PESTO PETE

         I have come to the conclusion that man can't possibly have too much pesto. So simple, so neat, especially when doled out of a jar onto just rinsed warm pasta. Eat the combination while warm or let it chill and become pasta salad, or even dispense with the pasta and spread it on bread. It's your daily dose of greens and carbs.

         Purists will tell you to make pesto from scratch, and I can't disagree. Grate the parmesan, removing any bits that show blood from skinned knuckles, take the fresh basil leaves and chop them and throw all into a blender with some olive oil and pine nuts. The true purist prefers pestle and mortar to the blender, but for we mortals, the whirring machine will do.

         There's just one problem: the refrigerator life of fresh basil is shorter than that of the North American housefly. Whether in a sealed plastic bag or unpackaged with dirt still on the roots and birkenstock markings showing in the soil, basil smells sweet, looks pretty and dies in the blink of an eye. Purchasing basil is making a commitment, like buying a pet. Bringing home basil in order to use two or three leaves for a recipe will lead to a bag of interesting black slimy grunge in the veggie keeper within a day or so. Use it up. Make pesto! Save yourself the agony of finding limp ugly greens.

         Little is more depressing in life than cleaning out the fridge. Open the bins and guess the origin of the carcass. Was this a zuchini or cucumber? Parsley? Is this fuzzy stuff fresh dill or something else gone to mold? When did those oranges learn to turn green?

         And this produce held so much promise when it came into this life, even if the young clerk at the market had no idea what it was

'is this spinach or lettuce'

and now it's on its way into the garbage. There'll be no mourners to sing a dirge, just a short step out the kitchen door to the metal can that will be its last resting place.

         Wipe the tear away and move onward and upward. Lids must be pried off open cans. See the moldy tomato paste.

'add one Tbsp of tomato paste'

It is a shame I have never developed the taste to spread the stuff on toast. What's that fuzzy stuff on the sour cream? Cleaning out the fridge is not a job for the olfactory challenged, often the nose must be the last Court of Appeal.

         Ah, but go to the freezer and there it is, waiting for better times, the pesto from last week! Funny how it reconstitues so nicely, while tomato sauce made in a blender from fresh fruit, olive oil, parmesan and seasonings simply does not freeze well.

         So take my advice, start this day with the little song I sing to my dog:

Pesto In the Morning,
Pesto In The Evening,
Pesto At Supper Time
A Dollop of Pesto and Everything is Fine

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         Apologies to the McGuire Sisters ~ was it them? ~ guess I'd better stop before I confuse them with Julius LaRosa.

Valatie 11/10/2000