Fettuccine Alfredo. A simple dish of noodles in a sauce of Parmesan, butter and pasta water—not everyone agrees on the addition of cream—and a good few cracks of black pepper.
It’s uncomplicated, bland. For a child’s palate, some people say. I find it dreamy. I find it’s the only thing I’ll order at an Italian-American restaurant. I say this as someone from South Jersey, whose geographical heritage demands that I’ve eaten at dozens and dozens of Italian-American restaurants.
When we decided on the Comfort Foods story for the January issue (it was slated as the cover but then, you know, Amazon dropped into our literal lap), a month known for digging deep into fleece blankets and brothy bowls, fettuccine Alfredo was the first dish on my hunting list. I had to find one. I had to find the best one.
Instead, I found a short rib pho French dip, a huge leg of lamb over a mound of couscous and vegetables, a cheesesteak poutine with the flavors of Afghan cuisine inside of a gas station, creamy coconut curry from the resurrected Malaysian Kopitiam, a Korean dish enhanced with mozzarella cheese at a Japanese restaurant and an ice cream sundae where the star is fried cookie dough. Also, lots of carbs: bagels and whitefish (there’s a story there), biscuits, soft pretzels and croissants.
I tried at least five versions of fettuccine Alfredo for this issue, and that’s not including the times I’ve eaten it on my own dime as a human in the world in need of something creamy and carb-y and soul-soothing. It’s the dish I reward myself with after I finish the 50 Best Restaurants issue. It’s the only dish I could stomach after I was laid off years ago, and yes, it’s also wonderful with red wine. Any red wine. All the wine.
But I couldn’t find the perfect version for Comfort Foods. I probably won’t ever, but I’m still going to keep looking.
Until then, find comfort in momos, barbacoa, Indian buffets and a slice of pizza.
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