Garlic Butter Pasta

I wrote the proposal. Three pages. The history of Set the Table: from six girls to twelve, from scrambled eggs to fried chicken, from a Saturday morning cooking class to a program that teaches cooking, budgeting, meal planning, and self-worth. I included testimonials from the girls (Destiny wrote hers; it was better than my proposal). I included a budget. I included a vision: twenty girls by fall, two Saturday sessions, the same kitchen, the same mission. Set the table. Feed yourself. Know that you matter.

I submitted it to the church board and then immediately had a panic attack in the parking lot because asking for things is hard and asking for things from institutions is harder and asking for things from an institution where you also sing soprano and chair the food drive is the hardest because the lines between volunteer and visionary are blurred and I am standing in the blur saying: this matters. This matters enough to grow.

Derek read the proposal. He said, "This is excellent." Then he said, "You undersold yourself." I said, "What do you mean?" He said, "You wrote about the program. You didn't write about the woman who built the program." I looked at him. He said, "The program IS you. The board needs to know that. The vision, the heart, the reason girls walk into a kitchen on Saturday morning and walk out knowing they matter — that's you. Put yourself in the proposal." I rewrote the introduction. I put myself in. Not Mama. Not the grief. Me. Tamika Washington, thirty-eight years old, school counselor, daughter, mother, cook. The woman who sets the table. The woman who shows up.

Made dinner in a daze (post-proposal-submission adrenaline crash): pasta with butter and parmesan, the simplest meal in my repertoire, the one that requires nothing but boiling water and showing up. Marcus said, "This is the lazy dinner." I said, "This is the genius dinner." He said, "There's no protein." I said, "Cheese is protein." He considered this. He ate three bowls. Sometimes genius is just butter and noodles and not pretending it's more than it is.

The night I hit submit on that proposal, I had nothing left — no creativity, no patience, no desire to stand over a stove performing a meal. What I had was butter, garlic, parmesan, and a box of pasta, and that turned out to be exactly enough. Marcus called it the lazy dinner. I’m calling it what it actually is: the dinner that shows up when you’ve already shown up everywhere else. Garlic butter pasta doesn’t ask for anything. It just gives.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

12 oz spaghetti or linguine
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
1/2 cup freshly grated parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
1/4 cup pasta cooking water, reserved
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped (optional)

Instructions

Boil the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Before draining, scoop out 1/4 cup of the starchy pasta water and set aside. Drain the pasta.
Cook the garlic. While the pasta cooks, melt butter in a large skillet over medium-low heat. Add the minced garlic and red pepper flakes. Cook, stirring frequently, for 1 to 2 minutes until fragrant — do not let the garlic brown.
Toss the pasta. Add the drained pasta directly to the skillet. Pour in the reserved pasta water and toss to coat everything evenly in the butter and garlic.
Add the parmesan. Remove the skillet from heat. Add the grated parmesan and toss until the cheese melts into a light, creamy sauce that clings to the noodles. Season with salt and black pepper.
Serve immediately. Plate the pasta and top with extra parmesan and fresh parsley if using. Serve hot, with no apology for its simplicity.

Nutrition (per serving)

Garlic Butter Pasta — The Genius Dinner That Asks Nothing of You