Authenticity w/ Clam Sauce
Staring out the window of John Harbor’s Coffee House, I was drowning. Not because of the rain outside, brought on by late January’s thaw turning the dregs of Christmas snow into pools of gray and brown. Not from the tears pushing against the levee of my composure in a public place. I was straining to exhale, afraid if I did, all the regret might come gushing out, and I would indeed drown.
My daughter, who managed the place, brought over my double-shot Americano.
“Mama, are you okay?” That sweet face that has never aged was overwritten with concern. “Why are you here in the middle of the day?”
“I just finished a life-coaching session and got my test results. I am supposed to look them over and note any questions I have.” I dutifully repeated the instructions I had received.
“Okay. Yeah. Is this that thing you’re doing because you don’t like being a lawyer anymore?”
Typical of my youngest to get right to the point. I nodded. The drowning feeling was coming back.
“You got this, mom. I gotta get back to work.” Anjie kissed my cheek and left me to my musings and counseling homework.
My test results told me that I was highly artistic, a trait I had never associated with practicing law. I pulled out my assignment and began the survey sections from Finding Your Own North Star, by Martha Beck. The author called on her reader to reexamine childhood play--memories that brought joy and experiences that left in their wake a sense of fulfillment. She also asked whose voices played on the recordings in my head telling me I could not do things I dreamed of doing. Reflected in that house-of-mirrors from my childhood and adolescence might be the personal Polaris guiding me to what I was meant to do, instead of what I was doing.
Of course, one of those voices was quick to scold me for not getting back to work. Still, I suspected I needed to face what I saw in those mirrors if I was to overcome the malaise that was washing over my days, eroding my sleep. To forego this rare expenditure of time for myself, extravagant as it felt, would be like leaving the warmth and comfort of the coffeehouse to face the rain which had started coming down in icy shards, promising more snow if the temperature dropped.
I stayed.
Memories of times at play, and even more so, difficult times that had shaped my choices more than the experiences of joy, were enlightening. I felt creativity stir like some ancient, wonderful creature that had been asleep under a spell all those intervening years.
Anjie came to me with my second coffee, peeking over my shoulder as she set the cup down. “So, what have you figured out?”
“Nothing much, but I remember a little kitchen I made out of boxes and stuff from the basement. I remember the elaborate adventures I made up as a kid from things I’d read or seen on TV.”
“Well, I don’t know about the other stuff,” Anjie grinned, “but as for the kitchen, mom, you still like to play there and we get to eat the results. Nobody makes linguini and clam sauce like yours.”
“Thanks, Anj. You know, I loved making up those stories as a kid. At work, one thing I do look forward to is when I have to write something. You know like a brief, or a report—that sort of thing. I wonder if I could write a novel.”
“Um..well, mom, speaking as the resident English major,” Anjie paused diplomatically before she continued, “I am given to understand that if you decide to take on something like a book, stick to what you know. Readers appreciate authenticity.”
“Thanks for the advice. And for not laughing at me.”
“Mama, why would I laugh? Honestly, you are very creative. My sister and I get it from somewhere. And I love to write, so maybe I get that from you. You should write. You should do it right now. Find some paper and just write for like, say, ten minutes.”
“Well like what, though? What should I write?”
As she walked away, with a smile as cryptic as a cat’s she replied, “Whatever you want.”
Whatever I want?
I had seldom allowed myself the luxury of those words. But was my choice heroic self-sacrifice in the face of responsibility, or was it really cowardice masquerading as such?
On the job I was never without a legal-pad and pen close at hand. Of course in that moment, I found a pen in my purse but only a printed invoice from my last oil change to use as paper. It would have to do.
Thirty minutes later I was staring at what would become the prologue to The Throwaway. And even the linguini eventually made its way into the story. When Keri Metzger, the main character, picks up her children after a long day, laden with more work to do after they go to bed, the youngest begs for her linguini in clam sauce, a meal that was a favorite comfort food of my own girls.
Of course, while none of my books are autobiographical, scraps of remembered emotion and the experiences that shaped them are bound to seep into my stories. Allowing a part of one’s self to flow into any creative endeavor requires a willing vulnerability, especially when it comes to issues more significant than a plate of pasta. Still, the resulting authenticity is worth the effort.
And even though my linguini recipe includes a few more steps than tearing open a blue box and a packet of processed cheese, I humbly share the recipe below in the hope you will find the result worth the effort. Bon appetit!
M. M. Kiehn’s Linguine w/ Clam Sauce
Ingredient List
1 16-ounce box of linguini
2 6.5-7 ounce cans chopped clams, drained but reserve the juice
3 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons olive oil
1/3 cup fine white rice flour
1 14.5-ounce can of diced tomatoes, drained reserve the juice, or two cups diced, seeded, fresh Roma tomatoes
Two heaping tablespoons tomato paste
2 shallots or one medium onion, finely diced
1 large clove of garlic, minced
Fresh basil and oregano chopped finely 2 tablespoons each, or 1 teaspoon each dried
¾ cup of dry white wine
1.5 cups of chicken stock, heated through
1/2 cup heavy cream (see Directions for details)
Sea salt and black pepper
2 dashes of tabasco
Grated or shredded parmesan cheese to garnish
Directions:
Cook the linguini until al dente according to package instructions.
While the water is coming to a boil, melt the butter in a large deep skillet on medium heat.
Add the oil. Sauté the onions/shallots, stirring occasionally until they soften, not brown. Add a few dashes of salt to get the onions/shallots to sweat.
Add garlic and continue to sauté, stirring occasionally until the garlic turns golden. Don’t scorch the garlic.
Add the herbs and stir for another minute or two until the fragrance is released.
Add the rice flour and stir in until incorporated, cooking for 1 minute; if it looks a little dry add a touch more oil.
Add the wine, clam juice, tomato juice if using canned tomatoes, and stock. Stir in the tomato paste and incorporate thoroughly. (If using fresh tomatoes they will release their juices as the sauce cooks.)
Increase the heat until the sauce bubbles, stirring to avoid scorching on the bottom. Once the sauce is bubbling and beginning to thicken, turn down the heat to medium-low, continuing to stir the sauce frequently as it thickens; allow the sauce to reduce by one third.
Add the clams and tomatoes, incorporating fully.
Add enough cream to turn the sauce a coral color, roughly 1/2 cup. If using fresh tomatoes allow the sauce to reduce sufficiently as they release their juices before adding the cream.
Stir in two dashes of tabasco. Taste and adjust the salt and pepper.
Turn down to low heat.
Serve over the linguini with grated or shredded parmesan cheese. Minced basil to garnish. A nice green salad with vinaigrette to accompany.
