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.

Bits of Egg (Scrambled Eggs)

You cannot cook an egg by putting it in the coals of a barbecue. Or maybe you can, but leaving it for too long will result in an impressive explosion. This I discovered when a friend got experimental and another friend was doused with hot bits of egg, several just missing her eye. Good times at the camp ground.

When you properly cook an egg, however, you can end up with this lovely goodness:



I am guessing you don’t need a recipe to scramble some eggs. But a neat trick always comes in handy, no? My trick for a luscious scramble is to mix the eggs with water. Quite un-obviously this makes them creamier than even full-fat milk. After that, I cook them gently in a thick-bottomed skillet and turn of the gas when they are still fairly moist. A few seconds in the hot pan off the fire, and presto: lovely bits of egg.

Also, a good trick is to not cook them on the barbecue. I’m just sayin’.

Microwave bacon

A girl on the bus this afternoon, quite loudly while the rest of her conversation with friends had been hushed: “Well, obviously she is a lesbian.” And obviously the rest of the bus chose that exact moment to pause its conversations. The now-bright-red girl: “Not that there is anything wrong with that, of course.”

Ah, the joys of putting your foot in it publicly. I sympathize- I am about to talk about something considered shocking by quite a few people. Well, my man anyway, but I am inclined to think he is not alone. What is this shocking thing, you ask? Why, it is love for bacon. Crispy bacon, to be exact.

I’ve tried being a vegetarian a few times, but failed each time. I do not eat that much meat, but cannot stand the idea of never eating certain meaty treats again. One of my strongest ties to the carnivorous world is streaky bacon, cooked for so long that the fat crackles between my teeth when I bite into it. I like it on sandwiches, in salads and pastas and love it on its own. There is one drawback, though. (Well, two if you count the high saturated fat count, but sometimes it is worth it for a mouthful of salty perfection.) The smell of cooking bacon, no matter how delicious when you are anxiously awaiting your first bite, is far less compelling when it lingers in your house two days later. And linger it does.

Fortunately, there is a quick and easy way to cook bacon that does away with the problem. Would you like to know the secret? Go on, you know you do.

Here, I’ll tell you: a microwave oven and some baking parchment. You put the bacon on a sheet of baking parchment (I’ve put mine in a special “crisping pan” in the picture, but you don’t need to- it is handy to keep melted fat from getting everywhere, though), put it in the microwave and blast it for a few minutes at high power. Check for doneness and keep cooking in spurts of one or two minutes until the bacon is done to your liking. It takes about seven minutes in my oven to reach a perfect, crispy golden brown. Quicker than frying it in a pan, and far less chance of charring it to oblivion.

You’re welcome. Just let me know next time you need me to share a foolproof, hot and salty trick with you.

Sushi tricks

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Undoubtedly great advice. No guts, no glory, when the going gets tough and all that good stuff. However, when I am sitting on my comfy couch, with my comfy slippers and a comfy cup of tea, I don’t necessarily feel it should apply to me. I am fine here in my comfort zone, thankyouverymuch.

Mostly, I’ve come to accept this. I don’t jack in my job the minute it starts boring me, I don’t pack up my belongings to live in a different country at the hint of an opportunity and I suspect I will never wrestle ice bears on the North Pole. Nor do I really want to. However, I also don’t want to wake up one day and realize life has passed me by like a warm-weather cruise. You know, uneventful and calm with perhaps one buffet too many. So every now and then I go out there and do something that makes me uncomfortable.

Which is how I ended up in a sushi workshop this afternoon with six alcohol units in my stomach, all consumed in the preceding hour. Decidedly uncomfortable to be sure, but not actually what I’d come to experience. What I came for was a college reunion. Now, I normally avoid reunions. With every passing year, I feel my life is getting (even) better and I have no particular desire to revisit years past. Especially not those first college years, when I was shy and a bit dorky and trying so, so hard to be a little cooler. What tempted me to go to this reunion (aside from knowing one of my best friends was going too) was the feeling it was about time for a bit of bravery on my part. I was hoping for a few chats, an awkward hug or two and an early night with the virtuous feeling that I’d done something unnerving and come out unscathed.

What I got were a few chats, an awkward hug or two and a jolly good sushi workshop from a guy who lived in my dorm my first year. My college likes to pride itself on selecting “high potentials” for its student body, with brains and multiple talents. And while their selection process isn’t perfect (I ended up there somehow) they got it right with this guy. He holds an advanced degree from an impressive university, has one of those jobs I could never do because I don’t even understand their description and he knew about sushi. Not in a “I lived in Japan and will now proceed to laugh at you for thinking you can begin to grasp sushi if you have never visited Tsujiki Fish Market”-way, but more of a “how come this is the third sushi workshop I’ve been to over the past year and no one has told me this useful stuff before?”-way.

Here, I’ll share some of it with you, so you can save yourself the trouble of going to a scary university reunion to learn. After all, isn’t that couch looking mighty good?

Stuff I learned about sushi today:

• When you pop a nigiri sushi in your mouth, the rice is supposed to sit on your tongue, as a flavor enhancer for when you bite through the fish on top.
• An undemanding way to make pretty sushi is to gather a ball of rice in a piece of plastic, add some wasabi and a piece of fish, then scrunch the plastic tightly around the combo, much like you’re wrapping a bonbon. Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch, unwrap: a beautiful rice’n’fish ball.
• Rolling maki is a lot easier if you lift the bottom bit of your riced nori-sheet up and over the filling before you press and roll.
• Inside-out rolls aren't all that hard to make. Start by pressing rice on a sheet of nori, sprinkling it with sesame seeds, covering it with a piece of plastic and flipping it. Then you add some fillings and do the lift and tuck maneuver (see previous) with the plastic still on top. Press down on the filling while you pull away the plastic and continue rolling. When you reach the end of you roll, pull away the last of the plastic and presto: futo-maki.
• Dipping your knife in water before cutting sushi makes the cutting a lot easier.
• You are not supposed to mix wasabi with soy sauce to make a dipping sauce. Wasabi goes on the sushi, not in the dip.
• Except in mine, it does. Because I’m a rebel.
  

Pictures by Manon on her phone. She rocks.

Food love

I love food. Love, love, love it. As in, I want to run away to Tahiti with it and live happily ever after on our own private beach. Or in a shack at the end of the world. Or, you know, eat it. And I do, quite a bit of it. I'm not picky- as long as it isn't potato, I'll give it a try. (Yeah, yeah, I know. It's weird not to like potato. That's a story for another day.) I try not to play favourites- no good ticking off good ol' broccoli by systematically choosing chocolate over it. I might need it some day. You know, for health.

But infatuations are liable to strike at any moment. When they do, one particular food (or a set of foods- I'm a bit of a player that way) becomes the favourite, at least for a while. I've learned that the most efficient way to overcome these obsessions is to give in. Try to show as much sense as possible and go for it. It's a hard task, but I have to save my sanity, right?

Wanna now what my current obsessions are?

1. Crunchy white bread rolls with melted goat's cheese and some kind of herb (had dinner the past two days with bread'n'cheese and home-made cilantro pesto... mmmm... mmmm)
2. Cote d'Or chocolate with crushed hazelnut (yup, you guessed it... dessert...)
3. Nacho chips with jalapeno pepper slices and melted cheese.

And I feel a new one coming on. My stove-top espresso pot (usually reserved for the benefit of my coffee-obsessed brother or boyfriend) has been looking mighty attractive. I am having a latte as soon as I get me some milk. Or three.

Cilantro pesto

Leaves from a biggish bunch of cilantro

Small clove of garlic

Toasted pine nuts, about 1,5 tablespoons

Splash of lemon juice

Pinch of salt

Enough olive oil to make a thick sauce

Whizz together first five ingredients in a small food processor. Add olive oil in little portions at a time, blending to incorporate after each portion. Taste and add lemon juice and/or salt to taste.

(I used a mini food-chopper, powered by my immersion blender, to make this. It was a bit difficult to get the texture I wanted, so I'm trying grinding it in a mortar and pestle next time. Might be easier to control the thickness if I'm blending by hand.)