creamy roasted garlic & wild mushroom pasta

There are nights for salad. This is not one of them. This is pasta coated in a silky roasted-garlic cream sauce, loaded with deeply browned mushrooms, Parmesan and thyme, finished with a little lemon and enough black pepper to make things interesting. It’s earthy and rich and very much the sort of dinner that belongs on the table when the evenings start getting darker. And while “wild mushroom pasta” sounds suspiciously like something a restaurant would charge $28 for, it’s remarkably easy to make at home. Which means we can spend the remaining $28 on wine. Let’s Talk Mushrooms The mushrooms are the entire personality of this pasta, so this is not the moment for one lonely package of white button mushrooms. I like a mixture. Cremini give us the savory base. Shiitakes bring a deeper flavor. Oyster mushrooms are delicate and almost buttery. Maitake—sometimes sold as hen-of-the-woods—gets beautifully crisp around the edges. You don’t need all of them. Grab two or three varieties totaling about a pound and call it a day. And please don’t crowd them into a tiny pan. Mushrooms contain a surprising amount of water. If they’re piled on top of each other, they’ll steam. We want browned. Almost crispy. A little dramatic around the edges. Creamy Roasted Garlic & Wild Mushroom Pasta Serves: 4 Prep: 15 minutes Cook: 40 minutes Total: About 55 minutes Ingredients 1 whole head garlic 2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for the garlic 1 pound mixed mushrooms, sliced or torn into bite-size pieces 12 ounces pappardelle, tagliatelle or fettuccine 2 tablespoons unsalted butter 1 large shallot, finely chopped 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves, plus more for serving ¾ cup heavy cream ¾ cup freshly grated Parmesan, plus more for serving ½–1 cup reserved pasta water 1 teaspoon lemon zest 1–2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice Kosher salt Lots of freshly ground black pepper Chopped Italian parsley, optional First, Roast the Garlic Heat the oven to 400°F. Slice the very top off the head of garlic so the cloves are exposed. Set it on a small piece of foil, drizzle it with olive oil and sprinkle with a little salt. Wrap it loosely and roast for 35–45 minutes, until the cloves are soft, golden and slightly caramelized. Let it cool enough that touching it doesn’t become a regrettable decision. Then squeeze the roasted cloves from their skins and mash them into a paste. Your kitchen already smells good. We’re just getting started. Brown the Mushrooms Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil and 1 tablespoon butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add half the mushrooms. Yes, half. I know you want to throw everything in there. Don’t. Spread them out and leave them alone long enough to actually brown before stirring. Season lightly with salt and pepper toward the end. Transfer them to a plate and repeat with the remaining mushrooms. If the skillet gets dry, add another little splash of olive oil. You should now have mushrooms with dark golden edges instead of a skillet full of beige mushroom water. Much better. Cook the Pasta Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil. Cook the pasta until just shy of al dente. Before draining it, scoop out at least 1 cup of pasta water. Do not forget this part and then stare sadly into the sink as the last of your beautiful starchy water disappears down the drain. We’ve all been there. Make the Sauce Lower the skillet to medium heat. Add the remaining tablespoon of butter and the shallot. Cook for 2–3 minutes until softened. Add the thyme and roasted garlic paste and stir for about 30 seconds. Pour in the heavy cream and bring it to a very gentle simmer. Add the Parmesan a little at a time, stirring until melted. Now add about ½ cup pasta water. This is where cream sauce becomes pasta sauce. The starch helps everything come together into something silky instead of simply pouring cream over noodles and hoping for the best. Bring Everything Together Add the drained pasta directly to the skillet along with about three-quarters of the mushrooms. Toss everything together over low heat for a minute or two. If the sauce feels too thick, add another splash of pasta water. If it looks slightly too loose, keep tossing. The pasta will continue absorbing the sauce. Add the lemon zest and about a teaspoon of lemon juice. Taste. This is important because rich sauces need balance. You may want another squeeze of lemon, another handful of Parmesan, more pepper or a little salt. You are in charge here. Pile the pasta into bowls and scatter the remaining mushrooms over the top so they don’t all disappear underneath the noodles. Finish with Parmesan, thyme, parsley if you’re using it, and a frankly unreasonable amount of freshly cracked black pepper. Why the Lemon? Because cream + butter + Parmesan + mushrooms can become a lot. The lemon isn’t supposed to make this taste lemony. It’s there to wake everything up. Start small. Taste. Add more if you want it. That tiny hit of acidity is often the difference between this is really rich and why did I just eat half the pan? We’re aiming for the second one. Make It Your Own Add baby spinach at the end and let it wilt into the sauce. Throw in some peas. Use mascarpone instead of part of the cream. Add a splash of dry white wine after cooking the shallot and let it reduce before adding the cream. For extra crunch, top everything with toasted breadcrumbs. And if you happen to have fresh truffles lying around your kitchen, congratulations on whatever decisions led to your current financial situation. Shave those over the top. Truffle oil? Use it very sparingly. We want mysterious woodland dinner, not the perfume counter. One Last Thing Don’t wait until November to make this. Mushroom pasta doesn’t need freezing temperatures or a fireplace or some perfectly curated rainy Sunday. It just needs a skillet, a pile of mushrooms and enough Parmesan. But if it is raining? Even better. Twirl the pasta. Pour something good. Let the dishes wait.