Monday, September 7, 2015

Pesto al Gusto

I can’t remember the first time I tasted classic pesto, but I do remember it was love at first bite. That heady blend of basil, parmesan, and garlic—with deep base notes of extra virgin olive oil and buttery pine nuts—was intoxicating. It wasn’t long before I was making this fragrant sauce in my own kitchen.

In fact, it’s the main reason I grow basil in my garden. Sure, I love to be able to step outside to gather fresh basil leaves to make a Caprese salad, but this can also be accomplished with some sprigs from the market. Since large quantities of basil are needed to make pesto  (4 packed cups to make 1½ cups of pesto, generally the amount needed for 16 ounces of pasta), it’s most convenient and economical to grow your own, specifically the variety Basilico Genovese. 

Preferably the basil should be young and tender, without any of the bitterness that can come as the plant matures. That being said, I always make a batch this time of year with basil I put in back in late May, and it tastes just fine. Because removing the leaves from the stems is labor intensive and necessary, I like to set aside time to make a big batch all at once and freeze it in individual containers. The sauce keeps well in the freezer and is like a blast of summer in the middle of winter for those of us who live in northern climates.

To harvest basil, I cut the plant way back, stems and all, and fill up a large trash bag. I haul it into my kitchen and instantly the herb’s fragrance fills the space, transforming it into an Italian cucina. Classic pesto originated in northern Italy, in Genoa specifically. I had the good fortune to eat it in its native home several years ago, not far from Genoa.

My family was visiting Italy with my mom, my sister, and her two kids, and that simple but memorable meal was, for me, one of the highlights of trip. We had spent the day hiking the trails of Cinque Terre, 

followed by a swim in the Ligurian Sea. 

By the time we arrived at the restaurant, we were ravenous. When our bowls of pasta were served, we devoured them, washed down with some of the local wine. Whenever I eat pesto pasta now, the memory of that beautiful day resurfaces. One of the best things about food, after all, is the memories it carries.

Categorized as a pounded herb sauce, pesto gets its name from the Italian verb pestare, which means to pound or to crush. Traditionally this was done in a marble mortar using a wooden pestle, but today the modern food processor makes easy work of the process. 

According to custom, the ingredients are blended in a specific order. First the garlic is mashed, followed by the pine nuts, which forms a paste.  Then the basil leaves are added, along with a bit of coarse salt that helps to break down the leaves. Olive oil, the base of so much of Italian cuisine, follows; finally grated Parmigiano Reggiano imparts an incomparable tang and creaminess. Purists would add a little pecorino as well, but it’s not necessary. 

Although simple to make, when pesto is stirred into pasta, slathered on flatbread, or smeared on a sandwich, it’s transformative. I have a hard time thinking of foods that aren’t improved by it. It makes a delicious condiment spooned over grilled chicken, fish, or vegetables, or served with bruschetta or a soft cheese. It jazzes up a cream sauce or mayonnaise, and can even stand alone as a dip. Add a dollop to a salad, tuck it into an omelet, or swirl it into a soup just before serving, as is done with pistou, a nutless Southern French version of pesto. Once you start incorporating pesto into your regular meals, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without it.

I never tire of classic pesto, but variations on the five main ingredients keep things interesting. You can switch out one ingredient, like using a different nut, for a subtle change. Walnuts are a popular replacement for pine nuts, making the pesto earthier. Almonds, hazelnuts, and pistachios are all good options as well.

Another subtle change is to vary the oil, replacing it completely or by half. Since there are so many excellent choices out there, this is an easy way to play around with flavor. I especially like using part walnut oil or a few tablespoons of argan oil for a more pronounced nuttiness. Simply omitting the garlic is another simple, but not so subtle, change, or you can merely dial it down by using garlic chives or scapes instead. If you’re sticking with garlic cloves, makes sure they’re fresh, young cloves, which are less pungent. To lighten the pesto, omit the cheese. This will make the sauce less creamy, and the taste of the oil will be more noticeable.

You can also of course alter the recipe completely, such as making a cilantro-cashew-sesame oil combination; I like to serve this Asian-inspired pesto with grilled fish. Arugula pesto, another favorite, has the benefit of being much less labor intensive than basil pesto since you don’t have to remove the leaves from the stems. It’s also easier to find large quantities of arugula (preferably baby arugula) in the market, and the sauce stays bright green instead of turning dark from oxidizing like basil pesto can. 

Watercress is another alternative to basil, as are mixed herbs, which you can vary according to the season or the dish you’re serving the pesto with. Getting creative with different combinations is one of the beauties of pesto. The only rule I suggest following is to use the highest quality ingredients you can find. 

Even though the official end date of summer is still a couple weeks away, today—Labor Day—always feels like the last day. These final few weeks with their muted colors and touch of coolness in the air are some of my favorite weeks of the year, but they also bring with them a bit of melancholy. It won’t be long before the remaining basil in my garden will be nipped by frost. Knowing I have an ample supply of pesto in my freezer if I need a taste of summer—or of Italy—in the coming months makes this transition easier.


2-3 cloves garlic
1/3 cup pine nuts
4 cups packed basil leaves—preferably Genovese
2/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
½ cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano
3 tablespoons grated pecorino
coarse sea salt, to taste
freshly ground black pepper

Using a food processor, process the garlic and pine nuts. Add the basil, olive oil, and cheese and process until smooth.  Using a spatula, push down any basil on the sides of the bowl. Season with salt and pepper and process for 15 more seconds.

*Pesto keeps for up to 3 days in the refrigerator in an airtight container. To preserve its color, pour olive oil over the surface, or cover it with a small piece of plastic wrap. To freeze, put 1½ cups of pesto in individual containers. Freeze for up to 6 months.

Saturday, August 8, 2015

SNAK Reunion

I recently returned from a special weekend—SNAK Reunion. SNAK as in “Sophomores Needing a Key,” not of the food variety. Let me explain.

Sophomore year of college, four friends and I all requested to live on the same hall but ended up getting a bad draw in the housing lottery. We were placed in a freshman dorm again, subject to all the freshman rules including needing to request an after-hours key if we wanted to enter the dorm past midnight (this was, after all, Wake Forest University in the early 80s). Not to be deterred, we dubbed ourselves SNAK (in part because we did indulge in our share of late night munchies) and proceeded to get around the rules by surreptitiously propping the door open, accessing the dorm through an underground tunnel, or other creative means sometimes involving Minnie Mouse. I need only to pay a visit to my daughter’s college dorm to be reminded of how times have changed.

Thursday, July 2, 2015

The Whole Hog

As you approach the village in which I live, the peak of Mount Abraham rises above the Green Mountains in the near distance. At 4,006 feet, it’s the fifth highest peak in Vermont, and my favorite one to climb. I climb it every year, not only for the breathtaking 360 degree view at the top, but also for the climb itself.

Monday, June 8, 2015

My Home City

If I had to pick a home city, it would be Washington, DC. Although I was born in Baltimore, we moved when I was five to Pittsburgh and then briefly to Philadelphia before my family settled in Hagerstown, Maryland. The nation’s capital was about 90 minutes southeast, so when I was young, my family made occasional day trips there. And visits to the museums and memorials were also common destinations for school field trips.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Planet Lovely

May is the month when those of us who live in Vermont (or much of the Northeast for that matter) are transplanted from Planet Harsh to Planet Lovely. The world truly is transformed. For the next six months we live in a state of green, or of green green, as a German friend said to me yesterday, recalling a description from a childhood story. The young grass and unfolding leaves on the trees and shrubs are so vivid they almost glow. At this point early in the season, there are myriad shades of green, too numerous to count. But as the summer progresses, they tend to converge into a more uniform green, for which perhaps the state was named: vert mont, or green mountain from the French. My favorite patch of green though, my herb garden, remains a mosaic of different shades, from the bright shoots of Chives poking up through the ground

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Printemps Macarons

If spring were a cookie, it would be a macaron. Pastel hued and perfectly formed, these bite-sized, sandwich cookies are so pretty that it almost seems wrong to sink your teeth into one. Almost.

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

The Bread Beast

Nothing goes better with French press coffee in the morning than a thick slab of homemade bread. For me, anyway. Dense and chewy whole wheat or light and airy ciabatta, I love it all—as long as it’s made with high quality, unadulterated ingredients.

Monday, March 9, 2015

French Press Morning

Life tweaks— I recently made two to my day, in an effort to break up the monotony of winter.  Both happen to involve the morning. The first is that I’ve left behind our old, plastic drip coffee maker and moved on to a shiny 100% stainless steel French press. I have no idea why I’ve waited so long to make this change to something that gives me so much pleasure. I was stuck in a rut, I guess. Sure, it takes a bit more time, but oh is that cup of coffee with the froth on top and the dense mouthfeel and the bit of sludge in the bottom ever worth it.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Ottawa Calling: Canal Skating, Beavertails, and a Cold North Wind (guest post by Chris)

Our first evening in Ottawa we found ourselves in front of a goofy photo of President Obama in the Byward Market before dinner. Obama had just purchased a maple leaf cookie and stood surrounded by employees at the Le Moulin de Provence bakery as he proclaimed, “I love this country!”

Like Obama, I too love Canada. Growing up in Williamsville, outside of Buffalo, Canada was a constant presence—from the trips to the beaches and amusement park at Sherkston, to the occasional forays to Niagara Falls, to the television stations streaming in different shows and lots of hockey. And, of course, when I became of legal age, the Canadian beers that were a mainstay of our local bars—Labatt, Molson, O’Keefe. Since we’ve lived in Vermont, our family has made many trips to Canada—usually the short trip to Montreal, sometimes just Sheila and me, other times with Faye and Isabel. We enjoyed a wonderful two week vacation to Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, and Sheila joined me for several days at a conference in Vancouver. But I had never been to Ottawa—nor had Sheila or Faye. (Isabel went with her 6th grade class from Bristol Elementary, before everyone needed passports.) 

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Crossing Cultures in Marrakech

“Hello, you remember me?” the man asked, with a wide smile. “I carry your bags this morning, remember?”

Chris and I nodded blankly and smiled back at the man as we walked out the front gate of La Mamounia in Marrakech. We weren’t, in truth, staying at this renowned hotel. We had simply wanted to stroll its magnificent gardens, usually reserved for guests. But we were dressed for dinner at a nearby restaurant and thought we’d try to sneak in, striding past the uniformed doormen just thirty minutes earlier like we owned the place.

Monday, January 5, 2015

On Montreal, Music, and Memory

It’s a new year, not only in the larger sense but, since Chris and I got married on December 29th, we’re also beginning a new year of marriage. We celebrated our anniversary in Montreal this year, taking in the Francophone culture, the art scene, and some excellent food, bien sûr.