Let me tell you a little story about dinner this past Wednesday. (Spoiler: It ends with me sobbing into a bowl of coconut curry.)
I woke up feeling excellent. We’d been making progress on the apartment, with Ben and I surviving two trips to IKEA with our relationship still fully intact. We’d built bookshelves and record stands, broken down dozens of boxes, and I somehow still managed to feel a flutter of excitement every time I woke up next to him and realized that we were, in fact, living together. Bliss! Gorgeous! Love that for me!
I think it’s important to pause here to mention that one of the reasons I fell in love with Ben was because he’s a man who cooks. He brings so much to our relationship, including dozens of spices and a bevy of cooking equipment. (We’re currently in a cold war over who will get rid of their immersion blender, as we each have one that we’re oddly hesitant to part with.) But the thing about New York City apartments is that they are tiny as fuck. Like, a kitchen for ants. So aside from having our few cabinets packed to the gills with our kitchen equipment, I spent the first week in our apartment cooking on one single square of counter space until our IKEA island was in stock.
So, back to Wednesday. The day progressed fairly normally. Great even. I met my friend Erin and her son Gideon for a walk. I dove back into work and barreled through the assignments that had piled up during my time off for the move. We went through our records and organized them by genre. I pulled the recipe for this week, shrimp with broccoli rabe, and was excited to make it later that afternoon.
And then, at about 2 PM, my mood suddenly shifted. Maybe it was because I felt super behind at work. Maybe it was because I’d been tip-toeing around boxes for the past five days and was at my wit’s end. Maybe it was just so fucking hot that I was having trouble sleeping. But I was suddenly pissy, exhausted, and NOT in the mood to cook shrimp with broccoli rabe and film myself doing so. So I decided to scrap the whole thing and make a cauliflower and broccoli curry.
Why I decided to do this, I have no idea. I could have made any number of other recipes that didn’t require turning on the broiler DURING A HEAT WAVE. But nevertheless, I chopped the broccoli and cauliflower at the dining table, juggled mixing bowls on the slip of counter, burned myself on the stove, turned on the broiler, and immediately broke into a sweat. Then the cursing came. And then the banging of pots and pans. And soon I was having a full-blown tantrum in the middle of my boiling hot kitchen, to the point where Ben and the dog came in to check on me. I promptly barked at him to get out and turned back to my curry, sobbing the whole way through.
When dinner was finally on the table, I was a mess. “I HATE OUR KITCHEN!!” I wailed across the table at Ben. It was like the stress of the move had finally bubbled to the surface, and it was turning me into Linda Blair in The Exorcist. In my mind, me hating the kitchen meant that the apartment was bad, which meant that we were going to be miserable here, and that was going to break us up. Insane, I know, but it was really hot.
To his immense credit, instead of immediately packing his bags and leaving me to my irrationality, Ben came around to my side of the table and hugged me. I sobbed into his shirt. And we stayed there for a few minutes, him rubbing my back, me hiccuping into his chest. “It’s all going to work out,” he kept saying. “You just need to be patient.”
Patience, as we know, has never been my strong suit. But I was too tired and hot to fight. I opted, instead, to listen to the rational part of my brain that told me he was right—that knew that I’d feel better once my kitchen island came, the boxes were unpacked, the temperature shifted, and things were a little more settled. So I took a cold shower, and we climbed into bed, surrounded by boxes. It would all work out, eventually.
And, wouldn’t you know it? That happened a lot sooner than I thought. The island came into stock on Thursday. It was built and in our kitchen on Friday. The heat broke and we only have four boxes left in the entire apartment that still need to be unboxed.
So yesterday, in my new kitchen, with a pleasant breeze rippling through the window, I made shrimp with broccoli rabe at my new kitchen island. It felt like the right recipe to make for my first official Sunday Sauce meal here, as it feels very representative of both my grandmother and my mother. Both love this dish. It was and is a staple around their tables, and I expect it will become one around ours. (Because did I mention I finally have a DINING ROOM in this apartment?!) It’s also simple—just three ingredients, plus spices. So no matter how hot, and sweaty, and pissed off, and tired, and annoyed you are, you can have this on the table in about 20 minutes. Sometimes, that’s all you can muster. And that’s a-ok.
Here’s what’s cooking
Shrimp with Broccoli Rabe
INGREDIENTS
One large bunch of broccoli rabe, ends trimmed and stems and leaves cleaned
1 lb of shrimp, cleaned with tails removed
3 cloves garlic, chopped
2 Tbs olive oil
Red pepper flakes (optional)
Salt and pepper, to taste
INSTRUCTIONS
Bring a pot of well-salted water to a boil over medium-high heat. Add the broccoli rabe and blanche until fork-tender, about five minutes. Strain well.
In a large skillet, heat the olive oil until shimmering. Add the garlic and cook until golden brown.
Add the broccoli rabe and cook for a minute before adding the shrimp. If using, add the red pepper flakes, and then season with salt and pepper.
Cook, stirring often, until the shrimp is pink and opaque, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and taste for seasoning. Serve warm.
NOTES
Grandma made her shrimp with broccoli rabe with white wine, according to her recipe card. My mother was surprised by this, because she doesn’t cook hers with white wine. I’ve omitted it from the recipe, but if you’re looking to brighten this dish up a bit, you can add 1/2 cup white wine or the juice of one lemon to the skillet after adding the broccoli rabe and shrimp.
My mother likes to serve this as a side with something like steak, but I actually love it as a main with a little parmesan polenta on the side.
Have this, it will make you feel better
I’m sure, by now, you’ve heard of Olivia Julianna, the 19-year-old who has been raising money for abortion funds after Matt Gaetz (the congressman who looks like if a roofied Red Bull and vodka became sentient and who is currently under investigation for child sex trafficking) used his platform to bully her. (Ah yes, a 40-year-old adult teasing a teenager. God Bless America.) She’s close to hitting her goal of $2 million, so let’s show her our support while donating to abortion funds, too.
I have been obsessively watching videos of other people’s apartments as I decorate my own, and am so tickled by Anna Sui’s dreamy place.
In case you were wondering, this is the broccoli and cauliflower curry recipe I made on Wednesday night. Despite the meltdown, it was actually delicious.