The Only Link I Care About This Week
I’ve really enjoyed listening to this accidental little collection of podcast episodes with Jenny Slate on the Talk Easy Podcast over the last few years.
I listened to the second episode when it came out in 2020, immediately went back to listen to the 2017 episode and was happy to see a new episode released now in 2022.
She so beautifully articulates a lot of feelings I’ve had over the years. I think I’ve gotten a little choked up at some point in each episode, fwiw. These episodes feel a little bit like getting to read someones journals over the years and then getting to jump ahead and hear how it all turns out.
The Only Recipe I Care About This Week
I recently received an unexpected gift from my Grandma (93!) and when I called her to thank her, my Grandpa (95!) picked up. As they haven’t done nearly anything without each other’s support for the last 72 (SEVENTY TWO!!!!!!!) years, I thanked him for the gift as well. It may not have come from him technically, but the card, signed “Love, Gigi” was written in his handwriting. I said that I’d love to have them over for dinner to say thank you and, as if he’d been patiently waiting for his cue, he said “We’d love to come over for Shrimp Scampi!” Great! Shrimp scampi it is!
I’ve made Alison Roman’s recipe a few times and, yes, it really is… I cannot deny… the best shrimp scampi recipe I’ve ever used. I’m sorry for being so incredibly predictable.
Shrimp Scampi
By: Alison Roman
Recipe via A Newsletter
My notes in italics
INGREDIENTS
10 ounces pasta, like shells, rigatoni, linguini, truly whatever shape you like (optional)(But actually completely not optional)
Kosher salt, freshly ground pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for drizzling
2 pounds large shrimp, peeled and deveined if using pasta, shell-on, head-on preferred if not (okay, hot take, but my favorite shrimp to use for this is the Trader Joe’s frozen, wild, raw Argentinian shrimp. It’s really sweet and I don’t really want to deal with the shell or the tail when eating this)
8 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 small or 1/2 large red onion, finely chopped
8 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
¾ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes or ½ thinly sliced jalapeno, serrano, habanero, etc (optional, only if you want it spicy)
½ cup dry white wine
1 teaspoon fish sauce, I like megachef or red boat (optional) (really makes a massive difference)
¾ cup parsley, finely chopped
¼ cup finely chopped chives (I’ve made this without the chives and/or the parsley many times and, guess what, it’s still delicious)
1 lemon, halved
INSTRUCTIONS
1. If serving with pasta, cook pasta in a large pot of salted water until al dente. Drain, toss with a healthy drizzle of olive oil and toss so it doesn’t stick together; set aside. Usually, I’d have you do this after your pasta ingredients are cooked, but everything happens so fast I want the pasta to be ready.
2. Season shrimp with salt and pepper; set aside (do not skip this step).
3. Heat butter and 2 tablespoons olive oil in a large skillet over medium–high heat until butter is melted and foamy, about 2 minutes. Add the onion and sliced garlic and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally until the onion has softened and starting to brown on the edges and the garlic is completely softened, 4–6 minutes. If you wanted a spicy shrimp scampi, this is when I’d add the crushed red pepper flakes or fresh, sliced pepper.
4. Add shrimp and toss in the hot fat until the shrimp is bright pink on the outside and starting to curl up (cute!), about a minute or so. Add white wine and fish sauce (if using), season again with salt and pepper and let it simmer around the shrimp, gently steaming and cooking them all the way through as the liquid reduces to create a thing that could only be described as “a very good sauce.”
5. If serving with pasta, toss the shrimp and all it’s fantastic sauce with the parsley, chives and cooked pasta (do this in a bowl, do this in the skillet, wherever you have space). Toss, toss, toss! The whole thing should be saucy and glossy: two words that always belong together. 6. Squeeze lemon over everything before serving, scatter more herbs if you like.
Plus a little more…
This week, a good friend moved. Out of California and back to her home in Texas. She took her whole family with her. Even my favorite of her three sons. It is a good thing. A new old house. A bigger backyard. Better jobs. Better breakfast tacos. Shorter drives to extended family. Needed change.
Selfishly, I must admit, I’m having a hard time being fully supportive.
When I say a good friend, I really mean a Great one. The great kind that is present. Who listens. Who shares. Who includes you in her life in the big ways and the small ways. Who gossips. Who complains. Who teaches and learns. Who thinks of others, but is also clear when something doesn’t feel good or safe to her. Who laughs at the same things and gets annoyed at the same people. Who let’s you stop by unannounced. Who invites you to dinner just as much as you invite them. Always answers the phone. Always up for the second cocktail and then kicks her sleeping son out of his bed so you can spend the night after you’ve had a third. Always takes your side when you recount your bad date and never once tells you to lower your standards or to give him a second look. Always listens when you’re having yet another existential crisis – even when you probably (definitely) just sound like a spoiled millennial brat. A friend who tells you all of your business ideas are great – even when one of them is to start a podcast together for an audience of 37 people and a profit of $0.00 for like 3 years.
A 20 year, time tested, Great Friend.
There’s a knot in my throat as I write this. I’m not going to let myself cry right now. But I definitely have already cried about it. A few times. I really only cry when I’m frustrated and as much as these tears I’m fighting sound like sad tears, they really are frustrated tears.
I think I’m frustrated because: Change. Broad, I know. But, specifically, I’m referring to the part of life where change is taking place for one person, but not for the other. A decision of upheaval or movement being made that doesn’t really, let’s say, feel as fun to one person as it may to the other. (Other examples include: Being dumped unexpectedly. Literally the entire vibe of Steve Martin’s character of Father of the Bride). That kind of change really bums me out. ‘I’m gonna go over there and you stay right here. Exactly where you are. You’ll be fine.’ I really don’t love that. So you can imagine my consternation here.
When Good Friends like these pull maneuvers like this, there’s a little bit of ‘how dare you?’ The feeling of ‘we were supposed to be in this together’ comes up. I wish I was a bigger person than that, but I really don’t think I am. The fight of life is what it is and I’m a very “life’s not fair” kind of Conservative, but doesn’t it all feel a little more doable when you’re in the trenches with someone else? To leave is a break from an unspoken agreement of ‘We’re going to get through this whole damn thing together. I’ll be here. And you’ll be here. And we’ll figure it all out.’ I wonder if it’s an acute feeling that comes with singleness – that your people are your partners, collectively filling up a space in the shape of a Big Spoon. There’s no one to share taxes with or dance with to the slow songs at weddings, but there are the people who you can have coffee with the next morning to discuss the ways cocktail hour was horribly executed. Life’s non sexual plus ones. To be fair to those of you in relationships, I guess I can imagine experiencing this feeling of change aversion even if a man was sitting next to me on the couch as I typed this. I guess I would still be very pissed. Probably, unjustifiably taking it out on him, if I’m honest with myself.
After the ‘how dare you’ the ‘fine, I’ll do it too’ shows up. And this one, I do think, comes especially quickly when you are single. If I’m the only one I can count on, then I’ll pack up my damn things and leave this whack little town and never come back too. She plays the victim and she plays her well. This is one of the perks of being alone, right? I’ll finally move to Maine. And I’ll scream-sing to The Chicks for the entire drive across this country. And none of you will ever hear from me again. I can picture my armoire full of saltwater scented sweaters now. This revenge approach is ironically useless in that abandoning everyone else in an effort to teach a lesson to the one person who literally won’t even be around anymore to be affected by said decision is deeply flawed. And begs for a deeper look in a future therapy appointment.
But back to the frustrated tears. They’re selfish, really. I just want things to stay the same. But they don’t. And they can’t. And they shouldn’t. Those big change decisions aren’t just a part of life; they are what make a life. And to punish the bravery and hard work of the people you love while they move from one safe home to the potential of a safer home isn’t very loving at all. And if someone is going to leave me Here in the name of their journey to There, I want them to feel my love as they go.
I don’t know. Maybe they’re not frustrated tears. Maybe I am crying because I am just really sad.