By Angela Denstad
Time and again, life offers us opportunities to question what we thought we had already learned. We take as universal truth the stories we were told in childhood, or facts we were taught at school, and we fail to question them further. They remain fixed in our minds as the bricks out of which we construct reality. While it’s certainly helpful to have some solid groundwork for navigating the world – such as a realization that gravity applies equally under usual conditions – there are other instances where we might allow for more creativity of thought if we value innovation and discovery.
Aside from a few immutable pillars of morality and the basic laws of physics, most of the world is still open to interpretation, if we allow it be. To paraphrase Einstein, the world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking.
Most recently, it was a pasta recipe that caused me to get curious. And it wasn’t so much the unconventional cooking method, but the progression of thought that it set in motion.
First off, it’s a recipe that seems like a fairy tale from the self-proclaimed Pasta Queen, in which tiny tubular noodles are cooked as if they were rice, peas become a sauce, and an egg binds cheese into a paste that transforms the dish into a satisfying, creamy bowl of elevated comfort food. But more on that later.
The Italian recipe maven’s regal title and celebration of spring’s sweet, petite green spheres unsurprisingly brought to mind the old fairy tale of the princess and the pea. And I took time to sit with it, realizing there’s always been something a little uncomfortable for me about the narrative.
Like most of us, I’ve known since childhood that the story – in which a bedraggled princess is let in from the storm, and who’s credibility is established by the hostess queen placing a pea under 20 mattresses atop which the guest spends a restless night – is supposed to teach morals regarding appearances being deceiving, equating nobility of character with sensitivity, and what not. So what is the little irritant under all this that I can’t abide?
It’s not the impossible standard of discernment, the devious test of character, or the assumption that the princess wanted to marry in the first place. (Well, it is a little bit of that, too.) Mainly, it’s this: the princess is rewarded for complaining. Rather than be grateful for the shelter from the storm and considerate of the hospitality she was under no guarantee to receive, she does nothing to temper her report of how terribly she slept and how black-and-blue she became from the inadequate accommodations. If that’s a sign of nobility, the upper classes should be pitied for being so frail, but their access to education should certainly instill in them better manners.
I recently hosted some guests at table, including some incredibly resilient young ladies who were gracious and patient, who appreciated my efforts to pull out all the stops with fancy stemware and linen napkins. The event could only be successful with a common goal of making it so. Discernment is best used to enhance enjoyment rather than voice complaint, and true etiquette has never been about catching someone in a trap of using the wrong fork. When we’re open-minded, committed to bringing joy, and invested in each other’s success, we act with true nobility and we elevate each other – as if atop 20 mattresses.
As for the pasta, the extra effort in straining the pea purée ensures it’s smooth enough for any princess’s palate. My guests authentically enjoyed this Pasta Queen recipe, politely asking for seconds. I hope you’ll try out this reinterpretation of pasta, peas, and cheese, and that whomever you share it with remembers their please and thank-yous.
Creamy Pasta and Peas
2 or 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
¼ cup finely chopped onion
1 10-ounce package Sno-Pac frozen peas, thawed
1 egg
1 ounce freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1 ounce freshly grated pecorino Romano cheese
Salt and pepper to taste
8 ounces pasta, preferably tubetti, ditalini, or small shells
In a small pot, stir 1 teaspoon salt into 6 cups water and bring to a boil.
In a large straight-sided skillet over medium heat, add enough oil to coat the bottom and gently sauté the onions until translucent but not browned, about 5 minutes. Add the peas and season with salt and pepper. Add a ladleful of the simmering water and cook, covered, until the peas are very tender, 5 to 10 minutes.
Transfer most of the cooked peas to a blender, leaving a good half-cup or so in the pan off the heat. Purée the peas until smooth. Strain the blended peas through a fine mesh strainer back into the skillet, pressing the creamy mixture through with the back of a ladle and scraping the outside to yield as much sauce as possible, discarding about a half cup of skins that won’t pass through the strainer. Add a couple of ladles of simmering water to the skillet; bring to a simmer.
Pour the uncooked pasta into the pea sauce. Stir frequently, adding water as you go, allowing the pasta to absorb the sauce.
While the pasta is cooking, whisk together the cheeses and egg until combined.
When the pasta is cooked, stir in the cheese mixture and heat through, long enough to cook the egg. The sauce should be smooth and creamy; add additional water to thin if necessary. Serve hot and enjoy.
Recipe courtesy Nadia Caterina Munno, aka The Pasta Queen.
About the author: Angela works as a copywriter in the education sector and has dabbled in various culinary pursuits. She was the author of The Caledonia Argus’ long-standing weekly food column Thyme Out with Angela and is happy to now join the rotation of food writers with the Fillmore County Journal.
Leave a Reply