Pasta con Tonno — What to Do With the Pasta You Made With Your Own Two Hands

Spring is arriving. The crocuses are up in Carol's yard again — same crocuses, same yard, same reliable return of purple and yellow against brown soil, and I am here to see them again, which is not guaranteed and never will be and which makes the crocuses more beautiful than any flower has a right to be.

Two years since the blog began. Two years of this kitchen, this life, this voice. I am not the same woman who stood in this kitchen in March 2016 making refrigerator casserole and wondering what to feed her family. That woman was married, pre-cancer, and cooking from obligation. This woman is divorced, post-cancer, and cooking from love. The food has changed too — from ranch basics to ranch-plus, from survival meals to exploration, from "what's in the fridge" to "what haven't I tried yet." The kitchen is the same. The stove is the same. The cast iron skillet is the same. But the woman holding the wooden spoon is different, and the difference is everything.

Mason turned seven next month, but he's already in full birthday planning mode — he wants a "science party" with experiments and microscopes and, quote, "nothing babyish." He is six going on sixteen and I am simultaneously amused and alarmed by his premature sophistication. He asked if he could make his own birthday cake. I said yes. He asked if he could choose the flavor. I said yes. He said, "Lemon." Lemon. Not chocolate, not vanilla, not anything a six-year-old is supposed to want. Lemon. My son wants a lemon cake because he tasted one at Claire's and thought it was "complex," a word he learned from a nature documentary and is applying to baked goods. I am raising a food critic.

I went to Brett and Claire's for Wednesday dinner — a reversal of our usual arrangement. Claire made roasted chicken with lemon and herbs, and Brett made the salad (his specialty, which he has elevated to an art form through sheer force of practice and Claire's guidance). We ate at their small table in their North End apartment, and the windows were open because it was finally warm enough, and the spring air came in smelling like rain and possibility, and I thought: this is what rebuilding looks like. Not the dramatic version. Not the movie version. Just four people at a table, eating chicken, with the windows open and the night coming on gently.

New recipe #10: homemade pasta. Flour, eggs, salt, olive oil. Kneaded, rested, rolled thin (by hand, no pasta machine — the machine is aspirational), cut into fettuccine. Tossed with butter and Parmesan. Simple. Pure. The kind of food that is only as good as its ingredients and its technique, which means it's either transcendent or terrible, and mine was — honestly — somewhere in the middle. Thick in places, thin in others, slightly chewy. But I made pasta. From flour and eggs. With my hands. On my counter. In my kitchen. And it was mine.

That first batch of homemade pasta — uneven, slightly chewy, entirely mine — deserved a sauce as honest as the effort behind it. Pasta con tonno is exactly that: pantry staples, olive oil, a little brine, nothing to hide behind. It’s the kind of dish that meets imperfect pasta where it is and makes it feel intentional, which is about as good a metaphor for rebuilding as I’ve found in a kitchen. If you’re rolling your first fettuccine by hand the way I was, this is the recipe to reach for when it comes off the board.

Pasta con Tonno with Homemade Fettuccine

Prep Time: 40 min (includes pasta) | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 55 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• For the homemade fettuccine:
• 2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
• 3 large eggs
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• For the pasta con tonno:
• 1/3 cup good olive oil
• 4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
• 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
• 2 tablespoons capers, drained and roughly chopped
• 2 cans (5 oz each) oil-packed tuna, drained
• 1/2 cup dry white wine (or pasta water)
• Zest and juice of 1 lemon
• 1/4 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped
• Kosher salt and black pepper to taste
• Freshly grated Parmesan, for serving (optional)

Instructions

1. Make the dough. Mound the flour on a clean counter and make a well in the center. Crack the eggs into the well, add the salt and olive oil. Using a fork, beat the eggs gently, then begin pulling flour from the inner walls of the well. When it becomes too thick for the fork, switch to your hands and knead until a shaggy dough forms.
2. Knead and rest. Knead the dough firmly for 8–10 minutes until smooth and elastic — it should spring back slowly when pressed. Wrap tightly in plastic wrap and rest at room temperature for 30 minutes. (Do not skip this. The rest is doing important work.)
3. Roll and cut. Divide the dough into 4 pieces. Working with one at a time (keep the others covered), use a rolling pin to roll each piece as thin as you can manage — aim for 1/8 inch or thinner. Dust generously with flour, fold the sheet loosely, and cut into 1/4-inch strips. Unroll gently and dust with more flour. Set aside on a floured surface.
4. Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil. Homemade pasta cooks fast — 2 to 3 minutes once it floats. Taste early.
5. Build the sauce. While the water heats, warm the olive oil in a large skillet over medium-low heat. Add the garlic and red pepper flakes and cook gently, 2–3 minutes, until the garlic is fragrant and just barely golden. Do not let it brown.
6. Add tuna and capers. Add the capers to the skillet and stir. Break the drained tuna into the pan in large, rough pieces — resist the urge to shred it fine. Let it warm through for about 2 minutes.
7. Deglaze. Pour in the white wine (or a ladleful of pasta water) and let it simmer for 2 minutes, scraping up any bits from the bottom of the pan. Add the lemon zest.
8. Cook the pasta. Drop the fettuccine into the boiling water. Cook 2–3 minutes until just tender. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta water before draining.
9. Finish together. Add the drained pasta directly to the skillet. Toss over medium heat, adding splashes of pasta water as needed until the sauce coats every strand. Add the lemon juice and parsley, toss once more, and taste for salt and pepper.
10. Serve immediately. Plate and top with Parmesan if you like, though the dish holds its own without it. Eat it while it’s hot and the pasta is still yours.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 520 | Protein: 32g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 48g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 610mg