Caprese Pasta Salad with Balsamic Glaze

I believe a salad can stage a personality — and also ruin your lunch if you overdress it. The world is obsessed with quick, pretty things right now (thanks, everyone on the internet), so I made a salad that actually behaves: Caprese Pasta Salad with Balsamic Glaze is smug and reliable — most of the time. If you like pasta salads that look like they tried harder than they had to, this is secretly for you.

The time I very publicly burned summer vibes

I once tried to be a literal Pinterest fairy and ended up with something that smelled like regret and scorched basil. The first attempt: I cooked the tomatoes (yes, cooked them — don’t do this) and somehow transformed juicy cherry bursts into sad, shriveled raisins that sounded crunchy in a way that made my dog look concerned. There was sizzling, then a small plume of smoke, then me waving a dish towel like it would charm the smoke detector into silence.

Also, I under-salted it (classic), then overcompensated by dumping oil like a toddler pouring glue. Texture? It had the mouthfeel of a soggy beach towel. I mean really — how do you mess up mozzarella balls? Apparently by emotional instability and poor timing. I told everyone it was a “deconstructed dinner” because that felt sophisticated, but inside I was just embarrassed (and a little proud?).

Why this version finally behaves (mostly)

What changed: patience and boundaries. Emotionally, I asked the salad to be itself and stopped trying to make it into something else (we all need to try that with our lives). Practically, I stopped cooking tomatoes and started rinsing pasta properly. The balance is simple: better pasta temp control, fresher basil, and a confident drizzle of balsamic glaze instead of a fearful drowning.

This Caprese Pasta Salad with Balsamic Glaze works now because each ingredient gets its moment — the cherry tomatoes stay bright, the mozzarella is pillowy, and the glaze is the small drama we all enjoy. I also learned to taste along the way (novel idea) and to trust less oil. Confidence? Yes. Doubt? Always. Also, I may still overdo the basil sometimes, but that’s a hill I will happily die on.

What goes in it (and why I argued with the grocery list)

• 12 ounces pasta (penne or rotini are my favorites)
• 2 cups cherry tomatoes, halved
• 8 ounces mozzarella balls (bocconcini), drained
• 1 cup fresh basil, chopped (or torn like you mean it)
• Balsamic glaze (store-bought is fine; homemade is a vibe)
• 2–3 tablespoons olive oil
• Salt, to taste
• Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Cheap swap notes: frozen tomatoes are a betrayal, but canned works in a pinch. If mozzarella balls are hard to find, cut a block into bite-sized cubes (they’ll pout, but they’ll be fine). Texture and budget choices matter here (and yes, I will judge you gently).

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How to actually make it (I keep it short because you deserve simplicity)

1. Cook the pasta according to package instructions.
2. Drain and rinse with cold water to cool.
3. In a large bowl, combine the cooled pasta, halved cherry tomatoes, mozzarella balls, and chopped basil.
4. Drizzle with olive oil and balsamic glaze.
5. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
6. Toss gently to combine and serve cold.

Also: don’t over-toss (gentle is helpfully capitalized because it matters). If you want to prep ahead, leave the glaze off until the last five minutes — it keeps the colors bright. Interrupting my own advice: sometimes I like this slightly warm out of the pot, which contradicts the “serve cold” line, but whatever, live a little.

Hey, are you my people? (You probably are.)

Do you also have a drawer of mystery utensils and three measuring spoons that came from different universes? Tell me which one you use (I’ll probably steal your method). Do you serve this at potlucks or hoard it for an entire week and pretend you’re being health-conscious? If you pack lunches, does the basil survive or turn into a green sad smear?

Also, pro-tip question: have you ever used a squeeze bottle for balsamic glaze like a condiment criminal? It’s efficient. I ask because my neighbor once showed up with a jar of homemade glaze and a very intense stare, so now I keep mine in a little squirt bottle and feel oddly powerful. If you’re curious about how other pasta salads handle dressing drama, that version will answer some of your deeper questions (and some shallow ones).

I made this because I was tired of salads that pretend to be meals and meals that pretend to be salads. It’s versatile (and a tiny bit theatrical — hello glaze), which suits my mood swings perfectly. If you want to compare notes, I have opinions and receipts (literally) and will gladly swap stories about the time I brought a bowl to a BBQ and someone asked if it had chicken in it (no, stranger, it’s emotionally complete).

Try this other pasta salad if you like tangier, heftier versions — it’s a different vibe but amicable.

I’m going to go make another batch because the last one mysteriously disappeared and I know exactly who did it (not naming names). Also, I forgot to tell you about the herb scissors I love but might be irrationally attached to, and now the oven timer is buzzing so I should probably—

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