A recipe for when you’re in need of a soft afternoon light kind moment
The moment I set foot in Italy, I feel like I belong. Today is no exception. The village I call home is little more than a handful of houses tucked between endless olive groves and vineyards. On the corner of the road to my house sits a tiny shrine to the Virgin Mary. Every week I bring her fresh flowers...well… “flowers.” Technically it’s roadside weeds. But their cheerful blues and yellows do the trick.
The streets here are narrow and forever sloping up or down. With a trusty Fiat Panda you’ll manage just fine, but with my little tin-can-on-wheels? Let’s just say: every oncoming car feels like an obstacle run. Luckily, with a touch of Italian bravado, the other driver usually decides it’s their turn to reverse.
Life in the countryside has its own rhythm, its own pace. There is no better, no worse. And sometimes “enough” is already more than plenty. The secret is simply finding your own beat.
I’m in that in-between stage of wondering: Who am I, really? What do I actually want? (Recognize those thoughts…quite confusing huh…). On days where even the four walls of a charming little Italian house can start to close in sometimes, I’ve learned one thing: never try to cook something new. No experiments, no reinventions. Stick with what feels safe and soothing.
Which is why, nine times out of ten, I end up with Tagliatelle al Limone.
Bright. Comforting. Effortlessly delicious.
So if you ever find yourself in need of that soft, comfy late-afternoon kind of feeling, here’s my advice: grab some lemons!
What I used
✦ Tagliatelle (enough for one person and a little more. Always a little more)
✦ A lemon (and use the whole thing: zest, juice... all of it)
✦ A spoonful of olive oil (big spoon)
✦ A bit of pecorino
✦ Some chopped parsley (fresh from the garden or store, but always use fresh parsley)
Don’t take “a little” too literally here. I could easily toss in an entire block of pecorino without blinking. Happily so, in fact. But cooking is about listening to your own taste, from intuition and letting the dish become entirely yours. Because nobody tastes what you taste.
Cooking for more than just yourself? Then naturally, both the lemons and the pasta multiply.
How I made it (but feel free to do it your way; trust your senses)
✦ I boiled the pasta in water, warmed the olive oil.
✦ Added the zest to the oil and stirred slowly. (Want more lemon flavor? Play with a little more zest.)
✦ Let it all come together with the lemon juice
✦ Tossed in the pasta just before it was fully cooked and let it rest for a bit
✦ Removed the pan from the stove and added the pecorino and parsley
That’s all it took.
Just five ingredients, a little time, and a dish that clarified nothing but felt just right.
What I might try next time
I was told to toss in the squeezed lemon halves too. Just for a little more brightness. Thanks for the tip!
Your turn
We all learn cooking in our own way. From our mothers, our grandfathers, a holiday abroad or a happy accident at home. These moments shape your taste, the ingredients shape your style. But taste and style are not fixed; they move along with the rhythm of your life.
Don’t think of recipes as strict rules. Think of them as gentle directions, little suggestions along the way. A here-and-now moment. And it's entirely yours. Because nobody tastes what you taste. So play with it, dance in your kitchen and find your own rhythm.