spicy aglio e olio, aka post-vacation pantry pasta
You are rested, relaxed, and ready to come back. At least, you think you are. But now you are about to confront the chaos of Post Vacation.
Your nice, simple, direct 2-hour flight, coming from your destination to drop off passengers and reload like a bus, has circled back to its home airport without explanation, delaying you for three hours. You can either buy a new flight on Spirit Airlines for $79, or stick it out. While you have spent 79 worse dollars in your life, you decide you do not want to spend it on Spirit Airlines.
There are no outlets in the airport seats. Or, there are, but they don’t work, because the outlet needs to be plugged into something in order for you to be able to plug something into it. Electricity is like magic, until you remember that it’s not. Next to you, a drunk American man is yelling across the airport, holding his shoes in his hands. It is 1:00pm local time.
Two hours later, a digital board refreshes to show an update to your flight. You see the word “boarding” in Spanish, and a new gate that is at least half a mile away from you. How did this happen? It’s not like you were doing anything important. You were probably thinking about electrical circuits. On the speakers overhead, you hear your city, your gate, and what sounds like ultimo llamada—last call. You run all the way there, only to find out that they mis-labeled the status: there is another flight on another airline leaving for your destination out of the same gate you will leave from later. Your flight, they say, is still somewhere over Tijuana. Come back in an hour.
Now on the other side of the airport, you decide to park on your suitcase, a little makeshift personal island, to take advantage of an abandoned wall outlet you find. Avoiding people feels wise anyhow. Around you unsupervised white children run, screech, bother other people, and finally shatter an entire display wall of glass figurines at a gift shop. Their parents refuse to apologize to the staff, and whisk the kids away. You wonder how people get like this, but you don’t need to wonder what kind of adults those children will be.
Your flight is delayed for a third time. You Google “how delayed does a flight have to be before I am entitled to a full refund compensation American Express” and Google responds by making you do a Captcha because of unusual web traffic from your device. The answer is, if you’re curious, six hours.
Finally you are on the plane, only it is a wasteland. Babies are all around you; a hockey team of teen boys fills the gaps. One baby screeches. Like coyotes in they dark, the howl of one triggers the other. Soon they are all howling in unison. You do not know where your headphones are. You hope this is not the same plane they sent back earlier. You check three times to make sure you have your passport.
You land, only you are still stuck. Of course you are: this is totally the wrong time of day for this plane to be here, so why would there be a jetbridge available? Then there is a problem with customs paperwork. The original screeching baby responds to this news by taking a massive dump into its diaper, which its parents then proceed to change on the plane in the row behind you. At least there is air conditioning.
After a one-mile hike through the airport, a broken scanner at re-entry, and a long hot bus ride to the Uber lot, your phone dies. How bad can a regular cab be? He starts off normal enough, but then tries to recruit you to come to his church, and begins swiping through pictures on his phone to show you while he is driving. You tell him you are not religious, and when that fails, that you are moving across the country. Even then, he seems intent. You have him drop you at the corner down the block from your house and tip 20% anyway.
But finally, 12 hours later, you are back where you belong. Your white building walls shine bright against bruised purple twilight, and you see your windows glowing warm amber thanks to a suite of carefully-tuned LIFX bulbs that turn on at dusk, which is in no way a sponsored mention, just something to paint the picture. They are saying: welcome home. We missed you. It looks warm inside. You know it will be as clean as you left it. Your cat will be soft and happy. There is music already on. You have never been further away from your vacation state of mind after today, but your front steps are an altar leading to another kind of salvation. You will not unpack tonight, but this is fine. You have other plans.
It’s true that nothing darkens the glow of vacation quite like traveling home on the last day of vacation. But nothing will brighten you back up again like post-vacation pantry pasta.
This is, of course, just a stupid rebrand of aglio e olio: an Italian sleeper hit that seems almost too basic to ever be popular, but will surprise you with her attitude and edge in the right moment. While cacio e pepe is similarly straightforward, it requires you to have at least one refrigerated ingredient (pecorino) and a few brain cells to spare in order to execute the technique properly. Aglio e olio, on the other hand, excels when these conditions are not met: it is very fast, extremely easy, demands no skill at all, and uses only ingredients that already existed in your house prior to your vacation.
Recipes vary, with proportions specific to the taste of the person cooking it. Mine is written for people who love a lot of garlic, a lot of heat, a little crispy fried garlic texture, and a slightly saucier sauce. This is why I use jarred Calabrian chili peppers instead of chili flakes, though you can substitute if you need to: because jarred chilis come come in oil, they add an extra luxurious gloss to the sauce, and they are quite a bit hotter on a per-pepper basis, creating something like an Italian chili crisp sauce for your pasta once combined with the toasted garlic. They also last for six months, if not longer, in the fridge. Not a “pantry ingredient” technically, but close enough.
Some people will tell you add other things—fresh herbs, a few anchovies, lemon zest—and none of these things are unwelcome. They just aren’t necessarily things people have after 10 days away. Similarly, on a non-vacation night, this goes great with a balsamic-y green salad on the side, but if you are like me, and take great pains to use all your produce before you leave the house, don’t feel like you need to make one. Cheese too is optional, and in fact non-traditional—aglio e olio does not usually come with cheese—but if you, again, are like me, and typically have a brick of parm adrift in the fridge somewhere at all times, then by all means grate some on top. The only thing you really can’t skip is the olive oil drizzle at the end.
Which all means: if you have a packet of pasta, olive oil, a couple cloves of lingering garlic, and a jar of Calabrian chiles in your house, then you can have this pasta, and you can have it in about 12 minutes. If you do not have these things, get them! And keep them around for next time. You will never regret having them. They are like houseplants that don’t require any water or light, there only to make you happy without ever asking anything of you in return.
If I’m making it for myself after a long trip (or even just a long day), I set water to boil the second I get home; by the time I’m done in the shower, the pasta is ready to go in, fry up the garlic with the chilis, and open a bottle of post-vacation wine. The trick is, as usual, to use pasta water to your advantage; that’s the primary sauce ingredient, emulsifying with the oil to become silky and glossy. It’s also a great thing to make for someone who’s returning home, or to have someone make for you. This in part because it can be accommodated on very short notice, but more because it tastes like home smells—or at least, like my home smells, which I suppose is like garlic. And maybe that is why I perceive the intimacy I do in this dish: not because it reminds me of being at home, but because it is what I make to make anyone feel at home, the same as I would make for you if you came over one night unannounced just because you needed a face slap followed by a hug.
RECIPE
My house take on aglio e olio (e peperoncini) featuring calabrian chilis, a ton of garlic, and lots of good olive oil.
Effortful time: 7 minutes
Total time: 20 minutes
YOU NEED
12 oz long pasta, your choice
1/3 cup of your favorite extra virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling at the end
6 large cloves of garlic, thinly sliced; use 8 or more cloves—you should have about a heaping tbsp of sliced garlic
1 heaping tbsp. calabrian chilis in oil, or sub 1 tsp dried chili flakes
Pinch of salt
Chili flakes, for serving, optional
Fresh parm, if you really want it
Make it
Heat water for pasta. Salt it. You will want to cook it 2 minutes under the lower cooking time listed on the package.
Create the sauce. Either while the water is boiling or while the pasta is cooking (if you’re fast), slice your garlic. Put it and the oil into a skillet. Then heat the skillet over medium heat, which slowly toasts the garlic. Once it’s toasted and crispy, add the chilis and cook 30 seconds more. This process, in my experience, takes exactly the length of time of most sturdy long-cooking pasta shapes.
Combine with the pasta. Once pasta is 2 minutes under, use tongs to move the pasta directly over into the skillet. Add a scoop or two of pasta water, switch the heat back on to medium, and simmer until al dente. You want it to be nice and glossy, so add more water if you need it.
Finish and serve. With extra chili flakes, a drizzle of olive oil, and grated parm if you want it.