I Hate Nights in Rodanthe Pasta

Last night, two really terrible things happened to me. I was having a nice girl’s night in, with me the only girl, or person, so that apostrophe isn’t misplaced. Then I realized that my neighbor has a direct line of sight into my bathroom. (Backstory: A couple weeks ago my brother’s girlfriend suggested I open the top halves of all my windows, as I was literally suffocating and dying for a few minutes every night and most days. I’d come to and all my plants would be looking at me like, shit, is she ok? The hot air will go out the top, my brother’s girlfriend said, and the cool air will come in the bottom. My bathroom is no cooler. But my neighbor does have a direct line of sight into it.)

Then, just when things couldn’t get any worse, I watched NIGHTS IN RODANTHE, which in case you haven’t seen it is a goddamn emotional terrorist of a movie. If I got that movie alone and restrained, I would probably lose my humanity.

In this wreck of a film, the lady and the guy have 4 days together in a quaint-ass inn probably called something shitty like “Mermaid Cove” built literally on the beach, which personally is a place I would never build something I didn’t want the ocean to wash away, and they think they fall in love.

Nicholas Sparks, at this point I need a word with you. In “The Notebook,” you gave us a very real love story. I know in my heart of hearts that Noah and Allie loved each other that summer they were together and every blessed second following it. When they’re in the rain and Noah shouts, “Hell, it’s still not over!” I experience symptoms of epilepsy. That love is effing real.

But these chumps? After 4 days? It’s utter madness. Put any two jerks in Mermaid Cove in a hurricane and shit’s gonna go down; there’s nothing much else to do during a hurricane. Anyways, the story progresses and you willingly – by that I mean stupidly – suspend your disbelief. You feel it deep in your bones that they’re going to spend the rest of their lives together. You go to the fridge and get your cat another cat appetizer to celebrate.

So they write letters like idiots for a year or something, and the length of her hair is directly proportional to her happiness over the shitty “I’m reading a love letter” montage so by the end of it she looks like National Velvet the horse, then he’s like “I’m coming to your house now,” and when he doesn’t show, you have a tiny inkling that something might, just might, be wrong. Then immediately after you have this thought, the guy’s son shows up at the lady’s door and is like “AW HELL, HE DIED IN A MUDSLIDE LIKE 15 MINUTES BEFORE YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN REUNITED!!”

To reiterate, he didn’t show up because he was DEAD. What in the name of all that is holy kind of movie IS THAT?!?! It was like someone promised me a sundae, made me wait for it for like an hour and a half, and then very suddenly killed someone instead of giving me the sundae, leaving me no time to get used to the thought of my future without the sundae and with the specter of death.

The only thing that kept me from ending it last night was the damn delicious pasta I made. It’s perfect for you if you experience extreme guilt or panic when adding lots of fats to foods – there’s really no fat beside the oil and ricotta, but you get a little of the creaminess that you’d have in a cream sauce. But there’s no cream. No ma’am. Won’t find that here.

I HATE NIGHTS IN RODANTHE Pasta

Makes 4 servings (1 if you just went on the Neverending Story of a run and can’t see straight)

2 or 3 garlic cloves, finely chopped

3 tablespoons good-quality olive oil

¾ cup peas (I used frozen – that’s right, I said it; I’m not proud, but I was so tired from running I didn’t want to get fresh ones, write your own recipe if you care so damn much)

2 cups baby arugula leaves, packed

1 lemon

3 cups fusilli pasta (orecchiette or campanelle would be delicious too)

½ cup fresh ricotta cheese

skim milk to taste

fresh parmesan to grate

salt and pepper to taste

Boil some salty water and prepare pasta according to instructions – preferably al dente, as any leftover pasta will soak up some liquid in the ol’ icebox.

In the meantime, don’t get lazy. In a large pan, heat oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and sauté until fragrant, 30 seconds to 1 minute. So help me God if you let that garlic burn….

Lower the heat slightly and add the peas. After 5 minutes, add the arugula, stirring occasionally until it’s mostly wilted, maybe 3-5 minutes. Just before the pasta’s done, squeeze the juice of half the lemon into the arugula.

Drain the pasta, reserving some of the cooking liquid. Be careful, that shit is hot, and I don’t want you to end up like the Phantom of the Opera. Put the pasta back in the hot pan and immediately add the ricotta. Stir. Add a tablespoon or two of milk and stir more. (At this point I also added some grated parmesan for some chewy goodness.) Add some hot cooking liquid if the sauce needs to be thinned out. Then, zest that lemon right on in there, and squeeze the remaining juice to taste. Season with salt and pepper, again to taste. I find that the ricotta needs a fair amount of salt.

I also chopped up a tomato and added that it, and it was delightful. It’s up to you; you don’t have to, but you’d be a dumbass not to if your tomatoes looked like THIS, SUCKAS: