Rotel Pasta Fiesta

My strongest belief in the universe — besides the sanctity of extra-buttered toast — is that Rotel Pasta Fiesta should be declared a national holiday. Seriously. If I had to pick one dish to squabble over at Thanksgiving instead of Aunt Marge’s jellied salad (no offense, Aunt Marge), it would be this bubbling, loud, comforting casserole of tomatoes, cheese, and pasta. Comfort? Check. Crowd-pleaser? Also check. Culinary identity crisis cured? Double-check. Also, if you want a fancy-ish cousin of this vibe, I sometimes peek at sun-dried tomato shrimp with spinach pasta and weep at my choices.

The Thanksgiving that went up in flames (not metaphorically — okay, slightly metaphorically)

I once tried to scale this for a Thanksgiving of 18 people because I am an optimist with poor math. Picture me, flour on one cheek, two timers screaming, and the oven deciding it was a sauna. The pasta was glued to the pan like we were trying to remake the Dead Sea Scrolls, and someone (likely me) used powdered garlic like it was fairy dust. Disaster? Yes. Lesson? Also yes: Rotel is forgiving. You can toss in good grief and it’ll still taste like home. My family still quotes the Great Sticky Pasta Incident of 2019 — mostly to make me feel cute and fragile. (I forgive them. Mostly.)

Snap back to the recipe before I start another tangent about Trader Joe’s cookie butter

ANYWAY, before I emotionally relive every single holiday meal I’ve ever sabotaged, let’s pivot to what matters: how to make this unpretentious, cheesy miracle. It’s forgiving, fast if you don’t overthink it, and perfect for nights when you need something that feels like a hug but also like a mini party. Also, if you’re mid-recipe panic and want something with a similar comforting tomato-cheese energy, peek at this sun-dried tomato shrimp pasta for inspiration like a culinary voyeur. No judgment.

Pantry parade: the real ingredients (bring a shovel; you’ll want seconds)

• 12 oz rotini pasta
• 1 lb ground beef
• 1 can Rotel tomatoes with green chilies
• 1 can cream of mushroom soup
• 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
• 1 cup sour cream
• 1 tsp garlic powder
• 1 tsp onion powder
• Salt and pepper to taste

Mini-rants: Use decent cheddar but don’t bankrupt yourself — Trader Joe’s shredded cheddar is a saint. Aldi: hero. Fresh herbs? Cute, but not required. And yes, I know cream of mushroom soup is “retro” — it’s nostalgia, not a crime.

Measure like a grown-up (or at least pretend)

If you’re a “eyeballer” (guilty), this converter widget helps when your brain refuses fractions:

How to not ruin dinner: technique notes (my hard-earned rules and regrets)

I will not give you a rigid step-by-step sermon here — instead, imagine me pacing, waving a wooden spoon, and occasionally shouting, “don’t over-drain the pasta!” Here’s what I learned the hard way: don’t salt the pasta like you’re seasoning the Atlantic; drain but not bone-dry (we want sauce to cling); brown the beef until it’s got those little caramelized bits (umami party); and fold in the sour cream off heat so it doesn’t break into an existential puddle.

1. Cook the rotini pasta according to package instructions. Drain and set aside.
2. In a large skillet, brown the ground beef over medium heat. Drain any excess fat.
3. Add the Rotel tomatoes, cream of mushroom soup, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and pepper to the skillet. Stir until combined and heated through.
4. Mix in the cooked pasta and stir until well combined.
5. Remove from heat and stir in the sour cream and half of the shredded cheddar cheese until creamy.
6. Transfer the mixture to a greased baking dish and top with remaining cheddar cheese.
7. Bake at 350°F (175°C) for 20-25 minutes until bubbling and cheese is golden.
8. Serve hot and enjoy!

When it’s done, you’ll smell toasted cheddar and a warm tomato-sour whisper. The surface should bubble like a tiny volcano, the edges caramelized and proud. Side-eye your oven, then plate.

Why food is my emotional Wi‑Fi

Cooking has been where my family and I communicate without words. My grandma made dishes that tasted like memory; my Thanksgiving fails taught me humility; and my friend circle measures love by the willingness to eat leftovers. Food for me is identity, nostalgia, and the practical answer to loneliness — plus, it’s a very effective social lubricant in awkward neighbor interactions (hi, Mrs. Patel, want some casserole?). Also, sometimes I cook to prove to myself I can.

Tiny embarrassing story (blink and you’ll miss it)

Once I mistook chili powder for cinnamon in a dessert. The family bravely ate it, smiled like saints, and then loudly voted to go out for pie. I wore that backhanded compliment like a badge for weeks.

The chaotic FAQ you didn’t know you needed

Okay, I’ll stop talking now. This recipe will save you on chaotic weeknights, win potlucks, and — if you’re lucky — convert a jaded aunt into a believer. Make it, eat it, bask in the cheddar glow, and if the oven misbehaves, call it “art.” Also, you’re allowed to have seconds.

Calories, because adults ask about that

Estimate your daily needs and see how this fits into the plan here: