Pesto alla Trapanese — The Pasta We Ordered the Night He Asked

He asked. Saturday. I drove to Lejeune Friday night — the usual routine, the four-hour drive, the Honda with 135,000 miles that I swear makes the trip on faith alone. Ryan met me at the gate. Normal. Drove to a restaurant off-base for dinner. Normal. Except he was wearing a blazer, which is NOT normal — I have never seen Ryan Abernathy in a blazer. The man owns three shirts and two of them are t-shirts. 'Why are you wearing a blazer?' I said. 'I own a blazer.' 'Since WHEN?' 'Since Tuesday. Torres helped me pick it out.' Torres helped him pick out a blazer. His Marine buddy helped him shop for proposal clothes. I love everything about this. The restaurant was a small Italian place in Jacksonville, NC — the kind with red-and-white checkered tablecloths and candles in wine bottles. Not fancy. Not expensive. Perfect. Ryan doesn't have money. Marines don't have money. But he had a blazer and a reservation and a nervous energy that made his leg bounce under the table. We ordered. Pasta. I don't remember what kind because my heart was beating so loud I couldn't hear the waiter. Ryan ate in silence, which is unusual — he's normally a talker at dinner. He kept touching his jacket pocket. After dinner, he asked if we could take a walk. There's a park near the restaurant — nothing special, just a patch of grass with a bench and some old oak trees. We walked. He held my hand. The October air was cool and the leaves were turning and the sky was doing that thing where the last light goes purple-pink at the edges. He stopped walking. He faced me. He said: 'Rachel. I know it's fast. I know everyone thinks it's fast. But I knew at the bar. I knew when you told me not to call you ma'am. I knew when you drove four hours to eat tacos in my barracks. I knew when you made that casserole with the crunchy rice and it was the best thing I'd ever eaten, not because it was good but because YOU made it. I know what I want. I want you. I want dinner at 1800. I want your mom's chicken. I want your dad's tomatoes. I want THIS.' He got on one knee. He opened the box. The ring was small — a thin gold band with a tiny diamond that caught the last of the light. It was not expensive. It was everything. 'Rachel Leigh Abernathy — and yes, I know we have the same last name and yes, I know it's ridiculous — will you marry me?' 'YES. Yes. Obviously yes. Get up. Get UP, Ryan.' He got up. He put the ring on my finger. It fit. He kissed me and I was laughing and crying and he was laughing and crying and we were two stupid kids in a park in Jacksonville, North Carolina, with a $300 ring and a future we couldn't see and all the certainty in the world. I called Mom from the car. 'He asked. I said yes.' Silence. Then, quietly: 'I know, baby. I know.' She was crying. Donna Abernathy, who doesn't cry in front of her daughters, was crying on the phone. 'Are you happy, Rachel?' 'I'm so happy, Mom.' 'Then I'm happy.' Dad got on the phone. 'Congratulations, kiddo. Tell him to take care of you.' 'He will, Dad.' 'I know. That's why I said yes.' I'm engaged. I'm nineteen years old and I'm engaged to a Marine named Abernathy and the ring is small and the future is enormous and dinner will be at 1800 wherever we end up. Here we go.

That little Italian place in Jacksonville — checkered tablecloths, candles in wine bottles, a nervous Marine touching his jacket pocket — is where I want to live forever, at least in my kitchen. I couldn’t tell you what pasta I ordered that night because my heart was too loud to hear the waiter, but Pesto alla Trapanese is exactly the kind of dish I imagine it was: bright with fresh tomatoes, a little rustic, nothing pretentious, the sort of food that lets a moment be what it needs to be. Every time I make it now, I’m back in that park under the purple-pink October sky, laughing and crying with a $300 ring on my finger, absolutely certain.

Pesto alla Trapanese

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 12 oz dried pasta (busiate, spaghetti, or linguine)
• 1 cup cherry tomatoes or ripe Roma tomatoes, roughly chopped
• 1/2 cup raw almonds, blanched
• 1 cup fresh basil leaves, packed
• 2 cloves garlic
• 1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
• 1/4 cup grated Pecorino Romano or Parmesan cheese, plus more to serve
• 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes (optional)
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• 1/2 cup reserved pasta water

Instructions

1. Toast the almonds. In a dry skillet over medium heat, toast the almonds for 3–4 minutes, stirring often, until lightly golden and fragrant. Remove from heat and let cool slightly.
2. Build the pesto base. Add the cooled almonds and garlic to a food processor with a pinch of salt. Pulse until coarsely ground, about 8–10 pulses.
3. Add the tomatoes and basil. Add the chopped tomatoes, basil leaves, and red pepper flakes to the processor. Pulse another 6–8 times until the mixture is combined but still has some texture — this pesto should be rustic, not smooth.
4. Stream in the oil. With the processor running, slowly pour in the olive oil until the pesto comes together. Stir in the grated cheese by hand. Taste and adjust salt and pepper.
5. Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Before draining, scoop out 1/2 cup of pasta water and set aside.
6. Toss and serve. Add the drained pasta to a large bowl. Spoon in the pesto and toss to coat, adding splashes of the reserved pasta water as needed to loosen the sauce and help it cling to the noodles. Divide into bowls and finish with extra grated cheese and a few fresh basil leaves.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 515 | Protein: 13g | Fat: 27g | Carbs: 59g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 205mg