Cherry tomatoes, for me, are the taste of actual summer — all juice and sunshine, the kind of thing you want to eat on your back step, barefoot, with a fork stolen from the drawer and no one watching. The first time I made this pasta, I remember staring at the pan, half-listening to the radio, and waiting for the tomatoes to burst — like tiny edible fireworks. When that happens, you get this sauce that is sweet and sharp, almost unruly, painting your plate red and gold. No fuss, just flavor. Actually, it’s the sort of meal that quiets the noise in your head for a bit.
This recipe is my answer for days when I want proper nourishment without fuss — pantry pasta, but not sad. The olive oil carries everything: the soft garlic, the wild sharpness of capers, the flurry of basil right at the end. A squeeze of lemon lifts it, vegan Parmesan adds a creamy backbone (but if you have only nutritional yeast and pepitas, blitzed up, that works too). There’s just enough heat from the red pepper flakes to keep you paying attention, and if you close your eyes, you might almost taste the green tang of the garden behind my gran’s cottage.
To make the Cherry Tomato Pasta, you will need the following ingredients:
Start by boiling a large pot of salted water. Add the pasta and cook according to the package instructions, or until the pasta is al dente. Once done, drain the pasta and toss it with a drizzle of olive oil to keep it from sticking together.
In a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven, heat ⅓ cup extra-virgin olive oil over medium-low heat. Add 3 sliced garlic cloves and cook for about 1 minute, stirring frequently, until soft and fragrant.
Stir in half of the tomatoes, 2 ½ tablespoons capers, 2 teaspoons lemon zest, 1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar, 1 teaspoon sea salt, ¼ to ½ teaspoon red pepper flakes, and a few grinds of black pepper. Toss everything to coat. If the oil starts to splatter, reduce the heat slightly. Allow this mixture to cook for 8 minutes, stirring often, until the tomatoes break down and release their juices.
Add the remaining tomatoes to the pan and stir. Cook for another 2 to 4 minutes or until the second batch of tomatoes just starts to burst.
Add the cooked pasta to the skillet and gently toss everything together to combine. Let it cook for an additional 1 to 2 minutes, ensuring the pasta is well-coated in the sauce and heated through.
Stir in 1 ½ cups fresh basil leaves and ¼ cup grated cheese if desired. Taste and adjust the seasoning if needed.
Serve right away.
You’ll want a large, friendly pot for boiling — pasta needs space to spin and stretch out, not get claggy. For the sauce, a sturdy skillet or Dutch oven does the job: I always end up using the one my dad rescued from the tip, still going strong. Grab a sharp knife for the garlic (the thinner the better). Don’t forget a battered cutting board; mine gets roasted for being cleaner than the GP’s table, a leftover from my dishwashing days. Microplane or zester for the lemon (it does make all the difference), a wooden spoon (it has to be wooden, don’t ask me why), tongs if you have them, and a colander. Pop a grater nearby if you want your vegan cheese snow-fine on top.
Let’s talk tomatoes — proper ones. Get the fattest, ripest you can. This sauce lives and dies on the strength of a cherry tomato. I get mine from a woman at the Bristol farmers’ market who insists they’re sun-fed, but honestly, the wrinklier and weirder the better. My grandmother used to say, “Don’t waste good things, love — the earth worked for them too.”
Garlic: slice it, don’t blitz. The oil should gently warm the garlic so it perfumes, not bites. Use the best extra-virgin olive oil you can afford (mine is supermarket bottom-shelf, but I splash out when my budget allows). Salt is not a background actor: add it thoughtfully and taste as you go. The capers? That’s the splash in the puddle. I love them almost too much. And don’t skip the lemon, it wakes everything up when you think the dish might sag. Pepper flakes, as much as you dare (I am heavy-handed, but you should suit yourself). Taste. Always taste. Last minute, pinch the basil roughly so it bleeds green into the bowl — never chop, never slam it with a knife.
If you’re feeling bold (or nursing a cold), drop in finely sliced fresh red chili with the garlic. Let it laze and burn in the oil to the point you almost cough. Add a shaking of smoked paprika before serving, and suddenly your respectable dinner is a sunset party in a bowl, the kind of dish that yells back against a drizzly evening. (Also: Brilliant leftover, cold from the pan, but don’t tell anyone I said that.)
Sometimes I raid the fridge and throw in salty black olives, marinated artichoke hearts, even a handful of baby spinach if that’s all that’s left. Stir them in before the tomatoes, and for the big finish, let vegan feta crumble over the top with the basil so it gets just-melty. This is absolutely the sort of pasta to eat after a long day at the allotment when you need food that feeds you properly. Always more bread for the sauce — bread is never optional in my house.
Here’s how it usually goes: I eat this straight from the pan, standing up, humming to myself (Olive the cat glowering that she can’t have any). But if you want to make a supper of it, pair with a green salad — I go wild with rocket and lemon dressing — or roast veg, especially late summer zucchini and peppers. Warm, crusty bread is, in my world, the law. If you want to open wine, something cold and white — Pinot Grigio if you fancy — matches the bright notes perfectly. Invisible rules, made to be broken.
Of course. Bucatini is my default, but penne, spaghetti, or honestly, whatever shape is hiding at the back of your pantry works. Just keep an eye on the cooking time. If it’s gluten that worries you, use a pasta with none — there are great ones made from rice, chickpeas, lentils, you name it. Sauce stays the same, promise.
No panic! My quick fix is blitzing cashews with nutritional yeast and garlic powder. Or, skip it entirely — let the basil and lemon do their thing. The whole point is honest, big flavor, so don’t let your cheese shelf boss you around.
Try to use up wilting tomatoes and leftover herbs, and choose pasta with transparent sourcing if you can. Toss the pasta water onto your plants (once cooled!) and put the tomato stems in your compost. My gran would not forgive me if I forgot that part.
Basil-scented pasta adorned with bursts of sweet cherry tomatoes creates a vibrant dish that truly captures the essence of summer, no matter the season. As you sauté the garlic and let the tomatoes simmer, the kitchen fills with a warm, inviting aroma that beckons family and friends to gather around the table. This simple yet satisfying vegan recipe celebrates the beauty of fresh ingredients, making it an easy weeknight meal or a delightful addition to any gathering.
Delicious pasta dish!
