I feel like such a big girl. Yesterday we did a Very Adult Thing: we went to a nursery and bought plants—herbs, at that!—for our patio. It was exhilarating, and also a little sobering. Having grown up in the suburbs of central Oklahoma—where the yards are neat and well fertilized, the flower beds carefully tended, and elaborate sprinkler systems sing sweetly at 6:00 am—I tend to equate the presence of a well-tended garden with the presence of responsible, established adults. As of yesterday, I guess that would be us, sort of—except that our garden is just six or so pots on the patio.

But by god, I mean to milk those pots for all they’re worth. So last night, to celebrate our newly minted status as amateur gardeners, I trotted out a recipe tailor-made for the task: an amalgam of summery alliums and a few of our new herbs.

Rather poetically titled “Rigatoni with Five Lilies and Ricotta Salata,” the recipe had been languishing in my accordion folder, its newsprint going brittle and pale yellow, waiting patiently for the right occasion. It was the title that intrigued me, mainly, with its seeming promise of flowers unfolding amidst coils of pasta and coarse ribbons of cheese. As it turns out, the “lilies” referred to are onions, garlic, leeks, scallions, and chives—not real members of the lily family, per se, but close cousins who once occupied the same taxonomic group. A tricky turn of phrase, maybe, but I liked the idea—and anyway, the smell of slow-cooking onions and leeks is a close second, I think, to a bouquet of lilies. So with Walla Walla season now upon us, not to mention a supply of herbs just outside the door, I took it that the time, at long last, had come.

And what a time it is. He who reads this and doesn’t proceed immediately to the market—or side patio—will be sorry. It may sound like an unassuming list of ingredients, but somewhere between the five forms of onion, the pasta, and the cheese hides a lush fragrance that unfolds—not unlike a lily, I might add—under the gentle pressure of the stove’s heat. With both olive oil and butter in the pan, the kitchen smells like Italy by way of France. The sweet onions go soft and golden brown, while the leeks and scallions loosen up, shaking off their sharp edges. All together, so many alliums could make a cloying, sicky-sweet mess, but somehow, they don’t. With a gentle, tangy punch from ricotta salata and a bright spark from fresh chives and parsley, this plate is well worth its poetic name. And even better, it’s a good excuse for raiding the pots on the patio.