Pasta Fazool

You know how sometimes someone says something to you, either good or bad, and it just sticks? It hangs around in the corner of your brain, almost like an itch you can’t quite scratch. Sometimes you store it up, holding it there to chew on when all is quiet, like right before you fall asleep. These things, sometimes completely innocent and sometimes not so much, are what shape us, form our thoughts of ourselves, mold us. These we turn into our truths. These things, whether right wrong or indifferent, become us. 

I know on some level that we’re not supposed to let this happen. We’re never supposed to define ourselves but what others think or say to us, about us. But since I’ve never been one to do what I’m supposed to do very well, I’m just going to say that I do this. Maybe you don’t. But I do. I’m obviously working on keeping the negative and distorted truths that have been hurled at me at bay, but I’ve decided to finally, and I mean finally, take the good things, the compliments, and absorb them as truth. Whether I see myself as such or not is immaterial, I want to absorb it, chew on it a bit, and accept it with grace. 

And if it’s a compliment I am not going to do that weird female thing of negating the compliment with a bunch of self-deprecating excuses. Why do we do that ladies? Can we just make a pact with each other that from now on if someone says something nice about us we’re going to hard stop at “Thank you.” And then we’re going to freaking OWN IT. 

Please? And thank you.

Anyway, this happened to me just the other day. A friend who I know only from the magical world of make-believe known as Instagram (if you’re not following me over there yet, drop everything right now and GO DO IT. I’m fun) thanked me for always showing up. Such a simple thing, really. She told me that I always show up for her and it makes her feel good. And it floored me that she even noticed. 

I think these words have been rolling around in my mind with such impact, words I’m examining and holding up to the light, because showing up for people is one thing I don’t feel like I do well. Showing up means you are there, you can be counted on. And I don’t know if that’s really me, if I really can be counted on for the people in my life.

I can’t manage to show up well for my family, my birth family. They are a thousand miles away and showing up for them in a real way, with practical help and hugs and support, is a matter of travel and money and schedule shuffling that I can’t always manage. I pray and talk and listen on the phone, but it’s not the same. And I struggle mightily with not being able to show up for them the way I want.

I can’t manage to show up well for my friends, my real life friends, all of the time, the way they need me. I’m a terrible texter. I just am. I don’t know how people manage to be anything BUT a bad texter. Honestly. If I responded in a timely fashion to everything that comes my way I would NEVER look up from my phone and probably have carpal tunnel. I want to, I just most often can’t. It’s beyond me. So if you’re my friend IRL this is my disclaimer: I will either text you back in one minute or one business day. There is no in between. I can’t show up there all the time. 

But where I really feel like I don’t show up, almost daily, is in my regular old everyday interactions. It makes sense that one of my interweb friends, someone I don’t see in person well, ever, would be the one to tell me I show up because it’s so much easier and more comfortable to show up there, with someone who I am never face to face with, than it is to show up anywhere else. 

And while I am not making excuses, I’ve been doing some introspection and digging and I think I know why. 

What I’ve found since I’ve started writing, or more importantly since y’all have started reading, is that the more I share here, on BurntToast, the more I cocoon myself in real life.Writing and sharing my thoughts, my feelings, my failures and the nitty gritty of my life is a little bit like stripping down to my underwear and parading around Target. It’s terrifying. It’s a continual showing up in the deepest way, every week.

And I didn’t intend to do any of this when I started BurntToast; I mean it’s a FOOD BLOG, for heaven’s sake. It was never my idea to share my deepest darkest with y’all, that just kind of happened. What it’s morphed into is such an unexpected surprise and unexpected blessing, though, and the biggest shock is that most of you relate just as much (if not more) to what I write as you do the recipes. I get more “me toos” and “oh my gosh I thought I was the only one” from my stories, especially when I go deep and dark, than I ever do for any recipe (except you, Thai Basil Meatballs, you little viral sensation, you).

And as this has all happened, as more of the people I know IRL, close friends and mere acquaintances, are following along and reading, the more I see myself personally retreating into my a protective shell in public. I almost don’t want you to connect who I am, the mom at carpool and baseball practice and gymnastics, to the one you read every week. Because let me tell you, it’s kind of weird to think that you’ve read about my latest meltdown or deepest pain, and yet we’re talking about the weather on Field 6 or chatting casually as we sit together during visitor lunch at the elementary school. It just is. Y’all know me now, and I can’t hide from that. 

So, dear friends, this is my apology. I’m sorry for not showing up in real life. I’m sorry that the most you might get is a shy wave from across the field or a text response three days later. I’m not trying to be rude, I promise. I’m just cocooning for self preservation. I never expected this, it blows my mind that you read what I write, and it’s hard to process sometimes. Yes, I’m probably weirder about it than I have to be (if you ever want to see a tremendously cringe-worthy show of awkwardness, tell me in person that you read something I wrote and love it) but I’m doing my best.

Just know that I’m grateful y’all are here. It’s one of the greatest pleasures of my life to show up here, every week, and have you follow along. And for my real life people, I’m going to show up more, I promise. The call to show up for other people doesn’t rest on whether we feel like it. It doesn’t matter whether I’m awkward about it or feel weird because you might have read something I wrote. I need to get over myself. We’re called to show up for each other. It’s not a suggestion, it’s a call. Loving our neighbor is more than just sharing a deep quote on Facebook or liking a post on Instagram. It’s being present. It’s offering a hand. It’s showing up the way Jesus showed up for us, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it hurts. Just show up. 

Pasta Fazool

And for my “IRL” recipe today I’m sharing an old world classic. This recipe was handed down to me, so to speak, by a friend of my parents. I never met him, so it’s maybe a stretch to say he handed it down to me, but legend has it that he was a little old man straight off the boat from Sicily. He loved to dance, loved to sing and loved to cook. In many ways, he’s like my spirit animal. In full disclosure I had never had Pasta Fazool prior to this making this recipe so I’m not sure of it’s exact “authenticity” but I will tell you it’s pretty darn good.

I decided to give this one a go with some gluten-free pasta because a few of my dear friends are GF and I never feel like I make enough that they can eat. I love the meatless aspect to this one too, because one can never have enough meat-free meals in their toolbox but I’m assuming if you really need meat to survive that adding in some cooked and crumbled Italian Sausage would be a good addition. I have also made this with regular old gluten-filled pasta and it’s just as good. I suggest Ditalini or Orzo, a smaller pasta to accommodate the delicate broth, but anything you have on hand would be good. Just remember to save that pasta water. It is LIFE to this recipe. 

Either way, this is a quick and easy authentic soup that just happens to be packed with fiber, vegan, gluten-free and family friendly. And maybe, just maybe, now that I’m posting a fall recipe I will somehow magically make this blasted heatwave disappear and usher in weather appropriate for freaking OCTOBER. Maybe.

Peace, love and showing up,

Meg 

Pasta Fazool

October 4, 2019

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By: Meaghan Dawson

Ingredients

• 2 ounces plus 2 tablespoons Olive Oil
• 2 onions, finely diced
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 bunch of celery, ribs cleaned, halved lengthwise and then finely chopped
• 6 ounce jar of tomato pasta
• 2 teaspoons salt
• 2 teaspoons oregano
• 1 teaspoon pepper
• 2 cans of pinto beans, DO NOT DRAIN
• 8 ounce gluten free pasta

Directions

• Step 1 Add oil in large stock pot over medium high heat.
• Step 2 Add onions and salt and pepper generously. Saute until translucent.
• Step 3 Add garlic and stir constantly, 30 seconds or until fragrant.
• Step 4 Stir in tomato paste and spices (salt, pepper and oregano) rubbing in palms to release flavor before. Stir well and incorporate until everything is coated, being careful not to burn.
• Step 5 Add celery and enough water just to cover.
• Step 6 Cook on a low simmer until celery is tender, about 15-20 minutes.
• Step 7 Add beans, undrained, and stir.
• Step 8 Cook pasta plus 1 tablespoon oil as directed.
• Step 9 Turn off burner and scoop out pasta, leaving the pasta water.
• Step 10 Add pasta and left over pasta water, one cup at a time, to the bean and celery mixture, until broth is a light red.
• Step 11 Bring to a boil and simmer 2 minutes.
• Step 12 Taste for seasoning and adjust accordingly, adding more pasta water if necessary.
• Step 13 Serve immediately and refrigerate leftovers.

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