Rituals and Pasta

Do you notice, as you get older, that your rituals have been sort of hoisted on you? I always assumed rituals required a lot of intentionality: I'm the kind of person who does such and such, therefore these are my rituals; this is how I conduct my life. That's not me, because I can't hold myself accountable that way—I flounder if I set guidelines. But the things that I do regularly now—running, cooking, yoga, reading, writing, long walks, keeping up with Rickie Lee Jones—are the things I've been doing for a long time, and with ritual-like frequency. It feels as if my rituals chose me.

So today was Saturday, and it began with my Saturday rituals: I wake up around 8, brush my teeth, put yesterday's clothes on, grab my compost from the freezer, and head to the farmer's market. There I drop off the compost, put a dollar in the bin, and buy some produce. Then I head home, picking up coffee on the way, stick my goods on the counter, and go to my desk where I waste time on the internet. Eventually I find myself back in the kitchen and I make breakfast. The rest of the day is less fixed, but that's how it begins.

Today there was a hiccup, in that I bought a doughnut on my way back from the farmer's market. It was one of those "artisanal" doughnuts—other flavor options were hibiscus and cafe au lait. I went for chocolate, which naturally was decorated with cocoa nibs. I decided I owed myself the doughnut, I have no idea why except that some cash was burning at my thigh, and predictably, within three minutes of inhaling it—in front of my computer, scrolling through the inanity of Saturday morning internet—I regretted it. The bloat, the burn, the frivolity of an artisanal doughnut, all of it, why. I then made a salad from my vegetable purchases.

It was a grey, rainy, uncharacteristically cool morning with a Pacific northwest flavor to the air. That type of weather always makes me want to bake, especially in the summer when it'd otherwise be too hot to use the oven, so I made zucchini bread. I screwed up the recipe I've been experimenting with by mistakenly only adding half the sugar I should have, but it was an enlightening error, as most errors are: I can get away with less sugar than I previously thought.

Then in the early afternoon I rode my bike up to Willimasburg, where I attended a friend's book party. Delicious brunch cocktails were served. When I got home I needed to take a nap, and that is the problem with brunch cocktails, why I might be too old for them. I may have intended to clean my apartment this afternoon, or do some of the writing that all week I fantasized about doing while I was occupied with non-writing work, or at best I should have gone for a long run. But between the zucchini bread and brunch drinks and the nap, none of that happened. I had a friend over for an early dinner instead. Saturday is over, but at least this pasta lingers.

Summer Penne

Serves 4 or 5

1-1/2 pound ripe tomatoes, diced
2 or 3 red lantern peppers, seeded and finely diced (2 for mild, 3 for spicy)
1/2 cup mint chiffonade, plus additional for garnish
1/4 cup good olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
3/4 teaspoon salt
5 ounces baby spinach
1 pound penne
1/2 cup fresh ricotta
Freshly ground pepper for garnish 

Combine the tomatoes, peppers, mint, olive oil, garlic, and salt in a large mixing bowl, and let marinate on the counter for at least an hour, and up to 4. Cook the pasta in rapidly boiling, salted water until al dente, usually 8 to 10 minutes, or according to package directions. Pile the spinach on top of the tomatoes. Drain the pasta and immediately toss with the spinach and tomatoes, until the spinach is somewhat wilted. Taste and add additional salt if necessary. Divide on serving plates, top with a generous dollop of ricotta, garnish with more mint, and pass the pepper at the table.