A moveable feast

Even on vacation, the kitchen calls.

So many of my childhood summers are a blur of cooking in the same Cape Cod kitchen. My family would go every summer, renting the same house in Chatham, Mass. We ate out sometimes—lobsters at the Lobster Pot in Provincetown every fourth of July, blackberry ice cream at Emack and Bolio’s after a trip to the brick walled library on a hot summer day—but mostly we cooked.

I remember my mother standing over a pot of water, carefully clearing the clams we had gathered on the beach that day. Enormous bowls of pesto pasta, mozzarella and tomato salads. The adventure of making do in an unfamiliar space, comforting and exciting all at once.

Maybe it’s because of these memories that summertime always finds me with itchy feet, longing to get into an unfamiliar kitchen. Fortunately, I married a teacher. Summer always finds us in a series of new places—with more variety before we had a baby, but still enough, now, to satisfy the warm weather urge to wander.

One of the best things about traveling is eating, of course, but I find that there’s always a point a few weeks in when I start longing for a taste of home. The most delicious restaurant meals are also high in things like salt and butter, and sometimes I find that my body needs a break.

My husband, a supremely thoughtful and considerate man, accommodates these domestic urges by making sure we always have a place or two with a kitchen along our route. And now we have a baby, we tend to stay longer in places where we can cook, to better accommodate our new schedule of slow mornings and nap-filled afternoons. A snacking space is a must.

Over the years, I’ve become something of a scholar of the art of the rental kitchen. The knives will always be dull. The pots will always be tiny and usually non-stick, with deep forever-chemical-releasing scratches you ignore through sheer force of will. This is not the place to break out the haute cuisine: quick, easy, and with minimal chopping is the way to go.

When it comes to building your travel pantry, unsurprisingly, I’ve found that there are a few supermarket constants in every country, from Egypt to Argentina to Japan. There will always be nightshades, most often cherry tomatoes and eggplant, usually zucchini. There will always be garlic. And, of course, there will always be a packet of dried spaghetti.

Roasted cherry tomato pasta is the answer. The formula will vary by country, what produce is available and what sauces you have in your AirBnB kitchen. I made a version in a tiny Okinawa apartment with raw tomatoes, rice vinegar, and a splash of soy. In Mumbai, we roasted the veggies with a curry spice our hosts had left behind. In a small beachside town in New Zealand, I paired the tomatoes with white beans for an extra protein boost.

Whatever local variety you create, my make anywhere pasta always feels like a comforting bowl of home. Best enjoyed late at night after a day spent walking miles and eating well, it’s the perfect accompaniment for a glass or two of local wine and even more local television.

Make Anywhere Cherry Tomato Pasta

Tomatoes, eggplants, and some kind of green appear to be an international supermarket universal. If you’re in a cheese-loving country, you can add some parmesan or mozzarella, but I also like it with a pat of butter on top.

Ingredients:

1 pint cherry tomatoes

A handful of head garlic

Handful of fresh herbs or greens—basil and spinach work particularly well here

A drizzle of whatever ancient bottle of oil is in the back of your AirBnB cabinet

Salt

Pepper if they have it

Optional: a small ball of fresh mozzarella, some grated parmesan cheese, or a pat of butter to plop on top

Method:

Step 1:

If your AirBnB has an oven, preheat it to 350 Fahrenheit. Wash your tomatoes and separate the garlic into cloves without peeling, or peel and smash them if you have no oven. Slice your greens into slivers, and get a pot of water boiling.

Step 2:

If you have an oven, put the tomatoes into whatever oven-proof container you have available, drizzling with oil and sprinkling with salt and pepper. Cook for twenty minutes. If there’s no oven available, start the tomatoes and smashed garlic, covering with a lid until the tomatoes are slightly saucy, 10-15 minutes depending on the power of your borrowed stove.

Step 3:

Cook your pasta in well-salted water. While it’s cooking, remove the garlic cloves from their peels and mash into a sauce. Take the pasta out, reserving a cup of water, and toss with your vegetables. Add in your chopped greens, cheese if you have it, butter if you don’t, and a little drizzle of your reserved water if it’s looking a little dry. Savor with profound gratitude on a stranger’s lumpy couch.

Emily Beyda’s writing has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, Built, Refinery29, Smartmouth, Fodors, the Thrillist, the Austin Chronicle, and more. Her novel, “The Body Double,” was published in 2021.

---