Spaghetti alle Vongole: If you're feeling fancy

Call it what you want—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that this was a first for me, a recipe I didn’t grow up with, didn’t inherit, didn’t pretend to perfect over a thousand trial runs. I made it once, for someone I love, and it stuck. A little celebration for my girlfriend wrapping her first year of law school. The grades were good. We weren’t surprised. But we celebrated anyway. Because in this life, you take your wins loud, with wine and garlic.

Let’s skip the performative childhood trauma and cut to the chase: this is a dish that makes you feel like a better cook than you probably are. It’s briny, honest, and fast—like any good summer fling. Here’s how I did it:

The Setup:

• 1.5 lbs clams (1 lb if you're alone, or lying to yourself)

• 2 cups dry white wine – nothing you'd serve to guests, but good enough to sip while you stir

• 1 large bunch of parsley – yes, the stems too, don’t be a coward

• 1 shallot

• Several cloves of garlic, because of course

• Red chili flakes, as much as your ego can handle

• Good olive oil – don’t cheap out

• 1 lb pasta – spaghetti or linguine, because you’re not a lunatic

The Ritual:

Start by giving your clams a proper ocean bath. Cold water, heavy salt. It should taste like the sea, or at least the idea of it. Let them sit, scrub ’em clean, and toss anything that looks suspicious. If it feels like a bad decision, it probably is. Life rule.

In a deep pan: a slick of olive oil, your garlic and shallot, parsley stems, and the clams. Hit it with that cheap wine and slap a lid on it. Medium-high heat. Wait three, maybe four minutes. Watch like it’s the season finale of a show you pretend not to like. The clams will open, like you in therapy if you ever go. That’s your sign.

Pull the meat, save the stock, and strain it into a new pot. Add a little water. Bring it to a boil. Salt it like the ghost of Marcella Hazan is watching. Drop your pasta. You know how long to cook it. If you don’t, read the damn box. You’re an adult.

While that’s working, get your original pan hot again. More olive oil, minced garlic, chili flakes, parsley leaves. Splash in a little pasta water. It should sizzle like a Vegas sidewalk in August. Drain your pasta, toss it in. Add the clams. Swirl, taste, adjust, pretend you’re on a cooking show. Plate it with a few shells for drama.

Eat it with someone hot. Or someone you love. Ideally both. And if you’ve got leftover clam stock, save it. Make chowder. Or don’t. That part’s not my business.

Just make the damn thing. And make it matter.