poppin’ cherries

First, put your favorite sauce-makin’ pan over the lowest possible heat and douse it with your favorite cooking olive oil. Next, mince a big, fat, juicy shallot and add it to the pan with a generous sprinkling of your favorite salt. You’ll then mince up an embarrassing amount of garlic, so much so that it’s unlikely that anyone will want to kiss you for days, and your armpits will emit a rich, earthy scent for the next week. Add that to the pan, too.

If you are spicy and powerful, add a large-ish pinch (or two!) of chili flakes, then let everything soften for a bit. You’re keeping everything really low right now. When the shallots and garlic begin to sing the song of their people, and you feel transported to Sardinia by the scent, throw in 30 or so whole cherry or grape tomatoes.

Let that slowly cook for a while on low heat, occasionally stirring it, until the tomatoes begin to burst and their juices meld with all the other loveliness. While you’re waiting, you can chop up your favorite fresh herbs — oregano, thyme, Italian parsley, and so much basil that your cutting board smells of it for the next month. After most of the cherries pop, add all but the basil and stir.

Put on a pot of salted water and bring it to a boil. Add your favorite pasta — it’s ideal if it’s something with ridges or curves that can really hang out with the sauce. If you’re feeling particularly decadent, choose a filled pasta. When the pasta is about halfway cooked, pull out about a cup of the pasta water and add it to your tomatoes. You can also add all of the basil right now. Let it cook a bit until your pasta is to the left of al dente (or 75% done), then transfer the pasta into the sauce, letting some of the water transfer (a slotted spoon is a dream here), and stir to combine everything. Leave the pasta water on the stove in case you need to add more as everything vibes.

Allow the pasta and sauce to cook together over low heat for a few more minutes. Taste the sauce and one noodle, check for seasoning. Add salt or grated Parmesan if you’re feeling it. Turn off the heat and let it chill for a bit, the pasta slowly drinking up the sauce.

After several minutes, when the pasta isn’t steaming any longer, it’s time to get motherfucking decadent.

Drop in one or two burrata (ymmv — I do two, but that’s because I’m a cheeseslut) and slowly break it down so the cream marries with the sauce and you have chunks of stringy fresh mozz swimming between the noodles.

Spoon it into a bowl, shower it with your preferred amount of freshly-ground black pepper, and enjoy.