Dinner For A Hockey Kid

The family kitchen is a narrow strip connecting the half of the house with all the screens and playstation consoles to the other half that have everything else. Unless I stayed on one side of the house or took the outside path around, I would inevitably walk into mom boiling water or slicing up vegetables. A towel would be on her shoulder everytime she cooked (a trait I’ve also picked up). The music of the 70’s and 80’s played through while my mom seared the meats or put the potatoes in the crockpot. When I walked into the kitchen, I often looked on with a grin on my face and excitement in my bones as I looked on with what my mother put into the pans or pots. Especially on the days when I needed a carb and protein punch to send me flying onto the
ice.
As I advance into the bantam and varsity league of the Portland Junior Hawks, both my practice and games all take place in the evenings rather than the mornings. Which on Tuesdays and Thursdays meant that I had about 3 to 4 hours to do any homework or relaxation before me and my parents went on the 30 minute drive to Beaverton. IF Portland traffic cooperated with us. When I do reach the rink, awake or woken up from a nap, I would then do the team warm-ups before I put on 8 kilograms of gear and head out to the rink for an hour or more.
Needless to say, I needed a dinner that would give me energy. Since Hockey is played in the fall and winter, I needed a dish that could be cooked indoors. Which meant no grilled teriyaki chicken or steak. The dish would need to have pasta for maximum carbs. Eliminating stews, soups, or any dish that includes brown rice. Finally, the dish would need to be made quickly. Which sadly meant that spaghetti and meatballs were out of the question. Luckily, my mother knew a dish Grandma Nancy used to make. It would be different in terms of meat and flavors. But the meal would be what is best suited for me.
It starts off with a big pot or deep flying pan being covered in cooking oil. When the oil becomes hot without becoming smokey, my mom would add in chopped yellow onions. Those onions would not become brown but instead be cooked to the point of translucence. When the onions become translucent, she would add in the sausage. Specifically the Johnsonville spicy ground italian sausage to add an extra kick of flavor for my tastebuds. The sausage would be thrown in to be cooked well browned. Breaking up the sausage into chunks in the process. When she finds the sausage to be brown enough, she would add in minced garlic, sweet peppers, and poblano peppers before stirring. To enhance the taste, my mother would add in the italian
seasoning and chili flakes. She would then add a half cup of either cab or pinot noir. This dish is supposed to be spicey after all. She would then simmer the pan, add in two cans of tomato sauce, and cover the pan up so that the ingredients can form into the special sauce that makes up the meal. With the sauce cooking, my mom would move onto the other half of the dish, the
pasta; The penne. A large pot would be filled with water to boil while adding salt liberally as well as a small amount of olive oil. The penne would be cooked accordingly before being drained but not rinsed. She would taste the sauce to make the calculation on how much salt or additional seasoning must be added. If the raw tomato paste was gone, the sauce got taken off the heat
and stirred the sauce with a quarter of heavy whipping cream. Finally, the sauce and penne would finally be together like 2 destined lovers. Stirred and covered for 10 minutes till the sauce and penne become one.
What does it become? A spicy Italian sausage pasta.
The penne, colored in red, entangled by the sausage and peppers like vines on a statue. The smell of savory spice that differentiate itself from other Italian dishes. The taste, whether through the meat, the peppers, or the penne itself, I could feel the spiciness. Not burning hot spiciness but the type that leaves a distinct tang on my tongue. The sausage itself felt just as juicy as if I took a bite from a whole sausage. The peppers, gloriously soft as I chewed on them. Finally, the penne oozed the sauces with every bite I took. And I took a lot of bites, thanking my mom in the process.
The amount of food stored in the pan or pot would be like seeing a giant jug full of liquor. But I needed lots for me to skate at my best. I would inhale the first, second or third portions of pasta and they would still be enough to leave a family of three stuffed. No matter how much I ate, I knew I was ready to put on skates. Knowing that whether or not I would have spectacular
victories or crushing defeats, easy going or draining practices, I would have the energy to get me through.
That pasta became an essential part of my pre-skate ritual all the way to 2020. When the world shut down just before my hockey team could do a post-victory tournament. I eventually got to do one more hockey season in 2021 before I aged out of the league. For which, like watching a horrible entry in a long running franchise, I tend to forget I ever did. But even after my
whimpering end to my youth hockey, me going to Minnesota for collage, and my mother becoming a HR manager, it didn’t mean the end of the spicy sausage pasta. Whenever I come back home, whenever I need a dish to help me gain some spirit back, my mom would make that hockey kid dish.