A Feast for the Un-Birthday

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Hello, friends.

It started early in the week.

“Listen,” I say. “Can we at least talk about this? Explain to me why I have to make this from scratch.”

He sighs and leans his long body against the counter, arms folded in front of him. You know the pose.

“You know why. They’ll know if you don’t. You’ll know if you don’t. Also, that’s cheating. I’m not opposed to a little friendly game of whose-gin-is-it rummy, but this is cooking. It matters.”

Yes, chef.

The last time I attempted fresh pasta was spring 2020. There wasn’t a noodle to be found on a grocery store shelf—unless you count acini di pepe. And really, what do you even do with that? (Don’t say frog’s eye salad.)

Anyway. It didn’t go well. I failed. Me. The person who makes croissants, pie crusts, and biscuits like it’s a birthright. But pasta? Actual edible pasta? Not so far.

“Well,” I say out loud, “since it’s your mothereffing un-birthday this week, I’ll do it.” He wins. He always wins. Though I think he flinched at that comment.

Yep. It’s that anniversary again. June 8th. I’m saving my tears for the pasta water—at least they’ll be useful.

There’s this moment in A Cook’s Tour, season two. He’s the guest of honor at a feast, and he has to kill the pig. Later, he’s by the river with a beer, squatting in the dirt and staring off into nothing. Voice-over says he’s just trying to hold it together.

Yep.

In his honor this week, I went to In-N-Out and ordered his favorite burger: double-double, animal style. It was perfect. Tasted like tears.

But enough moping. Time to cook.

This week, we’re making Malloreddus with Wild Boar Sugo (Appetites, pg. 133).

“What the hell is malloreddus?” your brain might be asking. Sardinian pasta. The word supposedly means “little calves.” As in bovine. Not the things that sticks out of your socks. And definitely not malodorous.

I’d been determined to use the wild boar I scored last week—ground, not whole. And frankly, I didn’t miss the joyless thrill of dicing two pounds of meat into tiny cubes. The internet says sugo is often made with ground meat anyway, so we’re going with it.

I started with the pasta dough—it needs time to rest and dry, and the sauce doesn’t need to simmer all day. Making the dough was easy. Kneading it for 15 minutes? Less so.

I even bought a cute little gnocchi board to shape the malloreddus. (It’s also called gnocchetti sardi.) Rolling the dough into long ropes and slicing them into nubs reminded me of childhood clay play. Running each piece across the board to get those tiny ridges? Kind of meditative. Like edible therapy.

Soon, I had two trays of pasta ready to meet their fate in salted boiling water. The sauce—wild boar, onion, garlic, rosemary, white wine, water—was already bubbling away.

I debated the cook time. Pasta Evangelists said 4–5 minutes. The ghost said 6–8. I tested at 5. Tony was right. Obviously.

Tossed together, piled high with parmesan, and scooped into bowls, it looked beautiful. The pasta wasn’t perfect—but it was definitely edible.

The wild boar surprised me. Mild. No weird smell like ground beef sometimes has. And yes, it was $20 a pound. But for a meal like this? Worth it.

There’s an Italian restaurant in a Salt Lake suburb that served wild boar ragu with house-made pappardelle last fall—that was my first taste of it. I may not be great at pasta yet, but I’m tempted to try recreating that next. I’m sure the ghost will have plenty of opinions and suggestions. He loves to do that.

I love it, too.

I don’t know what’s on next week’s menu yet. But I think I’ll let the ghost pick again.

Until then—what are you cooking this summer? I’d love to hear.

And by the way, thank you for being here and reading this. Knowing you’re along on this adventure brings me joy. If some of you would please click on the weekly ads (see below), my pocketbook would get some joy, too. It helps offset the cost of feral swine. You don’t have to buy anything. Thanks.

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