I make this 10-minute, 3-ingredient pasta recipe when I'm lazy and have very little in my fridge

My 23rd birthday was approaching and my generous parents wanted to take my roommate and me out for dinner to celebrate. I landed on Cacio e Pepe, an Italian restaurant in Manhattan's East Village aptly named after this simple-yet-iconic Roman dish.

I saw on Instagram that the restaurant serves up the dish I was going for in a table-side presentation that involved tossing hot pasta in the center of a wheel of cheese. I was intrigued and wanted to try it.

I remember looking up several recipes on the internet trying to figure out how this super delicious meal could be so simple to make. And after watching different videos on YouTube and consulting some online Roman cooking blogs, I found the answer I was looking for: It really can be that easy.

There are recipes that say you should toast your peppercorns and hand-grate your cheese, but when all my energy is zapped from either working, interacting with humans, or, let's be real, just being depressed and anxious, there's no way I'm doing either of those things.

So, I use the cracked pepper straight from my handheld grinder and whichever grated cheese happens to be in my freezer. I keep a container of either grated pecorino Romano or Parmigiano Reggiano in my freezer at all times. The traditional Roman recipe calls for the former cheese, but I think it tastes just as good with the latter if that's all I have on hand.

I also always have some long pasta in my pantry — most of the time, it's bucatini, but it might be spaghetti or long fusilli.

To bring the dish together, I use a large pot for boiling the pasta, a metal mixing bowl to combine the sauce (which doubles as the bowl I eat out of because who wants to wash another dish?), tongs to transfer the pasta to the bowl, and a mug to scoop up the pasta water.

Sure, you could use a strainer, pick up another spoon for mixing, or add salt to your pasta water, but I'm here to tell you that for my very bare-bones lazy version of this dish, those things aren't necessary.

A watched pot never boils — it's a saying I've heard my whole life. Yet, here I am, every time, without fail, standing over my pot begging it to just boil already.

The time this takes will depend on your stove, your pot, how much water you use, and probably other factors that I don't even know about. But once it starts to boil, drop your desired portion of pasta and let it cook for around five to seven minutes, or until you taste it and it's al dente.

During those few minutes while my noodles are bubbling away, I dump some of my grated cheese in the bottom of a metal bowl and crack a ton — yes, even when you think it's enough, add a little more — of black pepper on top.

Using a fork (you can totally use the tongs or a wooden spoon), I whisk the two components together until I get a layer of beautifully speckled aromatics lining the bowl.

When the pasta is almost done, I use a mug to transfer a few splashes of starchy pasta water into my bowl so that I can combine the cheese and pepper into a paste-like sauce.

I personally choose this metal mug that reminds me of camping because I have found that it keeps the pasta water hotter for longer once I remove it from the pot.

After reliably burning my mouth on a taste of pasta, I turn off the heat and use my tongs to transfer the bucatini to the sauce bowl. I like to use tongs instead of straining the water because it eliminates an extra item I'll have to clean, and it also ensures I have enough starchy pasta water reserved for when I have to adjust the sauce.

I use my tongs or a fork to toss the pasta, coating each strand in the cheesy, peppery goodness. If it's too lumpy, I add more water. If it's too runny, I add more cheese and pepper. You get to play with it until you're happy, and there's always a way to course-correct if your ratios are off.

This combination part takes barely any time at all. Some days I crave more of a velvety, smooth texture, and other days I want that sticky, gloopy mess of cheese.

When I made the dish for this story, I decided to go with a little bit of a clunkier texture because I wanted to taste all the cheese and pepper up front. Surely, this isn't how the Romans — or even the chefs at Italian restaurants in my experience — serve it up. But I'm in my kitchen, cooking for just myself, and that means I make my own rules for this sort of thing.

Regardless of how thick or silky the sauce is, it's the flavors that really make this dish feel sophisticated and special, even if you eat it out of the mixing bowl like I did. If you use good cheese, and freshly cracked peppercorns, those flavors pop in a way that makes you feel like you're really treating yourself — even on a day when maybe all you want to do is stay in bed.