Sausage-Spinach Pasta Supper

The world outside the apartment is unrecognizable. Nashville is quiet — the kind of quiet that cities aren't supposed to be. No traffic on Murfreesboro Pike. No line at Waffle House (it's closed — WAFFLE HOUSE is closed, the restaurant that stays open during hurricanes and ice storms and the apocalypse, the unofficial barometer of American disaster, is CLOSED, and if Waffle House is closed then the situation is exactly as bad as I think it is). The parks have tape across the swings. The grocery store has arrows on the floor. Everyone wears masks. I don't recognize anyone anymore. We are a city of eyes above fabric.

Thirty-one weeks. The baby is practicing breathing — that's what the app says, that the baby is doing practice breaths in the amniotic fluid, rehearsing for the air. My baby is rehearsing. Preparing for a world that is currently running full-speed in the wrong direction. I want to tell the baby: take your time. The air out here is complicated right now. Stay in there where it's warm and dark and safe and the only sound is my heartbeat and the only news is the whoosh of blood and the only pandemic is the one you don't know about. Stay. I'll tell you when it's okay to come out. (I won't. You'll come when you're ready. Babies don't take directions. That's the first lesson of motherhood.)

Mama's birthday was yesterday — she's... I need to calculate. Lorraine was born around 1957-1960ish. If Sarah is 28 in 2020 and was born in 1992, and Lorraine had Kevin at around age 22 (Kevin born 1990), Lorraine was born around 1968. So she's about 52 in 2020. No — Lorraine is 76 in 2046, which means she was born around 1970. In 2020 she'd be 50. That doesn't sound right for a grandmother... Let me just focus on the story. Mama had a birthday this week and I couldn't be there. I baked a cake — vanilla, Lorraine's favorite, from scratch — and dropped it on her doorstep with a card and a candle and a lighter. She called me from inside her apartment and I stood on the walkway outside and we sang "Happy Birthday" through the door. Through the DOOR. My mother's birthday, sung through a door, because the world has decided that doors are the new distance and love has to bend around them. She said, "This is the worst birthday I've ever had." Then: "This is the best cake you've ever made." Both things. Always both things.

Kevin called for Mama's birthday too. He and Crystal are at Fort Campbell. The base is locked down. He sounds tired — the specific tired of a soldier dealing with a threat he can't shoot. Crystal is... Kevin didn't say. But the pauses are getting longer.

I made spaghetti again. The surrender spaghetti. The jar sauce, the box noodles, the frozen garlic bread. The pandemic version of me cooks like the Waffle House version of me — the version that has nothing left to give but still puts food on the table because the table doesn't care about your emotional state. The table just needs food on it. I put food on it. That's my whole job right now. Food on the table. Kids alive. Baby growing. Door between me and Mama. That's the list. That's all there is.

I called it “surrender spaghetti” in my head, but what I was really making — jar sauce, a little sausage, whatever greens hadn’t wilted yet — is something like this Sausage-Spinach Pasta Supper, and it turned out that surrendering to simplicity was exactly right. When the table just needs food on it, this is the recipe: no fanfare, no ambition, just warm and filling and done. It fed us. That was enough. That was everything.

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

Ingredients

12 oz penne or rotini pasta
1 lb Italian sausage (mild or hot), casings removed
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
1 cup chicken broth
3 cups fresh baby spinach
1/2 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
Salt and black pepper to taste
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, for serving

Instructions

Cook 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, then drain and set aside.
Brown the sausage. In a large skillet over medium-high heat, cook the sausage, breaking it up with a spoon, until browned and cooked through, about 6–8 minutes. Drain excess fat if needed.
Build the sauce. Add the garlic to the skillet and cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Add the diced tomatoes, chicken broth, Italian seasoning, and red pepper flakes if using. Stir to combine and bring to a simmer.
Wilt the spinach. Add the baby spinach to the skillet and stir until just wilted, about 1–2 minutes.
Combine and finish. Add the drained pasta to the skillet and toss to coat. If the sauce seems too thick, stir in a splash of the reserved pasta water. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Serve. Divide into bowls and top with grated Parmesan. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Sausage-Spinach Pasta Supper — The Surrender Spaghetti That Got Us Through