SEATTLE — It took me a long time to realize it, but every time I seek comfort, or even connection, I reach for the same thing to eat — angel hair pasta and tomato sauce.
I've never been picky about the sauce. It could be jarred or a long-simmered pot of canned tomatoes, a bay leaf or two bobbing in the depths. I'm also a big fan of Marcella Hazan's iconic 45-minute magic sauce, flavored with a halved onion and half a stick of butter, or in a pinch, I sometimes turn a squirt of tomato paste, some pasta water, Parmesan and a splash of whole milk into sauce.
What I wouldn't compromise on are noodles. I've cooked in dozens of kitchens all around the world — when I was too broke to drive home for holidays in college, on first nights in new apartments and new cities, on quiet nights in strange kitchens surrounded by dogs I was housesitting, or on hectic evenings with a baby balanced on my hip while I stirred — the act of twirling those long, thin noodles around the tines of my fork just as my grandpa taught me 35 years ago is instant comfort, instant calm.
