The first meal I ever made for Ben was baked ziti. It was a departure from my typical “I’m-cooking-for-a-guy-I-really-like” routine of chicken milanese and pasta aglio e olio. (Both coming soon, I promise.) These recipes offered a little extra panache. To me, they showed that I knew what I was doing. They were impressive without being fancy. They seemed like the type of meal a cool, creative, and totally casual chick would whip up for an impromptu dinner party on a Wednesday night, because why not?
But Ben had been talking about how much he loved pasta al forno. And I didn’t really care about seeming cool, or creative, or totally casual around him. I told him how excited I was to see him every time we set a date. I wanted to make him a dish that felt like who I really was: cheesy and soft and saucy. I didn’t care if it was a basic, kinda corny dish. I didn’t care if I got cheese on my chin. I felt comfortable with him, and so I wanted to make something comforting.
It may not be “engagement chicken,” like so many women’s magazines touting in the mid 00s. But could it be “date me ziti”? In my case, yes it was. It also, unwittingly, ushered in a change in my life that has kind of thrown me for a loop—in ways fabulous and frightening.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the type of woman I am and how that compares or contrasts with the type of woman I want to be as I settle into this fourth decade of my life. To be honest, I’ve been having a bit of an identity crisis, especially when it comes to womanhood and how I write about it. This was easy in my 20s, since I was navigating a lot—singleness, traditional ideas of womanhood vs the more modern direction I was being pulled in, trying to figure out how to pay for weekly Sunday brunches on a $60k/year salary.
Now, I’m older. I’m more sure of myself. I’m in a relationship with someone I adore and feel ready to start building a future with him. And I have no idea how to define myself in that situation. I’m not a mom yet. I’m not a wife yet. And I’ve always imagined that my identity would be made up of those two descriptors instead of being defined by them. But that’s what I’m struggling right now—defining who I am and what I want to be doing.
It’s in my career, too. I’ve been working with a coach to try and help figure out my next steps. We’ve been making mood boards, talking through buzz words, and figuring out where I want to go. Do I want to maintain my identity as a writer, or am I comfortable starting to let that go? Where does motherhood fit into that? How about kids?
When I was turning 30, so many of my older friends told me how good I was about to have it. And I still believe them to a certain extent. I trust myself more. I care less what people think. But it still feels tenuous, this part of life. In a lot of ways, I feel more confused about who I am and where I want to be. And it’s especially hard to admit that when I look around and see so many people who seem to have it together. (Even though I know nobody actually has it all together.)
Is discomfort just a part of life? I’m starting to think it may be. So what do we do when we feel uncomfortable? Well, for me, I make something comforting. And now this ziti dish, or “date me pasta” has another positive connotation for me. It’s the first meal (of many) I made for Ben, and it was the beginning of our story together. And while I may not know the ending, or the middle, or even what the third chapter may be, I know how it starts, and that’s pretty good.
Here’s What’s Cooking
“Date Me” Baked Ziti
INGREDIENTS
1 lb pasta (I prefer rigatoni over ziti, but as long as it’s sturdy and tube-shaped, you’re good)
1 cup whole-milk ricotta
1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese
2 cups mozzarella, shredded
4 cups tomato sauce
Chopped basil (optional)
INSTRUCTIONS
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.
Boil your pasta in well-salted water according to package instructions.
In a small bowl, mix your ricotta with 1/4 cup of the grated parmesan. Set aside.
Once cooked, drain the pasta and top with about half the tomato sauce. Stir until well-coated.
Fold in your ricotta mixture to the sauce and gently stir a few times. You don’t want to fully incorporate the cheese— you want there to be big pockets of ricotta left.
In a casserole dish (either two 8x8 or one 9x13), spoon in enough of the remaining sauce to coat the bottom.
Layer on half of your pasta. Top generously with half the shredded mozzarella, and then a sprinkle of basil, if using. Add the rest of the pasta on top.
Top the casserole with the remaining sauce. Add the mozzarella on top, followed by a sprinkle of parmesan, and the remaining basil, if using.
Bake for 30 minutes, or until the cheese is melted and the sides are bubbling. I also like to toss the casserole under the broiler for 5ish minutes to get a little browning on top. Just make sure to keep an eye on it so it doesn’t burn. Serve hot with some crusty bread and a big salad.
What a sweet Sunday read. Thank you for sharing and also making me really hungry! I’d love to learn more about the type of coach you’re working with and how you found them. I’ve been interested in finding someone like this as well to help plan my next phase of life.