I married into this dish. This is the recipe my wife most associates with her grandmother and namesake, Amalia, who came to Chicago from a village near Sparta, Greece as a child. I never got the chance to meet this wide branch of the family tree. But I can see Amalia now when I set Pasta Yiayia in front of my children. There is nothing more central to my wife’s family than this maternal line – a branch of creativity, grit, beauty, and bravery – traced back to Amalia herself and now carried on by the flavors, stories, ingredients, and techniques in this recipe. I imagine my wife as a child, as her grandmother set down a bowl of pasta dressed with feta, brown butter, garlic, and cinnamon. I can only imagine that these flavors connected her to a place in an old world she’d never know. This simple dish was a guiding star  as we learned how to cook professionally, in large part because of the brown butter and cinnamon. I see these elements as guides for all the cooking we’ve done since – a combination of continental technique, Mediterranean lineage, and some kind of delightfully surprising, unexpected, “outside” flavor that still melds in a harmonious way, which is what I like to think I did when I joined the family. The legacy of the Pasta Yiayia matters to me; it’s like a surname, an heirloom, the passing of the gene. Generations ebb and flow. History erodes. And since this recipe became a staple at Lula, I’ve learned that other families cook similar versions at home. But I’ve never tasted one with the same combination of brown butter, garlic, feta, and cinnamon; so I’ll hold the idea that the Pasta Yiayia at Lula is indeed the hand of my wife’s grandmother, still here, still cooking for us, still making sure we have what we need. αιωνία η μνήμη. May her memory be eternal.  ten fluid ounces milk. one tablespoon roasted garlic puree from page 246 , plus one teaspoon oil from the roasted garlic. two teaspoons ground cinnamon. one cup crumbled feta.  eight ounce of bucatini (we use misko no. 2). one cup grated parmesan. a generous half cup of crumbled feta. ground cinnamon , to taste. one quater cup butter. two cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced. salt.  make the yiayia sauce in  a small pan, combine the milk, roasted garlic, garlic oil, minced garlic, and cinnamon. bring to a simmer over low heat, stirring constantly to prevent scorching. remove from heat and let cool. transfer the milk mixture to a blender, adding the feta, and puree until smooth. gently warm the sauce in a large, wide pan over low heat while you prepare the pasta.  to serve  bring a large pot of water to a boil over high heat. salt generously. add the bucatini to the boiling water and cook until al dente, about eight minutes. strain and transfer the pasta to the pan with warmed sauce, tossing it until throughly coated. add half the parmesan and feta, and again toss until incorporated.  the feta can be chunky and half melted. transfer to warm serving bowls or a platter and top with remaining feta and parmesan. sprinkle cinnamon on top and keep the serving vessel(s) in a warm place. in a small pan set over medium heat, combine the butter and sliced garlic, swirling them around as the butter melts and begins to simmer. this will be your brown butter. adjust the heat so the butter foams and simmers without burning. you’ll see the cloudy mixture eventually separate and brown. shake the pan in short forward-backward movements to aerate the foaming butter and circulate the slowly caramelizing milk solids. as the butter caramelizes, it should smell sweet, rich, and nutty (in french, the term is beurre moisette, for ‘hazelnut’). when both the garlic and butter are golden brown, remove the pan from the heat and drizzle the brown foaming butter all over the top of the pasta. it will sizzle evocatively. serve.