Pork Lo Mein with Spaghetti

August begins and Miya's birthday approaches. She will be three on August 8th — the same day as mine. We share a birthday, a fact that felt cosmically significant when she was born and now feels practically convenient: one party, one cake, two Leos. Brian says Miya got my stubbornness. I say Miya got my persistence. The difference between stubbornness and persistence is whether you agree with the person's goal.

I planned our birthday dinner: gyoza. Not from a recipe card — I've made Fumiko's gyoza enough times now that the recipe is in my hands, not on paper. The folding, the pleating, the way you press the edges with wet fingers and crimp them into the half-moon shape that Fumiko insisted upon. Miya wants to help fold. She is three. Her gyoza look like small, damp accidents. I line them up next to mine and the contrast is a lesson in time: my gyoza took three years of practice to look right. Hers will take three years too. But she's starting. She's starting.

I turned thirty-four. The number feels unremarkable, wedged between the drama of thirty and the looming significance of thirty-five. Thirty-four is a middle number, a hallway year, a year you pass through on the way to somewhere else. Brian gave me a yoga mat — a nice one, the kind I'd been wanting — which was thoughtful and also ironic, because the thing I most need from Brian is not a mat but a conversation, and the mat will outlast the marriage.

Barbara called from Ashland. She and Gerald are settled there now — Barbara doing community theater, Gerald retired and content. Barbara talked for twenty minutes about a production of Our Town she's directing. I listened and said "mm-hmm" at the right intervals and felt the particular comfort of being Barbara's daughter: you don't have to carry the conversation. Barbara carries conversations the way rivers carry water — naturally, constantly, without effort or pause. It is her gift and occasionally her weapon, and today it was a gift.

I wrote a birthday post for the blog — about sharing a birthday with your daughter, about the way motherhood collapses time, about the fact that on August 8th, 1985, Barbara held me for the first time, and on August 8th, 2016, I held Miya for the first time, and the gesture was the same gesture separated by thirty-one years, and the love was the same love, unbroken, undiminished, passed hand to hand like a bowl of soup that never cools.

After we folded the gyoza — Miya’s lumpy little accidents lined up proudly beside my pleated half-moons — I needed something to round out the birthday table that carried the same spirit: simple, pork-forward, unapologetically homey. Pork Lo Mein with Spaghetti is the kind of dish that asks nothing of you except attention, which felt right for a thirty-four-year-old hallway year and a three-year-old who is only just beginning. It’s what Fumiko would have called a “next plate” — the thing you put on the table after the dumplings, so the meal keeps going and nobody has to stop celebrating.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

8 oz spaghetti
1 lb ground pork
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated
2 cups shredded cabbage
1 medium carrot, julienned
3 green onions, sliced, divided
3 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon oyster sauce
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1 teaspoon hoisin sauce
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook spaghetti according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/4 cup pasta water, then drain and set aside.
Make the sauce. In a small bowl, whisk together soy sauce, oyster sauce, sesame oil, and hoisin sauce. Set aside.
Brown the pork. Heat vegetable oil in a large skillet or wok over medium-high heat. Add ground pork, breaking it up with a spoon, and cook until no longer pink, about 5–7 minutes. Season lightly with salt and pepper. Drain excess fat if needed.
Add aromatics and vegetables. Push the pork to one side of the pan. Add garlic and ginger to the cleared side and cook 30 seconds until fragrant. Add cabbage and carrot, tossing everything together, and stir-fry for 3–4 minutes until vegetables are just tender.
Combine with noodles. Add the drained spaghetti to the skillet. Pour the sauce over the top and toss everything together over medium-high heat, using tongs to coat evenly. If the noodles seem dry, add reserved pasta water a tablespoon at a time until glossy and well-sauced.
Finish and serve. Add most of the green onions and red pepper flakes, toss once more, and taste for seasoning. Transfer to a serving dish and garnish with remaining green onions. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pork Lo Mein with Spaghetti — The Dish That Taught Us Both to Start