. It's the soup of the neighbors on Long Island who taught me that soup is universal, that broth and vegetables and care translate across every culture, and that the best soups are the ones that use what you have, which is what I have always done, which is what Sylvia did, which is what every woman in every kitchen has done since kitchens existed: you look at what you have, and you make something from it, and you feed whoever is hungry.

The minestrone carried us through the week, but by Friday I wanted something that required a little more presence — standing at the stove, stirring, smelling garlic in hot oil — the kind of cooking that pulls you back into your body when a week of screens has scattered you. This Brussels sprouts and Parmesan pasta is what I made when the pot ran dry: still Italian in spirit, still built on the same faith that good olive oil and a generous hand with Parmesan can make almost anything taste like someone cared, which is all any of us are really trying to do right now.

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

Ingredients

12 oz pasta (such as penne, rigatoni, or farfalle)
1 lb Brussels sprouts, trimmed and halved
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 cup dry white wine (or low-sodium vegetable broth)
1/2 cup reserved pasta cooking water
3/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Salt and black pepper to taste
Zest of 1 lemon

Instructions

Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup of pasta cooking water before draining. Drain and set aside.
Sear the Brussels sprouts. While the pasta cooks, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the halved Brussels sprouts cut-side down in a single layer. Cook without stirring for 4–5 minutes until deeply browned. Season with salt and pepper, toss, and cook another 2–3 minutes until tender. Transfer to a plate.
Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon of olive oil to the same skillet. Add garlic and red pepper flakes and cook, stirring frequently, for 1–2 minutes until fragrant and just golden. Pour in the white wine and simmer for 2 minutes, scraping up any browned bits from the pan.
Bring it together. Add the drained pasta and reserved pasta water to the skillet. Stir to coat. Return the Brussels sprouts to the pan. Add butter and Parmesan, tossing vigorously until the cheese melts and the sauce clings to the pasta. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper.
Finish and serve. Remove from heat and stir in the lemon zest. Divide among bowls and top with additional Parmesan and a drizzle of olive oil if desired. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Brussels Sprouts and Parmesan Pasta — The Soup That Carries You Through