Sadly, we cannot return to a more innocent age before the first episode of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex’sNetflixcookery show, with its recipe for one-pan pasta. This was a time when typing the words “skillet spaghetti controversy” into Google produced no significant matches. Now those three words are inextricably linked.
To recap: Meghan piled uncooked spaghetti and other raw ingredients into a shallow pan, poured boiling water from a kettle over them and cooked them with a lid on. Some of the attendant controversies were: the dish was unforgivably bland; the recipe may not have been Meghan’s alone; Italians, inevitably, consider skillet spaghetti to be a heresy. Subsequently a lot of people recreated Meghan’s version and, in a backlash against the backlash, pronounced it pretty good.
I question the idea that one-pan spaghetti represents some great triumph of convenience. A traditional spaghetti dish may be a two-pan recipe, but one of those pans contains only boiling water, salt and spaghetti. It’s not difficult, and it takes 11 minutes tops.
But there are plenty of other one-pan pasta dishes out there, some wholly non-heretical. I tried making seven of them.
A technical note: the US is the white-hot centre of the one-pan pasta obsession, so most of these recipes use US cup measurements. You can translate by using 240ml to a cup, but I usually just pick a random tea mug, call it a cup, and eyeball the fractions.
Another note: all one-pan pasta recipes inevitably call for what seems a preposterous volume of liquid – it can feel as if you’re making soup. You just need to be confident the pasta will soak it up. Sometimes, I have discovered, this confidence is misplaced.
Saute four minced cloves of garlic in olive oil in a casserole pot, add four mugfuls of water into which a vegetable stock cube has been dissolved, then throw in half a bag of orecchiette with some chopped thyme. Simmer until done. With the heat still on chuck in a tin of white beans, drained and rinsed, a bag of baby spinach and some grated parmesan, about 45g, some black pepper, and stir for a couple of minutes. I did not have high hopes for this recipe, but it turned out to be not only palatable, but ready in under 15 minutes. Things were off to a surprisingly good start.
The best way to make carbonara already exercises the minds of culinary purists, so a method for cooking the whole thing in a single skillet seems destined to stir up trouble. As with Meghan’s recipe, you’ll need a skillet big enough to accommodate dried spaghetti. Then put some olive oil in it, fry some bacon or pancetta on medium heat and put aside when crispy.
Next add minced garlic to the pan (I know there’s no garlic in a real carbonara). Saute for less than a minute before adding white wine, chicken stock (I know) and water – just under a litre and a half in total – and 340g dried spaghetti. Turn the heat up until boiling and cook until the pasta is tender – a bit longer than normal, possibly up to 18 minutes – stirring often.
Once it’s done take it off the heat and whisk in two whole eggs that have been beaten with 80ml of double cream (yes, I know) and 60g of grated parmesan. Really, it should be pecorino, but it’s no use being doctrinaire at this point. It’s in askillet.
To be fair I’ve had worse carbonaras than this one – in fact I’ve had worse carbonaras in restaurants. It’s a bit gloopier than it should be, but using slightly less water would probably remedy that. Is it better than a traditional carbonara? No. Is it easier? No. But this is probably how I would make it if I was camping.
I chose this recipe because I happened to have a lot of chard on my hands, and it seemed like an easy way to use it up. It’s possible – allegedly – to slap all the ingredients into a pot, pour water on top, cook for 10 minutes and have it ready to eat, but I took the sensible precaution of sauteing the mushroom and garlic in the butter for a few minutes first. The recommended pasta shape here is gemelli. I used a near-lookalike – casarecce – but any short pasta should work.
The result is … fine. Like a lot of these recipes, it tastes of less than the sum of its parts – which figures when you’re dumping a load of water over the ingredients early on in the proceedings. There’s a good idea for a two-pan pasta dish here. I wish I’d made that.
I was well into adulthood before I learned that orzo was a small form of pasta, rather than a large form of rice. Because of the residual embarrassment I don’t buy it often, but it’s a sound choice for one-pan meals, because it cooks quickly and therefore doesn’t give the other ingredients time to go soggy while submerged. This dish is prepared in a large pan that can then go in the oven, so make sure you own such a thing.
After softening some chopped onions in a pan on the hob, add in two minced cloves of garlic, some chilli flakes, dried oregano and salt, four handfuls of chopped kale (I used chard instead, because I still had a lot left and I hate kale). When the greens are wilted add three tablespoons of tomato paste, a tin of tomatoes, a tin of chickpeas (drained and rinsed), one cup or half a bag of orzo and about 600ml of vegetable stock. Stir, bring to a simmer and stick it in the oven for 10 to 15 minutes at 200C. Serve topped with cubes of feta, fresh dill if you’ve got any and a squeeze of lemon.
The result is quite heavy but tasty enough. I’d recommend halving all the amounts. A big skillet of this is way too much, even for four people.
A safe bet – a traditional Italian one-pan meal with many variations, but almost certainly containing carrot, onion, celery, garlic, tinned tomatoes and borlotti or cannellini beans. As a meal, pasta e fagioli lies somewhere between a pasta dish and a soup, so it’s amazingly forgiving. Sweat chopped onions, carrot and celery. Add garlic and chilli flakes, cook for another minute or so, add a tin of tomatoes and about 1.4 litres of chicken stock. Bring to a low boil and add 225g of pasta – ditalini is recommended, but the closest I could come up with was mezzi rigatoni, which is rigatoni cut in half.
When the pasta is done add a tin of drained, rinsed cannellini beans and a handful of parsley, and warm through. Of all the dishes I made, this is the only one my wife had a good word to say about, but then she wouldn’t even try three of the seven.
Pasta e fagioli’s chickpea-based cousin, in a one-pot version that uses tinned chickpeas and a squid ring-shaped pasta called calamarata.This can be hard to source, but again, any short pasta will work, even – at a pinch – smashed-up lasagne sheets. Chances are you have everything you need to make it already, and it takes 20 minutes.
Heat some oil in a big pot and saute one chopped onion, then three minced cloves of garlic, followed by a tin of rinsed chickpeas, lightly bashing up about a quarter of them with the edge of a wooden spoon (it will release starch to make the sauce thicker). Throw in some chilli flakes, a bit of salt and a sprig or two of rosemary – don’t bother chopping it up.
Saute until the rosemary goes bendy before adding in one tin of tomatoes – chopped or whole. Reduce for about five minutes. Pour in a litre of water, bring to a simmer and throw in the pasta – again, about half the bag or box, say 250g. Once it’s cooked, finish with parmesan, chopped parsley and serve. I love this.
You’re supposed to be able to produce a passable single serving of macaroni cheese in a microwave, from equal volumes of dried macaroni and water (half a mugful each, say) and half as much of milk, a fistful of shredded cheddar and a pinch of salt. I realise this already doesn’t sound like a good idea. Spoiler alert: it isn’t.
The idea is you microwave the macaroni, salt and water in a bowl for two minutes at a time, stirring in between, until the macaroni is cooked. This could take 10 minutes or more (it took me 14) depending on your microwave. Then you add the milk and cheese, stirring some more while microwaving in 30-second bursts until you’re satisfied it’s never going to get any better than it looks – probably two minutes.
The result was thin, gluey and tasteless, and the macaroni had an unfortunate, licorice-like texture. It could be my fault – I may have made a mistake somewhere along the line – but I’m not going to try this again. Ever.