Pasta bake with courgettes, bacon and ricotta

Today has been one of those days, which I never really previously appreciated as much as I should, where nothing much happened.

(Well, except for my dramatic awakening when my body’s muscle atonia¹ function didn’t and I threw myself out of bed while dreaming of dancing (or messing up a dance, more accurately), and woke up on my bedroom floor with some new bruises and an NHS bedside table that has developed a pronounced lean from being landed on. At least I now know for a fact that I can get up from the floor if I need to!)

After saying last week that she would never go to church again, mum is feeling better enough that she has changed her mind. She is also well enough that she recognises that it’s anxiety causing her to feel unwell at the thought of going, and to agree to a compromise where she will go for a cup of tea after the service rather than going to the service itself, as that puts less pressure on her to stay for any particular amount of time.

I’m desperately hoping she won’t talk herself out of it by tomorrow morning.

For dinner tonight we had one of my favourite pasta bakes, one that will go in my recipe book if I ever write the damn thing. It’s a simple sauce of finely chopped courgettes fried with chopped bacon, garlic, and herbs, mixed with ricotta (or any other mild soft cheese), then stirred into cooked pasta. You can eat it like that, or put it in a baking dish, top it with grated cheese, sliced tomatoes, and seasoned breadcrumbs, and bake it until golden and crispy on top.

I think it’s one of the best recipes I’ve invented, and I’ve had good feedback from other people who have tried it. Mum gave it a “hmm” and a suggestion that the bits of courgette should be bigger. Which is a perfectly valid suggestion, if it hadn’t been delivered in the tone of someone discovering their teen has painted their bedroom walls black and, searching for something positive to say, note the nice neat brushwork.

When mum gets all passive-aggressive I know she’s feeling more like herself, so I will try to take the dinner feedback, and her jab just now about my hair (“I’m sure you’ll look better when you get it sorted” – again, written down it looks an entirely unobjectionable statement – it’s the tone of voice that’s the killer), as positive signs of her re-engagement with the world. I’m trying, I really am, but it’s not just for her sake that I’m hoping mum will go to church tomorrow.

1. The thing that stops you acting out your dreams, or at least it should do. ↩︎