Have you witnessed the remarkable perseverance, the pep-in-the-step, the joie de vivre of the basil plant? Perhaps you have watched basil growing precariously by the curbside resembling a hardy bushy moss, undisturbed by time and traffic and the torment of water deprivation, while its leaves sway by the breeze and swell with peppery bite, advertising the time that is ripe for the plucking, its flowers ready to be taken at the whim of the winds or by the tender gathering of the worker bee. Being something of the hopelessly romantic gardener that I am, I admit to being witness to the dehydration and death of even the hardiest, most woody of basil plant to a return to infancy. It is truly remarkable to witness the cycle of basil from seeding to hanging seed, dusty branch to succulent soil, the idle dried flowers laden with the promise of re-growth in the new season…
My love affair began with several unforced visits to the growing sites of many basil plants in my grandmother’s home, during the seemingly endless school holidays beneath the scorching sun. It was truly amazing to watch the progress of growth from the shooting of limbs toward the sunshine like green darts from the gaps in the pavement. The tactful blueprints of the seedling rapidly became evident by the scrawling, haphazard roots coming into effect over the glaze of a cracked, sun-baking terra cotta pot.
It wasn’t enough to see some infant plants coming into fruition, my fascination with the resilience of basil intensified after being introduced to an overwhelmingly dense basil plantation. Having had grown into such proportions and demonstrating such liveliness, I was at first skeptical that this bushy shrub was a herb; I was very quickly convinced after tearing a leaf and sampling it over a slice of oxheart tomato.
Waste is never produced and never tolerated in my grandmother’s house. With rations of food, cloth and dairy scarce during the wartime, waste was a symbol of arrogance and a sign of utter thriftlessness – for a poor seamstress knowing neither her way about the country nor having the work to support herself, this tradition became a necessity for survival on a shoestring budget.
To distract herself from the stories of conscription and civil unrest and scarcity of resources, she familiarised herself with recipes from the region focused on making the most of the least possible. Thus, with the abundance of garlic cloves from the fruit market, freshly grated pecorino cheese replete with green and black whole peppercorn, the numerous cans of olive oil left to mature in the garage and the basil leaves left over by the near-end of the summer season, I learned the secret golden combination of the season’s best through pesto, illuminating the spark of a new love affair.
These days, given the constraints of apartment living so close to the city and bordering by the wayward west, my basil and thyme and parsley share their growing space and fight for dominance and sun exposure to strengthen their rickety, woody arms in three deep plastic troughs. But no matter your circumstances, the making of pesto is a story in itself that will unravel the passion of the summer season and make you covet pesto as the most proud ode to the basil plant and the kingdom of small things; germinating and growing. Pesto works wonderfully as an accompaniment to pasta, as a tapenade or even as a dip for your favourite raw vegetables.
INGREDIENTS
2 generous handfuls of fresh basil leaves
5 garlic cloves, roughly sliced
70g grated Parmesan or Pecorino cheese
5 tablespoons virgin olive oil
1/4 cup toasted pine nuts
pinch of sea salt
pinch of black pepper
pinch of nutmeg
- Rip the basil leaves by hand and place into a blender or food processor. Follow with a drizzle of olive oil.
- Crack fresh pepper, sprinkle salt and a dash of nutmeg. Finish with grated cheese.
- Blend contents on lowest setting for 30 seconds, slowly adding the remainder of the olive oil into the mixture.
- Once thoroughly blended, crush pinenuts with a mallet or the flat of a knife and place into mixture.
- Blend contents a second time on lowest setting for 30 seconds. Stir with a wooden spoon to loosen particles.
- Serve immediately over piping-hot pasta or freeze for up to three months in an airtight jar, covered with a layer of oil.
The Wild Thyme and Sweet Pea project found its roots when it was plucked excitedly from the garden, washed briskly in a basin of water and lovingly left out to dry in a soothing marinade of vision and ambition ... More »
The Food of Italy, Kay Halsey
The Medieval Kitchen: Recipes from France and Italy, Odile Redon, Francoise Sabban & Silvano Serventi
The Silver Spoon, Phaidon Press
Jamie's Italy, Jamie Oliver
Italian Country Cooking, Loukie Werle
La Cocina de Mama: The Great Home Cooking of Spain, Penelope Casas