The Secret Ingredient Your Weeknight Pasta Is Missing


Every Monday night, Bon Appétit editor in chief Adam Rapoport gives us a peek inside his brain by taking over our newsletter. He shares recipes he’s been cooking, restaurants he’s been eating at, and more. It gets better: If you sign up for our newsletter, you’ll get this letter before everyone else.

You should put beans in your pasta

It was so cold on the East Coast last week that I told myself I could eat whatever I want. Like a furnace, in sub-30° temperatures, I would just burn it off. (That’s how it how works, right?)

I wanted my pork and beans pasta.

Ever since I happened upon this dish a year ago, I keep coming back to it. Partly because it’s so damn easy. I swing by the market after work and grab two Italian sausages, a jar of cannellini beans (though, any canned white beans would do), and a bottle of puréed tomatoes.

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I make the sauce in one big sauté pan, in not much time at all. First, I remove the sausages from their casings and brown the meat in some olive oil. Then in goes some smashed garlic, till gently browned. And then the beans.

Do you ever add beans to your pasta? You should try it. Canned or cooked from dried, they lend a creamy richness to your sauce that’s deeply satisfying.

After the beans and sausage and garlic have had a chance to hang out for a while and come to temperature, I hit the mixture with a splash of puréed tomatoes. Thanks to the creamy beans, the sauce turns an alluring pink, more vodka sauce than tomato sauce.

Finally, in goes a ladle of pasta water and a knob of butter. When the sauce is at a full simmer, I add the al dente pasta (about 8 oz., aka half a standard box or bag). Toss and toss, and finish with some grated Parm.

rigatoni beans greens square

Photo by Alex Lau

When I’m in the mood for a “healthier” version of this pasta (liberal use of air quotes here), I’ll make Basically’s rigatoni with sausage, beans, and greens. Same technique, but I skip the tomato purée and throw in a large bunch of nutrient-rich kale, which gets all wilty and glossy and gorgeous.

If you make either of these pastas—and I highly suggest you do—you’ll realize that beans, even pantry-friendly canned ones, absolutely belong in your pasta arsenal. No matter the weather outside.

Get the recipes:

Pork and Beans Pasta
Rigatoni with Sausage, Beans, and Greens


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Pasta e Fagioli


The key to a soup with fully developed savory flavor starts with the soffritto—a mix of aromatic vegetables that are slowly cooked in the first stage of cooking. Take your time sweating down the vegetables until they are completely softened before letting them take on any color. You’ll be surprised by how much volume they lose and how much liquid they release and by how much unquantifiable richness they lend to the final dish, which is nothing more than a combination of humble ingredients.


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Turn This Lemony Rent Week Pasta with Leeks and Chile Flakes All the Way Up


The term background music has always bothered me. Why would I want background music? If music is good, it should be played loudly. I’ve never understood the point of playing music softly, dulled to the point where you can hear it without really hearing it. Especially if it’s quiet music to begin with. Life is too short to play gentle music quietly.

Wait. Alex, are you using your opinions about music and volume settings as a metaphor to lead us into some kind of culinary exploit?

You’re goddamn right I am. Because I think about food in exactly the same way I do quiet music: Just because you’re presented with less, that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t absorb every ounce of it to the fullest. Whether the music is raucous or tender, whether the ingredients are opulent or humble, play it loud. And seeing that it’s Rent Week, we’re going to be turning up the volume on a humble list of ingredients. We’re making a simple, lemony leek pasta with anchovies and chile flakes. Don’t go running at the mention of anchovies—I promise this isn’t a fishy pasta. Just throw on this Loud Little Vibrations playlist I made for you (completely free of charge) and grab some leeks.

Speaking of, leeks are without argument the most undervalued allium around. They provide that sweetness we love, without any harsh bite. And they’re affordable! Which is why leeks are getting the spotlight in this Rent Week pasta dish. We’re going to sauté them and fry them into a nice crispy topping. But first we have to slice them.

Slice 3 large leeks in half lengthwise. Thinly slice one of the halves widthwise so you have a bunch of small, crescent-shaped pieces of leek. We’re going to fry these. Cover the bottom of a skillet in olive oil and heat it over medium heat. Drop the thinly sliced leeks into the oil and let them fry until they start to turn golden-brown. Once this happens, turn off the heat and transfer the crispy leeks onto a paper towel with a slotted spoon. We’ll come back for those when we serve our pasta. But before we get to pasta, you need to zest 1 lemon with a Microplane. Save the lemon. We’ll come back for that too.

ortiz anchovies

Yup, these are the ‘chovies. You need them. They’re good. I swear.

Fill your pasta pot with water (Don’t forget to season that water with kosher salt) and cook on high heat. While the water comes to a boil, let’s get back to the rest of the leeks. Slice the remaining leeks into slightly broader crescents than the leeks we fried, about ½” wide. In a Dutch oven, heat 3 Tbsp. of butter over medium-low heat and add the sliced leeks, stirring them so they’re coated in butter. Add a pinch of kosher salt, two hefty pinches of red pepper flakes, a generous glug of white wine (whatever you have lying around will do), ½ of the lemon zest, and 5 anchovy fillets.

Fine. Let’s take a minute and talk about anchovies. I understand why people are turned off by a ‘chovy. But just because you add anchovies to something doesn’t mean the dish is instantly going to taste really fishy. You won’t turn into a slimy fish if you eat or smell this pasta. I promise. The anchovy provides a deep umami flavor to the sauce. Nothing overwhelming. Just a backbone of flavor to make this pasta taste like a hell of a lot more than it actually is. We need the anchovy. And it’s best if you use olive oil packed anchovies with a resealable lid.

Drop your pasta into the boiling water, and stir the leeks so that the anchovies dissolve into the sauce. There! They’re gone! You can’t even see them anymore. Squeeze the juice of the lemon you grated earlier into the sauce and stir. Keep the sauce over low heat, simmering until your pasta finishes cooking.

20181127 GIFT GUIDE WEB4656

Photo by Alex Lau

Look at your pasta. Isn’t it lovely?

And by finishes cooking, I mean is just short of al dente. We’re finishing it in the pan, so we want to be able to cook it just a tad longer. Add about 1 cup of the pasta water to the Dutch oven, and transfer the pasta to the Dutch oven using tongs or a spider. Add 2 Tbsp. of butter and toss the pasta. Normally, you’d add some grated Parmesan here too to really thicken your sauce. Seeing as it’s Rent Week, that’s totally optional. Just a little finely grated Parm goes a long way in the sauce, but the butter, wine, pasta water, and lemon will do their fair share if you don’t have Parm on hand.

Once the pasta is coated in a glossy sauce, it’s topping time. Plate your pasta in a shallow bowl and hit it with a sprinkle of the remaining lemon zest, a pinch of red pepper flakes, and some of the crispy leeks we started with. If you’ve got more grated Parm around, go for it, but like I said earlier, it’s Rent Week. I’m not made out of cash. Or Parmesan.

And now that you’re eating the pasta, that music you’ve had turned up while you were cooking is pretty hard to hear. Everything else is pretty hard to hear. Because for being such a quiet list of ingredients, what’s happening in that bowl is pretty damn loud.

In more of a soup-ish mood? We’ve got that too:



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‘Misogynoir’ Coiner Moya Bailey Is Eating Pasta and Channeling Her Inner Black Auntie | Healthyish


In our new series Person of Interest, we talk to the people catching our eye right now about what they’re doing, eating, reading, and loving. Up next, scholar of critical race, feminist, and disability studies Dr. Moya Bailey.

Dr. Moya Bailey believes that good things come from connecting and organizing. After seeing how Black women were stereotyped and miscategorized in medical yearbooks while working on her graduate school dissertation in 2010, Bailey coined the term “misogynoir” (a portmanteau of “misogyny” and the French word for “black”) to describe how Black women are viewed and treated in society vis-à-vis their race and their gender. “It was about creating clarity. Once you’re able to name your oppression, I think you’re better able to address it,” she says.

Through the work of Bailey and the artist and critic Trudy, creator of the now-defunct blog Gradient Lair, “misogynoir” entered the popular lexicon and has since been used to unpack everything from Beyonce’s Lemonade album to racist beauty ideals. “I think it’s been useful to other people in the sense that they see Black women are treated very differently from white women, and even from other women of color.” What’s unfortunate, she adds, is that people need to use the designation so often.

Bailey curates the digital presence for the Octavia E. Butler Legacy Network, an organization that supports and promotes the writer’s legacy, and she is a professor at Northeastern University, where she teaches Introduction to Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies. She also has two books in the works, one on “hashtag activism,” which she’s co-writing, and a solo venture called Transforming Misogynoir: Black Women’s Digital Resistance in U.S. Culture due out in 2021. We caught up with the scholar of critical race, feminist, and disability studies about the things that satisfy her spirit and taste buds, the meaning of community, and the timeless bops filling her playlist.

The best thing I did this year was… start swimming lessons with a friend of mine. Learning how to swim has been an important task. With the history behind many Black people not knowing how to swim, that was really important for me.

My love language is… ’90s R&B. I’m fully embracing my inner Black auntie.

I feel grounded when… I’m cooking for people I love.

The last thing I read, watched, or listened to that made me feel seen was… I just finished Unapologetic by Charlene Carruthers. The last chapter on the mandate for a movement was really powerful to me.

My village includes… a group of folks we lovingly call The House of Mati, building on Gloria Wekker’s use of the term mati work, [“an old practice among Afro-Surinamese working-class women in which marriage is rejected in favor of male and female sexual partners”]. We build these relationships between women who have romantic, platonic, and non-platonic connections. I would also say my partner, our good friends, and the community that I’ve built in Boston.

Real activism is… intentional and collective. Being an activist in isolation does not do the work of creating the kinds of changes we need for a different world. It requires organizing and relationship building.

My favorite thing to eat when I’m celebrating is… Pasta. Pasta in any form is my favorite thing. With any tomato-based sauce like arrabbiata, because it’s spicy.

Two dishes from African American cuisine I’d bring on a deserted island… My mac and cheese is legendary. It is quite excellent. Mac and cheese for sure. And probably fried catfish.

When I feel blue I like to… listen to music by Black folks. Jazz, R&B more generally. Hip hop. A little bit of everything.

I lose it when I’m… at concerts. That’s my space where I’m very free and excited to see people. Bilal is incredible, Little Dragon—always excellent, and Erykah Badu is my problematic fav.

Right now, I’m reading… I’m about to start reading Erena Hogart’s book, Medicalizing Blackness. It’s kind of about the making of racial difference and how scientists started medicalizing the idea of race.

A good morning looks like… gym time, meditation, and a good discussion with my students in Introduction to women’s, gender, and sexuality studies.
I find joy in… food, friends, and music! Oh, and videos of Black children being carefree and wonderful.


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This Ina Garten Recipe Changed the Way Christina Tosi Thinks About Pasta Salad


ina week badge 8

In honor of Ina Garten’s guest editing week, we asked chefs and celebrity fans to share their favorite Barefoot Contessa recipes as part of our series “How Easy Is That?” Below, Christina Tosi, founder and CEO of Milk Bar and author of new cookbook All About Cake, explains how her Ina-themed dinner party club started, and why pasta, pesto, and peas salad will always be on the menu.


About five years ago, some pals and I were at a dinner party and we couldn’t get over the roast chicken. The hostess was like, “Oh my god, this is my girl Ina’s roast chicken! We’ve never met before, but I just love her. It feels like our chicken now.” I realized that whenever I host a dinner party, my tableau is basically all Ina recipes. So we decided to start a tradition where once a year, my friends and I come together for an Ina party.

The Ina Club rules are simple: The entire table must be filled with recipes by Ina and Ina only. We all go to the market, channeling our inner Inas and shop based on what looks good, smells good, and inspires us. None of us necessarily knows what recipe we’ll make, but we do know seasonally which ones are our tried-and-true favorites. Then we bring the goods home, scour the internet and open all the Ina cookbooks, and make a meal. Everyone usually makes a few dishes, and we eat potluck-style.

The most requested recipes for the Ina Club are almost laughably simple, like the summer pasta salad with tomato, Parmesan, and basil, and Parmesan-roasted broccoli. In the wintertime, I did a customized grilled cheese bar to go with her perfect tomato soup. I cleaned out my fridge of all the cheeses, jellies, and jams, let people mix and match, and then cut into little squares to be “croutons.” What a genius idea—grilled cheese croutons!

But one of my personal favorites to make is the pasta, pesto, and peas salad from Barefoot Contessa Parties! In this recipe, she finds a beautiful balance of things that are familiar and unexpected, like taking peas, blanching and blending them, and then putting them into a cold pasta salad with pesto. On some level, it was earth shattering when she did that—it just seemed so perfectly outside of the box, yet also perfectly acceptable and classy. It was like edgy without being edgy; it was like all the effort, but in an effortless way. She really taught me that great food can be accessible and comfortable, but that you can take it just one step further by throwing yourself out of your comfort zone.

With both Ina as a person and with her recipes, there’s an ease, but there’s also empowerment. She’s not selling the persona of perfection—she’s selling humanity. She’s just being her, and that’s what makes her so perfectly, untouchably lovable on every level.

In my five years of hosting the Ina Club, I’ve never once invited her. I don’t want her to get bombarded with crazy, overly enthusiastic (yet very lovely) women, and I know she probably gets a lot of invitations. But maybe next year will be the year I surprise everyone when she joins us. So, consider the invitation open for 2019, Ina!

As told to Alyse Whitney


Ina Garten’s Pasta, Pesto, and Peas

From Barefoot Contessa Parties!
Serves 12

This famous Barefoot Contessa recipe originally came from my wonderful friend Brent Newson. In order to keep the pesto from turning brown, he adds spinach and lemon juice. To make a delicious and easy one-dish summer lunch, use your imagination and add grilled chicken or fresh salmon.

¾ pound fusilli pasta
¾ pound bow-tie pasta
¼ cup good olive oil
1 ½ cups homemade pesto
1 10-ounce package frozen chopped spinach, defrosted and squeezed dry
3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1¼ cups good mayonnaise
½ cup grated Parmesan cheese
1½ cups frozen peas, defrosted
⅓ cup pignolis, toasted in a dry sauté pan over medium heat for about 4 minutes until evenly browned, tossing frequently (optional)
¾ teaspoon kosher salt
¾ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Cook the fusilli and bow ties separately in a large pot of boiling salted water for 10 to 12 minutes, until each pasta is al dente. Drain and toss into a bowl with the olive oil. Cool to room temperature.

In the bowl of a food processor fitted with a steel blade, purée the pesto, spinach, and lemon juice. Add the mayonnaise and continue to purée.

Add the pesto mixture to the cooled pasta, then add the Parmesan cheese, peas, pignolis, salt, and pepper. Mix well, season to taste, and serve at room temperature.

Reprinted from Barefoot Contessa Parties!: Ideas and Recipes for Easy Parties That Are Really Fun. Copyright © 2001 by Ina Garten. Photographs copyright © 2001 by James Merrell. Published by Clarkson Potter/Publishers, an imprint of Penguin Random House, LLC.


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Use the Saucy Glossy Technique for the Best Pasta


Every Wednesday night, Bon Appétit food director Carla Lalli Music takes over our newsletter with a sleeper-hit recipe from the Test Kitchen vault. It gets better: If you sign up for our newsletter, you’ll get this letter before everyone else.

Sometimes you just need a big bowl of pasta

I know for a fact that it’s always pasta season, but it’s hard to get a grip on mushroom season.

When are mushrooms “around,” anyway? The answer is sometimes and always. Mushrooms thrive in damp, cool weather, which is why lots of them show up in the fall—the famed and fragrant porcini, ruffly hen of the woods, orange chanterelles, earthy black trumpets, hedgehogs—and friend of the fungi, stinky black truffles, too. If you’re a forager, fall is a great time to be alive. (If you hate mushrooms, you’ve already stopped reading this, which is fine with me because I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t like mushrooms).

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Regardless of where you find your fungi, there’s never not a good time to make pasta with mushrooms, especially when there’s crisp prosciutto, cream, and butter involved. There’s something about the savory flavors of bouncy mushrooms, salty prosciutto, and piney thyme makes me want to pick a chilly night to wrap myself in a sheepskin cape and sit on a sheepskin rug in my sheepskin-lined house slippers and eat a bowl of noodles. Same?

The extra-beautiful part of this recipe is that it’s completely and totally weeknight friendly. On your way home from work tonight, pick up a few slices of prosciutto, several handfuls of mushrooms (shiitake or crimini if you would rather not drop $12/pound for them), a nice fat ribbon-shaped pasta (like pappardelle or tagliatelle), a couple of shallots, some chicken stock, a small bunch of thyme, and cream. You have butter and olive oil already, right? Right.

Because prosciutto gets weird and chewy when it’s heated up, the first step in this dish is to crisp up the slices, which can then be crumbled. Italian bacon bits! Sort of. Then it’s time to sauté the shallots and mushrooms with the thyme, and there’s no funny business about when to salt or not salt, so forget all the drama you may have heard about cooking mushrooms: Salt them like you’d salt anything else—early and often. When the shallots are soft and the ’shrooms are browned, you add the chicken stock to the pan and let it cook down to almost nothing. This is the beginning of your pan sauce, and one of those magical alchemical moments when the mushrooms and aromatics give their flavor to the stock, and the stock lends the flavor to the mushrooms, and the reduced broth is a concentrated version of what all the ingredients add up to now that they’re officially melded.

Basically Tongs Pasta Horizontal

Photo by Laura Murray

At the same time, your pasta is burbling away in salted water, just waiting for the very al dente moment to jump into the mushroom party pan, along with any pasta cooking liquid that’s clinging to the ribbons, plus about a cup of liquid scooped right into the skillet. The technical term for what happens when you begin to toss together that starchy water with the mushroom essence and fat ribbons of pasta is called The Saucy-Glossy Time. The agitation of the pasta water, the reduced stock, and half of the prosciutto crumbles creates an emulsified sauce that will eventually coat the pasta, once the liquid has cooked down enough. These are the moments the foragers only dream of as they are sinking into the mossy forest floor in search of non-poisonous fungi to eat for dinner, and all you had to do was detour to the grocery store on the way home.

You might think your mushroom pasta is saucy and glossy enough at this point, but we think you should add a little cream to bring it all together, and a little butter, to make it even better. The rest of the prosciutto crumbles drop down from above. We didn’t think to call for grated Parmesan to finish the dish, but I think when I make this myself, there will definitely be a hunk of cheese that lands on the table too. It’s eating season, after all, and I didn’t come to mess around.

Get the recipe:

Pasta with Mushrooms and Proscuitto


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Pasta with Sausage and Arugula Recipe


Combine vegetables, sausage, and pasta in a large bowl. Add lemon zest, lemon juice, remaining 4 Tbsp. oil, and ¼ cup reserved pasta cooking liquid and toss to coat, adding more pasta cooking liquid if needed, until sauce comes together and coats pasta. Toss in arugula.


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The Only Pasta I Make For My Best Friend Has 8 Cloves of Garlic


Most friends give friends who just moved into a new home a nice bottle of wine, maybe some paper towels if they’re practical. Me? For my best friend? I brought her a whole head of garlic, a bag of wide-leg pappardelle, a tub of olive oil, and fist-size portions of basil and parsley. Then I made lunch.

Specifically, Andy Baraghani’s extremely simple but extremely satisfying pasta riddled with bronzed flecks of garlic, bracing Castelvetrano olives, and all those leafy herbs. It was an elegant and complex meal—“bright, herby, and a little briny,” as Andy described it over Slack—and it couldn’t be easier to pull off.

Even while totally distracted by our conversation about the very dark but very fascinating Dr. Death podcast, I could still absentmindedly boil the pasta water and smash eight—yes, eight—garlic cloves in olive oil until they look like little golden nuggets. While my friend and I batted around theories about how this neurosurgeon could have kept going after committing 33 botched surgeries (insane hubris? Actual ignorance?), I tossed those nuggets with red pepper flakes, pitted Castelvetranos, and chopped parsley. “It’s a way to mellow out the grassy parsley flavor,” Andy Slacked me. (We only communicate via Slack, like true millennial coworkers.)

Once the pasta was just under al dente, I should have paused the conversation to gently move the noodles from the hot water to the garlic-parsley-olive sauce. But hindsight is 20/20, and instead I burned my forearms with hot splashes. However, I was undeterred because here came the best part: butter. I threw in a few tablespoons of butter and a splash of pasta water to give the sauce the kind of dewy gloss promised by Korean face masks. We finished the dish with sweet, fat basil leaves, a little lemon zest, and a couple teaspoons of lemon juice, and rushed the pot to the table. Then, silence. All conversation ceased as we slurped each butter-drenched strand straight from the Dutch oven. No Dr. Death theory could pry us away from Andy’s pitch-perfect pasta.

This is a pasta that celebrates the glory of garlic: how it makes everything taste better, stinks a little, and always seems to linger on. It’s a little bit like a friendship that’s weathered years in an AC-less bedroom, break-ups, maid of honor speeches, new jobs, and very adult accomplishments. And that’s why it’s the perfect thing to make your best friend.

Get the recipe:



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Misi NYC Is All About Pasta, But I’m In Love With This Vegetable Dish | Healthyish


There are very few restaurant openings that excite me enough to set a calendar alert for when reservations go live. Misi, the new restaurant from pasta whisperer/James Beard Award winner Missy Robbins (she co-owns Lilia, the sleek Italian place where even Jennifer Lawrence had to wait to get a table) was one of those openings.

At Lilia, Robbins is known for putting ambitious twists on pastas you thought you knew that somehow make them even better (pink peppercorns in cacio e pepe; saffron and honey in ricotta-filled agnolotti). At Misi, the pastas are similarly fantastic —but, for me at least, the most exciting dish on the menu is not a pasta at all. It’s a plate of roasted tomatoes.

What’s so great about a roasted tomato? This very website contains dozens of recipes that involve roasting tomatoes! But this particular dish—saturated with aromatic fennel and coriander seeds, laced with chili-spiked honey, and topped with fresh basil leaves—made me immediately forget about all the other versions out there.

We all know that roasting tomatoes is an excellent technique for bringing out the natural umami of the fruit. But adding the sweet-spicy element of the honey, the freshness of the herbs, and the complexity and texture of the spices somehow enhanced that umami while allowing each component to stand out on its own, flavor-wise. Also, the dish looks really pretty.

Misi’s roasted tomatoes are a riff on the slow-roasted tomatoes with coriander and fennel seeds in Robbins’ cookbook, Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner…Life! My first thought looking at this recipe was: I will cook this tomorrow. One, because it felt very accessible; and two, my farmers’ market was still selling tomatoes, and this seemed like an ideal way to wring the last flavor out of the late summer supply. Long story short: I nailed the dish.

All you’re doing is slicing 12 or so heirloom tomatoes in half, arranging them cut side up on a baking sheet, seasoning them with salt, olive oil, cracked coriander, and fennel seeds and roasting them for two hours in a 275° oven. When they’re done, they should have shriveled along the edges, but they should still be juicy and retain some of their bright color. I arranged the tomatoes in my nicest-looking plate (because, you know, this is a presentation-forward dish), and drizzled them with about a tablespoon of hot honey (if you don’t have hot honey, it’s very easy to make yourself), then I scattered basil leaves on top.

And that’s it! I planned to eat my tomatoes over toast, but they were so good that I forgot about anything else and polished them off in about five minutes. That said, these tomatoes would make for a great sandwich filler, pasta base, or dip (just throw them in the blender).

But, for now, I’ll be making and eating these on repeat…long after tomato season is done.


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Baked Pasta alla Norma Recipe


this dish is truly amazing! subbed the pasta with spaghetti squash and it turned out wonderfully. you wouldn’t even notice the difference! the roasted tomatoes and eggplant with garlic (added a shallot) create an incredible flavor. also added a little extra tomato paste like some reviews suggested!


This was delicious! I used spaghetti squash instead of eggplant because I don’t like the taste of eggplant and it worked well! Otherwise I followed the recipe exactly. Like other reviewers, I also would add more tomato paste next time. When I eat pasta, I like it to be very saucy, and with this being a « pie », I was worried it would be a little dry. But it was perfect! Already looking forward to the leftovers, so I would definitely make it again!


loved this! Would like it a little more tomato-ie so I’d add more tomato paste (maybe double it) but otherwise – terrific!!

Dena LoverdeSherman Oaks, CA09/23/18

Great recipe and the perfect comfort food. I ended up adding an additional egg, a can of tomato paste and a small can of pureed tomatoes because, for me, there wasn’t nearly enough tomato sauce to dress the pasta when strictly following the recipe. I also added a cup of pasta water into the sauce. Overall great recipe!

jbw10003New York09/23/18

This was sooooo good—even better than I expected. The only tweaks I made were to use thyme instead of basil (because I had it around) and to add fresh buffalo mozzarella because, well, mozzarella. It’s somehow rich and light all at the same time. Absolutely delicious.

AnonymousQueens, NY09/22/18


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