Somewhere along the way, cream sauce became guilty.

Not guilty of anything specific—just guilty by association. Heavy. Dated. Indulgent. A relic from a pre-kale world. You know the drill.

But I’m here to say it: cream sauce isn’t a crime.

Done right, it’s balance in a spoonful. Fat carrying flavor. Texture that clings to pasta. A soft landing for spice, smoke, and char. Cream is a canvas, not a crutch.

The Real Offense? Lazy Sauce

Bad cream sauces happen when people treat cream like a cheat code. Dump a pint into a pan, throw in some garlic powder, call it dinner. That’s not food—that’s filler.

My go-to base starts simple:

• Shallots, slowly sweated down
• A dash of dry sherry or white wine
• A few herbs, fresh if I have them
• A swirl of cream, off the heat
• Salt, patience, and a wooden spoon

From there, I build.

• Roasted poblano for heat
• Crushed walnuts and pecorino for punch
• Diced mushrooms for earth
• A little acid—lemon or tomatillo—to keep it awake

Cream’s Role in the Southwest

People forget that cream isn’t just French. In the Southwest, it balances chiles. It cools the fire, stretches the flavor, and holds spice like a well-worn tortilla holds scrambled eggs.

Try a chipotle cream over penne.
Try a roasted garlic and sage crema over roasted squash.
Try not to go back for seconds.

It’s Not About Guilt

I’m not advocating cream with every meal. Some days I eat salad and drink water like I’m trying to earn a merit badge. Other days? I pour poblano cream over pasta, open a red that’s got backbone, and call it living.

You don’t need to ask permission. Just cook like you mean it.