This is the pasta you make when you arrive home late, when the world is quiet and hunger is sharp. There's something meditative about the simplicity: garlic sliced thin, chilli flakes waiting to bloom in hot oil, the hiss and pop as they hit the pan. The kitchen fills with fragrance—pungent, warming, alive. You cook the pasta until it's just al dente, then toss it through the garlicky oil with a splash of starchy pasta water that transforms the whole thing into a silky, glossy tangle. A handful of parsley, a snowfall of parmesan, and you're done. This is comfort at its purest—bold, uncomplicated, and deeply satisfying. Eat it from the bowl, standing at the counter, savouring every slippery strand.
