Today my new neighbor gave me a container of homemade pesto. You know what it looks like; it’s fresh bright grassy green, threatening to go brown at the edges if you so much as breathe near it, and you can see the little chunks of parmesan and garlic vying for your attention among the little pools of olive oil. It reeks of late summer.
Our moving truck still hasn’t arrived from Cape Cod, so we’re operating in a pretty slim kitchen. We immediately spread the pesto on thick toasted slices of Seattle’s Essential Baking Company’s Rosemary Diamante (EBC is indeed a jewel of a baking company), and I could taste how fresh the basil was, and felt the tingle of just the right amount of real sea salt on my tongue.
I make a pretty mean homemade pesto. In fact, last time I made it, I made 19 batches. But nothing tastes quite so delicious as homemade pesto when you have no way of making it in you own home. Thanks, neighbor.