Pepperoni Rigatoni — The Jar You Open Before You Even Put It Away

The garden is at peak. Tomatoes coming in waves — the Romas heavy and meaty, the cherry tomatoes splitting with sweetness, the Early Girls perfect for slicing. I spent Saturday morning canning marinara — eight pints, the annual ritual, the work of standing at the stove and blanching and peeling and cooking and the kitchen smelling like August even though it's July. I canned alone. For the first time. Every previous year, Paul was somewhere in the orbit — reading on the porch, walking the lakewalk, present in the house even when he wasn't in the kitchen. This year the house is empty of him and the canning is solo and the solitude has a weight that the tomatoes don't offset. But the jars filled. Eight pints, sealed, cooling on the counter. The satisfying pop of each lid sealing. The proof that summer can be stored. That abundance can be banked. That the dark months ahead will have tomato sauce because the light months produced it. Anna called on Sunday. She's planning a visit — the first since Paul's funeral, COVID willing. She wants to bring Sophie. She wants to see the garden. She wants to sit at the table and eat a meal I've cooked. I said, "Come. Please come." The hunger for company is a physical thing now — I feel it in my chest, a hollowness that cooking fills partway and company fills the rest. I called Karin in Stockholm. The Sunday call, which Paul and I used to make together and which I now make alone. Karin sounds older on the phone — sixty-four now, retired from her teaching job, isolated in Stockholm's pandemic, cooking Swedish food in an actual Swedish kitchen. She said, "Are you eating, Linda?" Everyone asks this. As if the grief might have removed my appetite along with everything else. I said, "I'm eating, Karin. I'm canning marinara." She said, "In July?" I said, "The tomatoes are early." She said, "Your tomatoes are always early. Mamma would say it's the climate changing." I said, "Mamma would say it's my gardening." We laughed. The laugh was small but real. I made a summer dinner: pasta with fresh marinara — from the jar I'd just canned, opened already because fresh marinara is too good to save entirely. The sauce was bright and acidic and tasted like the garden and like July and like the work of a woman's hands in the soil and at the stove. Two places. One plate of pasta. One empty plate. The garden is at peak. The jars are sealed. The company is coming. The dark months will have sauce. That's something. That's a lot, actually.

That first jar — the one I opened the same afternoon I sealed it — became this dinner. Fresh marinara is too bright and alive to wait for winter, and rigatoni holds it the way I needed something to hold it: firmly, without fuss. I added pepperoni because the pantry had it and because a solo dinner in a quiet house deserves a little more than the minimum, a little more flavor, a little more reason to sit down and actually eat. This is the meal I set two places for, and finished alone, and did not regret making.

Pepperoni Rigatoni

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 12 oz rigatoni pasta
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 3 oz sliced pepperoni, halved
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
• 1 can (28 oz) crushed tomatoes (or 1 pint fresh-canned marinara)
• 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
• 1/2 teaspoon dried basil
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• 1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
• Fresh basil leaves for garnish (optional)

Instructions

1. Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook rigatoni according to package directions until al dente, about 11–13 minutes. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta water before draining.
2. Render the pepperoni. While pasta cooks, heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add pepperoni and cook, stirring occasionally, until the edges begin to crisp, about 3–4 minutes. The fat will render and the pan will smell wonderful.
3. Build the sauce base. Add garlic and red pepper flakes to the skillet with the pepperoni. Cook, stirring constantly, for 1 minute until fragrant. Do not let the garlic brown.
4. Add tomatoes and simmer. Pour in crushed tomatoes (or your freshly opened pint of marinara). Add oregano, basil, salt, and pepper. Stir to combine and bring to a gentle simmer. Cook uncovered for 12–15 minutes, until the sauce thickens slightly and the flavors meld.
5. Finish the pasta. Add the drained rigatoni directly to the skillet with the sauce. Toss to coat, adding reserved pasta water a splash at a time if the sauce is too thick. Stir in Parmesan and toss once more over low heat for 1 minute.
6. Serve. Divide into bowls. Top with additional Parmesan and fresh basil if using. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 520 | Protein: 20g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 70g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 780mg