Basic basil pesto

Many things can keep a person from making pesto. Well, maybe nothing can keep you from making pesto. Maybe you are the Queen of Basil, whip up a batch every day and cannot fathom what life would be like if you never saw another pine put again. More power to you, but you are nothing like me. Many things can keep me from making pesto. In fact, many things have kept me from making pesto at some point. A sample:

• Reaching for the basil in the supermarket, then recoiling in horror when I noted it was 1,39 Euro per packet of two small branches.
• Reading that pesto really does taste better if you use a pestle and mortar instead of a food processor. I love my pestle and mortar, but the idea of grinding piles of basil leaves to a fine pulp intimidates me.
• The inability to find decent parmesan in any of my neighborhood stores or markets. Salty, plasticky Grana Padano is the best I can do. And don’t even get me started on pecorino.
• A warning about mysteriously horrendous pine nuts that might mascarade as perfectly fine nuts and then leave an all-consuming bitter taste that lasts for days. Days!

But this weekend, I got brave. The basil plants on my balcony were groaning under the weight of their leaves, the pine nuts at my supermarket looked particularly innocent and the Grana in the fridge wasn’t all that bad. So I reached for the pestle. But then I stopped. Did one use garlic in pesto, or not? I didn’t think so, but couldn’t be sure. A better cook probably would have made an educated guess. Me? I went online and found recipes for anything from rucola pesto with walnuts to spicy Asian-inspired pesto to pesto-light with tomatoes instead of oil. Unfortunately, not one recipe for straight-up basil pesto crossed my cyberpath. Well, there was one recipe, but it listed six cloves of garlic to two handfuls of basil. Surely if regular pesto had that much garlic I would remember?

I was about to take the leap and just leave the garlic out (I am such a daredevil!), when I remembered I own the Silver Spoon. Years of Italian kitchen wisdom, neatly complied into a shiny white tome. *makes dramatic hand gesture* “How could-uh I foget-uh?” *spoken in a bad Italian accent*

For a second I was afraid that something as basic as pesto hadn’t merited a recipe in this bible of Italian cuisine**, but then I turned to page 68 and there it was. Calling for basil, pine nuts, two kinds of cheese and plenty of oil, but not a smidge of garlic. A ha! A ha-aha-a. My kitchen instincts had been right! And the best part? It told me to whizz the basil in a food processor.

When the Silver Spoon speaks, I obey.

Pesto on SmittenKitchen hacked caprese

Basic basil pesto

You would think the internet has no dearth of basic pesto recipes, but you would be wrong. This is based on instructions from the Silver Spoon, but I have adapted it to reflect what I did.

Two big handfuls of basil leaves, washed and dried thoroughly
About 2 tbsp pine nuts
Pile of freshly grated parmesan
Pile of Pecorino Romano (I used only fake parmesan, and it was fine)
Enough olive oil to make a luscious sauce

Put the basil leaves in the bowl of a small food processor, add the pine nuts and run the processor until the basil is shredded. Add the cheese, process again. Transfer contents of the processor to a bowl (although you could do the next part in the machine if it has a feeding tube) and stir in a little oil. Keep adding oil in small doses until the sauce has reached the consistency you want. Taste, and add more cheese if you like. Serve.



**Which is what I’ve been told the Silver Spoon is. As someone who doesn’t know whether pesto has garlic, I do not claim any authority on the verity of this praise. It certainly is fatter than many a bible I have seen.

Back again

It has taken me a few days to get readjusted, but here I am, comfortable again with the flat earth around me and the number of people walking it. It feels good to be back, but those mountains? Wow. And the UCB kept me safe, even when a leisurely stroll up a mountain turned into a mud-bathed scramble down when a sudden downpour hit.

Also, the food was pretty much what I had hoped for. Gloriously crusty baguettes, stinky cheese and tomatoes that put a smile on my face. There were meals out, and meals at our tent, and copious amounts of lukewarm coffee. In short, a perfect break. Want a bit more detail? Here you go, a list of most memorable food moments, in no particular order.

Most memorable lunch
After we spent a hot hour and a half climbing Montsegur mountain to see a crumbling fortress, and about the same time coming down again (what can I say? uphill tires me, downhill scares me), we were ready for a large icy drink and crepes. So we sat on a terrace and waited for someone to take our order. And waited some more. And some more.

When the man went to enquire about sustenance, we were directed up a flight of steep stairs, into the stuffy darkness. And we found this:

There were three large dining room tables, a lumpy comfy chair and impressive amounts of ugly art work. Also, there was a communal bowl of cold rice with vinegar and hard-boiled eggs, undercooked omelet with dried mushrooms, greasy fried potatoes. Ooh, and a jug of passable red wine. After we had a bite, took some pictures and eavesdropped on the English tourists who had also been lured upstairs, we were charged 11 Euro per person for the pleasure. That guileless old woman directing us upstairs? Possibly not so guileless.

Most charming shop
Our first official stop on our trip down (after a short night at a camp ground somewhere north of Paris while in transit), we managed to select a camping almost exclusively filled with people from the NL. Run by Dutchies. Aah, the joys of coming from the most travel-crazy country in Europe. But they did have two pet pigs, a private well and this “shop”, selling home-grown vegetables and unpasteurized apple juice:

You could wander in any time of day or night, make your selection, note it in the shop’s account book and wander out again. No need to find cash, just grab your vitamins and go. Needless to say, we stayed an extra night.

Best meal out

Honestly, we didn’t spend that much time in restaurants. We were too busy tiring ourselves with gulping fresh mountain air to plan elaborate meals out. But when another rainy night threatened near the col du Tourmalet, we decided we could use a treat and found a place to eat in the nearest village. The local hotel-restaurant in St Marie de Campan served us a crudite platter with tangy beetroot cubes, grated carrots and salad leaves with a delicious vinaigrette and sweet melon. Then they brought us grilled chops of locally reared lambs with fresh herb butter and crispy thin fries. To finish, there was a mellow local cheese for me and peach soup with apricot ice cream for the man. Gorgeously simple fare to put a smile in our bellies.

Most extreme cooking
I might have let out a scornful little snort when my man pulled a party tent (one of those things that is basically just a roof, to prevent parties from being a wash-out when showers hit) from the trunk. We weren’t going to use something that uncool, obviously. But then rain threatened and we had fresh chorizo to cook. My ego stepped aside and my man built a party tent.

So there we were, smug under our canopy, cooking sausage and discussing how smart the man was for bringing the hideous structure. Unfortunately, that’s when the Pyrenees roared and a huge thunder storm erupted. Complete with unexpected strong gusts of wind and litres of rain. Per minute. The tent stopped helping shortly thereafter. But if you think I would let something as inconsequential as a bit of water come between me and real Spanish chorizo, you have clearly never met me. So I cooked. And then we ate- in the car, wearing rain coats.

Most smile-inducing food discovery

This truck, at 1490 m altitude. There was a beret- wearing Frenchman inside, selling raw milk cheeses from farms in the immediate vicinity. ‘Nuf said.