Valentine's Day. I made shrimp and grits for Connie. Year six. The grits were cheesy, the shrimp were perfect, the bacon was crisp. Connie wore the earrings from last year. I wore a clean flannel. We sat at the table with candles and Patsy Cline and sparkling cider (still no alcohol, still solidarity, though at this point the solidarity has become preference — I don't miss bourbon. The ginger ale has won. The ginger ale is the new bourbon. This is who I am now.) and we ate and talked and she said "Thirty years next October." Thirty. Three decades. A number that sounds like geography — thirty years is a mountain range, a continental divide, a distance you can't see across but can feel the weight of when you stand at the edge.
Clay made shrimp and grits for Ashley. At his apartment — he got a place in November, a small one-bedroom near the restaurant, his first solo living space. He texted me a photo: the grits in a bowl, the shrimp on top, a candle (a candle! My son lit a candle!). The grits looked right. The shrimp looked good. He said "She loved it." That's the review. She loved it. My son cooked his grandmother's shrimp and grits (well, it's Connie's recipe adapted from a Lowcountry tradition, but the technique is Betty-descended) for a woman he likes and she loved it and the food did what food does: it connected two people across a table with the specific intimacy that only shared meals provide.
I thought about Connie and me at the Pentecostal church in Evarts, October 1991, eating Betty's fried chicken at our wedding reception. The food was the first thing we shared as married people. The fried chicken was the foundation. Everything since — the house, the children, the mines, the deployments, the garage, the recovery — everything is built on the fried chicken. Clay is building something on shrimp and grits. The foundation is different. The principle is the same. You feed someone. They stay. That's the recipe for everything.
The shrimp and grits are Connie’s recipe, Betty-descended, and they belong to the Hensleysfull stop. But Clay’s text with that photo — the bowl, the candle, she loved it — reminded me that the recipe matters less than the intention behind it. If you want to put a meal on someone’s table that says “I thought about you before you arrived,” this lemon rosemary pasta does exactly that: it’s bright and a little elegant, it smells like something special is happening, and it comes together fast enough that you’re not still sweating over the stove when they walk in the door.
Lemon Rosemary Pasta with Chicken, Asparagus & Spinach
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 12 oz linguine or spaghetti
- 1 lb boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces
- 1 bunch asparagus (about 1 lb), tough ends trimmed, cut into 2-inch pieces
- 3 cups fresh baby spinach
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 tablespoons fresh rosemary, finely chopped (or 1 teaspoon dried)
- Zest and juice of 1 large lemon
- 3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
- 1/2 cup dry white wine or low-sodium chicken broth
- 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
- 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
- Salt and black pepper to taste
Instructions
- Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Before draining, reserve 1/2 cup of pasta water. Drain and set aside.
- Season the chicken. Pat chicken pieces dry and season generously with salt, black pepper, and half the rosemary. Toss to coat.
- Sear the chicken. Heat 2 tablespoons olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken in a single layer and cook 4—5 minutes per side until golden and cooked through. Transfer to a plate and tent loosely with foil.
- Cook the asparagus. In the same skillet, add the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil over medium heat. Add asparagus and cook 3—4 minutes, stirring occasionally, until just tender-crisp. Push to the edges of the pan.
- Build the sauce. Add garlic and remaining rosemary to the center of the skillet. Cook 30 seconds until fragrant. Pour in the white wine (or chicken broth) and lemon juice, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom. Let simmer 2 minutes.
- Bring it together. Add the drained pasta and chicken back to the skillet. Toss to coat, adding reserved pasta water a splash at a time if needed to loosen the sauce. Add spinach and toss until just wilted, about 1 minute.
- Finish and serve. Remove from heat. Stir in lemon zest and Parmesan. Taste and adjust salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes. Serve immediately with extra Parmesan on top.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 520 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 58g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 340mg