Pasta with Prosciutto and Peas

The pea trellis is producing. The first pods appeared this week — slender and green, hanging from the vine like ornaments, and Jack picked them with a gentleness that seemed outsized for a vegetable but which made perfect sense for a boy who treats every living thing as though it might have feelings. He brought six pods to breakfast and distributed them raw: one for Kevin, one for me, one for Emma, one for Noah, two for himself. We ate fresh peas at seven AM. They were sweet and crisp and tasted like the word "spring" if you could eat the word "spring."

Noah had his last robotics meeting of the year. The team is disbanding for summer — different camps, different schedules, the natural pause that middle school activities take. He came home quiet, not sad but reflective, the way Noah is when something he cares about reaches a stopping point. He said, "I'm going to miss the lab." He means the school lab where they build. He means the team. He means the thing he found that makes him feel like himself. I said, "September will come." He said, "I know." He went to his room and played saxophone. The music through the wall was "Summertime" again. His comfort song. The song he plays when he's processing. Thirteen years old and he has a comfort song.

I made a spring risotto — the new-recipe-a-month resolution continuing. Arborio rice, chicken broth, white wine, asparagus, peas from Jack's garden, parmesan, butter. Risotto requires stirring. Twenty-five minutes of continuous stirring, adding broth one ladle at a time, watching the rice absorb and release and absorb again. It's meditative. It's the pasta-making of the rice world — something that requires your whole attention and rewards it with texture and flavor that no shortcut can replicate.

Kevin said, "You're branching out." I said, "The resolution." He said, "The resolution made you braver." He's right. The one-new-recipe-a-month resolution wasn't really about recipes. It was about leaving the comfort zone of Marlene's card box and discovering that I can cook things that didn't originate in a Iowa farm kitchen in 1974. I can cook risotto. I can cook shrimp pasta. I can cook things that have capers and artichoke hearts and arborio rice. I am still a farmer's daughter. I also make risotto now. Both things fit.

The risotto used the last of Jack’s peas that week, but his trellis kept producing — and I wasn’t about to let a single pod go to waste. Pasta with Prosciutto and Peas became the natural next step: something that honors those sweet, crisp little vegetables without burying them, something quick enough that I could make it while Noah’s saxophone drifted through the wall and still have dinner on the table before the music stopped. Salty prosciutto, bright peas, a handful of Parmesan — it turns out the garden and the pantry were already in conversation with each other.

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

Ingredients

12 oz linguine or thin spaghetti
4 oz prosciutto, torn into bite-sized pieces
1 1/2 cups fresh or frozen peas
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Salt for pasta water
2 tablespoons fresh mint or flat-leaf parsley, roughly 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. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta water before draining.
Crisp the prosciutto. While pasta cooks, heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the prosciutto pieces in a single layer and cook 2—3 minutes, turning once, until the edges are lightly crisp. Transfer to a plate and set aside, leaving the drippings in the pan.
Build the sauce. Reduce heat to medium-low. Add garlic to the skillet and cook 60 seconds until fragrant. Pour in the heavy cream and stir to combine, scraping up any browned bits. Simmer gently for 2 minutes.
Add the peas. Stir in the peas and cook 2—3 minutes, just until heated through and bright green. If using fresh garden peas, taste after 2 minutes — they need very little time.
Finish the dish. Add the drained pasta to the skillet and toss to coat. Add Parmesan and toss again, adding reserved pasta water a splash at a time until the sauce is silky and clings to the noodles. Return the prosciutto to the pan and fold gently to combine.
Season and serve. Taste for salt and add black pepper. Divide among bowls, top with additional Parmesan and a scatter of fresh mint or parsley if using. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pasta with Prosciutto and Peas — A Garden Row at a Time