Pasta as Love Language – Quick Suppers Crafted With Care

Three pasta dishes — (Image credit: Excerpted from Mother Sauce by Lucinda Scala Quinn (Artisan Books). Copyright © 2025. Photographs by Mikkel Vang)

Here’s a family secret I didn’t learn until I was grown: my mother didn’t like red sauce. This is a woman who married into an Italian family in the 1950s (the first non-Italian to do so on my father’s side) and still cooked like her mother-in-law expected her to: She simmered tomato sauce at least once a week, fed a table full of hungry people, kept the traditions moving forward… and never once announced that she wasn’t crazy about the very thing we all considered sacred. When she finally admitted it, I laughed so hard I nearly fell over! Not because it was outrageous, but because it was so her: Cooking as a form of love.

The good news is, not every pasta dish in the Italian-American tradition involves the long-simmered Sunday Sauce. In fact, plenty of pasta nights in my family have been hurried affairs: I walk in the door, drop my bag, and put a pot of water on to boil before I’ve even decided what I’m making. When my two sons were teenagers, this was how I kept the household stitched together on weeknights. That’s the quiet genius of what I call 'sauced and tossed' pasta – the kind of dish where the noodles cook in a big pot while the sauce comes together in a shallow pan. Then everything meets at the last moment, glossy and delicious, like it was always meant to be that way.

The Sanctity of Italian Traditions

When I travel in Italy, I hear a lot of rules about how things must be done: guanciale, not bacon; this cheese, not that one; this shape of pasta, not that one. I respect tradition deeply – I’ve spent much of my life learning it and writing about it – but the Italian-American way comes with a particular kind of liberation. We made do. We had to. And out of that necessity came an instinct that I treasure: the assurance that there is almost always a meal within grasp in twenty minutes.

Take, for example, the classic 'midnight pasta' – spaghetti with garlic and olive oil – as proof. Aglio e olio is pantry cooking at its most elegant: garlic, olive oil, salt, heat, and noodles. That’s it. It’s also endlessly versatile with whatever you have on hand: chopped sun-dried tomatoes, capers, a shower of parsley, a squeeze of lemon. Old-timers from big Italian families remember it as a meatless Friday-night staple, sometimes made with anchovies – a briny, savory boost that turns simplicity into depth. It’s universal and it’s deeply personal, because it becomes your version the minute you make it.

And here’s the thing people forget: the quickest pasta dishes often require the most technique. Not chef-y technique, but the kind of technique that is born through years of tasting and repetition.

Three Rules for Perfect Pasta

My cardinal rule is to salt the water right before I drop the pasta. I do that for a simple reason: Because I never want to forget this step, and because I salt aggressively – 'salty like the sea,' as a cook I once worked with used to say. That salt is how flavor gets into a benign noodle – a good handful, not a timid pinch.

The second rule: Cook the pasta a little under, about two minutes before the package tells you it’s done. In 'sauced and tossed,' the pasta finishes in the sauce – and that final minute is where the alchemy happens. The noodles absorb flavor. The sauce thickens and clings. Everything fuses.

And yes, reserve pasta water. You don’t need it, but that starchy water creates a silkiness that coats noodles in a way plain water can’t. Italian-American cooking is filled with these so-called 'scraps' that are actually superpowers: bean liquid, mushroom-soaking liquid, the last spoonful of brine from a jar of peppers. No frugal housewife would waste them – and neither should you.

Making Food Taste Good With What you Have

This brings me to shopping, which I consider part of the pleasure. A well-stocked pantry is not about being precious. It’s about being prepared. I always keep a long noodle and a 'macaroni' shape on hand, plus canned tomatoes, tuna, anchovies, chickpeas, olive oil, garlic, and something in the allium family – onion or shallot. If you have those, you can improvise your way to dinner. Add a cup of peas from the freezer. Grate a carrot into a sauce. Roast peppers you forgot you had. And always think of acids as interchangeable: lemon juice, a splash of vinegar, the liquid from jarred peppers.

I also think it’s worth buying good dried pasta when you can. It’s marginally more expensive, but the difference is real. I like pasta made in Italy; De Cecco is a favorite. That said, affordability is a core part of the Italian-American legacy – making food taste good with what you have. I never want anyone to think they can’t cook because the premium brand isn’t in the cart.

Dried pasta and Lucinda Scala Quinn shopping at a market

The Art of Crafting Memorable Meals

Which brings me to my mother. After her red sauce confession, I built her a pasta that spoke her love language: lemons. I infuse cream with strips of lemon peel, use the juice to brighten the sauce, and then – in the most frugal, satisfying flourish – I drop those squeezed peels into the pasta water to perfume the noodles. Every part used. Nothing wasted.

When it comes time to serve, I try to make even the simplest pasta feel intentional. While the noodles cook, I set the pasta bowls near the stove to warm. I plate from the kitchen – not a big communal bowl – and then I bring garnishes to the table: black pepper, red pepper, salt, grated cheese, or (my favorite) golden breadcrumbs made from stale bread, toasted in olive oil and garlic. Sometimes I add lemon zest. Sometimes an anchovy. Sometimes a little cheese when there isn’t enough for a full shower. Crunch turns a fast dinner into something you remember.

A 'sauced and tossed' pasta is not just dinner. It’s a way of saying: I can feed you, right now, with what we have. And some nights, that’s the most loving thing you can offer.

Sauced and Tossed Pasta Recipes

These are three of my favorite recipes to cook for loved ones, from the 'sauced and tossed' chapter of my book Mother Sauce (Artisan Books, available at Amazon).

Creamy Lemon Spaghetti

You won’t find this recipe anywhere in the canon of classic Italian American pasta dishes. Instead, it honors my mother, Rose, the Canadian wife of my Italian father. Visiting the lemon groves of Ravello in the Campagna region of southern Italy was one of her cherished travel memories. I spent much of my adult cooking life trying to delight her, lemon-wise, with the same passion she used to bring our Italian legacy to our childhood dinner table.

Ingredients (serves 4-6)

2 lemons, preferably Meyer lemons
1 pound (455 g) spaghetti or other long noodles
1 cup (240 ml) heavy cream
1 sprig fresh basil, plus basil leaves for garnish
6 tablespoons (85 g) unsalted butter
1 teaspoon kosher salt, or more to taste
½ cup (50 g) grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
Freshly ground black pepper

Method

Use a vegetable peeler to peel the zest from the lemons in strips into a bowl and set aside. Squeeze 1/4 cup (60 ml) of juice from the lemons and reserve both the rinds and the juice.
Fill a large pot with water, add the lemon rinds, and bring to a boil. Salt the water generously, add the spaghetti, and cook for 2 minutes shy of the package instructions; the noodles should be slightly soft with a firm chew to them. Scoop out 1 cup (240 ml) of the pasta water and drain the spaghetti.
Meanwhile, combine the cream, lemon zest, and basil in a saucepan large enough to hold the pasta and sauce. Bring to a simmer over medium heat and simmer for 2 to 3 minutes, pushing down on the zest with a spoon to release the oils, then remove and discard the zest and basil sprig.
Slowly whisk the butter into the cream, about 1 tablespoon at a time, until fully emulsified (this is important to the final consistency of the sauce). Add the salt to the sauce, then whisk in ½ cup (120 ml) of the reserved pasta cooking water.
Add the pasta, along with the cheese and lemon juice, and toss and turn the noodles to fully coat with the sauce and melt the cheese. If necessary, season to taste with more salt and/or stir in additional pasta water to achieve the desired creaminess.
Serve the pasta immediately in warm serving bowls with more grated cheese and black pepper on top.

Utica Riggies

Square bowl filled with pasta and sauce with a small bowl of greens

The Chesterfield restaurant in downtown Utica claims to have invented Riggies; no doubt a cook there used ingredients on hand to create such a memorable concoction that a nickname (from the macaroni shape, rigatoni) was coined for it.

Ingredients (serves 4-6)

1½ pounds (680 g) boneless, skinless chicken breasts or thighs, cut onto bite-sized cubes
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 sweet red pepper, cored, seeded, and cut into 1½-inch-wide (4 cm) strips
1 onion, chopped (1 cup/100 g)
4 small garlic cloves, thinly sliced
3 pickled cherry peppers, chopped plus ¼ cup (60 ml) of the pepper brine
1 cup (240 ml) white wine
1 cup (240 ml) heavy cream
One 28-ounce (800 g) can whole tomatoes, pulsed to a puree
1 pound (455 g) rigatoni
½ cup (50 g) grated Romano cheese

Method

Toss the chicken with a generous amount of salt and black pepper. Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat and swirl in the olive oil. When it glistens, add the chicken, spreading the cubes out to avoid crowding the pan, and sear until golden on all sides, about 6 minutes.
Remove the chicken to a plate. Add the pepper strips, onions, and garlic to the pan and cook, stirring constantly, until lightly golden, about 4 minutes.
Return the chicken (with any juices) to the pan and add the cherry peppers, then pour in the brine and wine to deglaze the pan and cook, scraping up the brown bits from the bottom, until the liquid is slightly thickened, 2 to 3 minutes.
Stir in the cream and tomatoes, reduce the heat to medium-low, and simmer for 20 minutes, or until the sauce has reduced and thickened.
Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil. Salt the water, add the pasta, and cook for 2 minutes shy of the package instructions; the pasta should be slightly soft with a firm chew to it.
Scoop out 1 cup (240 ml) of the cooking water and drain the pasta. Add the reserved cooking water to the sauce, along with the drained pasta, and stir in the grated cheese.
Cook over medium heat, stirring, for a minute or two, to coat the noodles and finish cooking them in the sauce. Serve hot.
VAR IATION: Thinly sliced sausages, browned in a skillet until cooked through, can be swapped for the chicken. Some versions of Utica Riggies also include sliced mushrooms, added to the skillet at the same time as the red peppers.

Pasta Alla Norma

The combination of fried and sautéed eggplant brings maximum oomph to this sauce. Its flavors pop when the two distinctly different cooking methods coalesce. The eggplant’s essential taste is sealed within the fried disks with their crispy, caramelized coating, while the spongy, porous texture of the cubed eggplant allows it to absorb the flavors of the other ingredients it is cooked with. The result makes the most of the eggplant’s potential.

Ingredients (serves 4-6)

1 medium Italian eggplant
¾ cup (180 ml) extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon kosher salt
4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
2 cups (425 g) chopped tomatoes
2 sprigs fresh basil, plus basil leaves for garnish
¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 teaspoons red wine vinegar
1 pound (455 g) macaroni, such as rigatoni, penne, or radiatore
½ cup (50 g) grated Parmesan cheese
1 cup (170 g) grated ricotta salata or 1 cup (100 g) Romano cheese

Method

Cut 15 to 20 thin slices from the narrow end of the eggplant. Cut the rest into ½-inch (1.25 cm) cubes. Pour half the olive oil into a large skillet and heat over medium-high heat until it’s glistening. Add the eggplant slices and fry, turning once, until a deep golden color on both sides, 6 to 8 minutes.
Remove the slices to paper towels or a wire rack set over a baking sheet to drain. Sprinkle with ½ teaspoon of the salt on both sides. Add the remaining olive oil to the pan and heat until glistening. Add the cubed eggplant and sauté until lightly golden and soft, about 7 minutes.
Stir in the garlic and cook for a minute, without browning it. Add the tomatoes, basil sprigs, pepper flakes, and the remaining ½ teaspoon salt and simmer for 10 minutes; add the vinegar in the last couple minutes of cooking.
Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil. Generously salt the water, add the pasta, and boil until 2 minutes shy of the package instructions; the pasta should be slightly soft with a firm chew to it.
Scoop out 1 cup (240 ml) of the cooking water and drain the pasta. Stir the reserved pasta water and the Parmesan into the sauce. Add the pasta to the pan, stir well, and cook for a few minutes to coat the pasta in the sauce.
Top each serving with some of the fried eggplant, ricotta salata and basil leaves.

A Cook's Legacy is our six-part series with award-winning cookbook author, Lucinda Scala Quinn, exploring the family, food, and cultural memory that inspired her latest cookbook, Mother Sauce, through her beloved culinary voice.

The author of eight cookbooks and long-time food director at Martha Stewart Living, Scala Quinn has spent decades showing home cooks how to bring restaurant-worthy meals to the family table.