By the time I got around to buying basil for the garden, it was late in the season and the plants were pretty much picked over. The stems were droopy, the leaves were sparse, and the soil looked like it could use a big drink of water. But since I cannot imagine a summer without fresh basil, I bought a flat and hoped for the best. I am happy to report that like preemie babies who grow up to be Olympic wrestlers, the basil I thought was near death has turned into tall and bushy plants — exactly right for making pesto.
After years of making pesto, you’d think I would have come up with the perfect recipe, but the truth is I measure leaves by handfuls and add oil until it looks right. For a reliable recipe, I suggest the one in Joy of Cooking (Scribner, 2006). (Process to a rough paste 2 cups loosely packed basil leaves, 1/2 cup grated Parmesan, 1/3 cup pine nuts, and 2 medium garlic cloves. With machine running, add 1/2 cup olive oil or as much as needed to make a thick paste. Season with salt and pepper.)
There are lots of great things you can do with pesto. Pasta tossed with pesto and some of the pasta cooking liquid is wonderful. Orzo mixed with pesto, white beans and red onion makes a terrific summer salad. Also, mayonnaise dressings (pesto whisked into store-bought mayonnaise) work well for potato and chicken salads, and the same mayo-pesto combo is good on sliced egg and tomato sandwiches.
To prolong the season, I’ve read pesto can be frozen in ice cube trays, transferred to plastic bags, and used one cube at a time. But I can’t imagine the flavor of a pesto ice cube dropped in a pot of minestrone is the same as a few spoonfuls of just-made pesto.
When the season winds down and the plants get hit by the first frost, I stop making pesto — until next year.
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