By Molly Moss

Ranch dressing is the universal American condiment. It adorns salads, French fries, pizza, Buffalo wings, and pretty much anything that would taste better with a large, white glob of fat sprawled on top of it.  I somewhat shamelessly discovered a new use for ranch dressing’s tangy creaminess at Stevie on Thursday night when my friend asked me to recreate one of his favorite dishes from back home: penne with pink sauce.

Attempting to create a high quality Italian meal using America’s tackiest garnish requires ambition and, more than anything else, a lack of self worth. As a brand new college student, I would generally say that I have those qualities down. Silencing any back-of-the-mind hesitation, I worked my way through a maze of vegetable-deprived college students until I reached the pasta bar.

Once I had loaded my plate with penne, I made my way to the salad bar. I have never found simple pasta dishes extremely exciting because they have no layered flavors or textures. A combination of carbohydrates and sauce does not constitute a well-balanced, or well-seasoned, meal. To combat this issue, I topped my pasta with mushrooms, red and green peppers, and cherry tomatoes. If you are not a fan of raw vegetables, try layering in either grilled vegetables from the sandwich station or a small spoonful that day’s vegetable hot dish.

I resorted to my habitual protein of cut up grilled chicken to add more depth of flavor; however, cutting up salami or a small portion of a simple ground beef dish would add a heartier bite and tone down the acidity in the ranch dressing. Vegetarians can always substitute meat with tofu, but I would not recommend adding shredded cheddar cheese for it would add an unnecessary pungency to an already intricately seasoned dish.

I could not avoid the issue of the sauce any longer. A typical pink sauce combines tomato sauce and heavy cream—which is where the ranch dressing comes into play. Ranch dressing has a buttermilk base, which is slightly tangier than heavy cream. Fortunately, this lemony acidity actually adds a subtle lightness to this typically dense dish. A classic pink sauce also requires a tablespoon or so of vodka, but sneaking Saturday night’s leftover Colonial into Stevie is your choice.

I grabbed a small bowl from the soup station and filled it half way with marinara sauce. I then put Mario Batali, one of America’s most famous pasta chefs, to shame as I ladled ranch dressing into the marinara. Starting to doubt the legitimacy of my meal from the look of the sauce, I almost wished that I had opted to top some of that day’s cheesy vegetarian pasta with marinara sauce and vegetables. Reminding myself that food can often taste better than it looks, I prayed that my concept would not fail in execution.

At the table, I slowly poured my mock pink sauce over the noodles, making sure I did not flood the dish with excess creaminess. Pasta should never swim in sauce–a simple splash of this pastel dressing should sufficiently coat the noodles in velvety goodness. I then topped the entire dish with a moderate sprinkle of Parmesan cheese and a few good shakes of salt and pepper.

With slight hesitation, I forked a few noodles, a mushroom, and a tomato into my mouth. I can confidently say that I have forged a fantastic Italian dinner using an extremely commonplace condiment. The ranch dressing brought a delicate tartness to the dish that heavy cream could not. The bursting cherry tomatoes calmed the intensity of the buttermilk mixture and the chicken added a satisfying meatiness to a generally carb-heavy dish. While the concept sounds less-than-fantastic, the product was surprisingly the very opposite. This experiment has only confirmed my belief that, in Stevie, mediocrity can easily become mouthwatering.