A Summer Treat—Pesto

By Patricia Winton

I’m writing this post under duress. Not duress, exactly, but under orders.

There’s a woman in Rome who’s been my student for the past ten years. We meet weekly just to talk, to help keep her English speaking skills honed. Last week, I checked the time just as I rang the bell and was horrified to discover that I was an hour early. When she opened the door, I offered to go away for an hour, but she ushered me into the kitchen. “I’m cooking,” she said and steered me to a chair.

Strictly speaking, she wasn’t cooking. She was preparing pesto. As she stripped the basil

leaves from the stalks and chunked the Parmigiano-Reggiano, I had a ringside seat. We chatted as we do about this and that. When she finished, I got to sample the finished product. And she said to me, “When you put this in your blog, you have to say it’s Olimpia Pallavicino’s recipe—not yours.” And so it is.

Olimpia didn’t measure anything; she just prepared it by instinct. I’ve tried to standardize the recipe, using American measurements (with metric equivalents in parentheses).

Pesto Milanese

2 cups basil leaves, lightly packed. Olimpia used the leaves from three stems.

1/3 cup pine nuts (40 grams) Olimpia stressed that you must use the best pine nuts you can find.

1/2 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (45 grams)

1/2 to 2/3 cup extra virgin olive oil (120-160 ml)

1 clove garlic (optional) Olimpia omitted the garlic.

Place all the ingredients in a food processor and process until smooth. Olimpia did not grate the cheese. Instead she added it in chunks. She used a blender, and it took a while for the cheese to be completely pulverized. As a result, the pesto was very smooth.

Olimpia planned to serve the pesto with rice that evening, but for pasta she recommended using fusilli because there are so many nooks and crannies for the pesto to cling to.

Legendary Food

I’ve just returned from my neighborhood market with two first-of-the-season finds, both aromatic, but very different beings.

First, I bought fresh garlic, which is available for a few short weeks early in the spring. At this point, the bulbs and cloves are fully formed, but the papery covering of each clove has not yet developed. And is it pungent! I took it immediately to the balcony, where it will stay until I use it up because it overpowers the interior of my apartment otherwise.

Italian folklore says that you should eat this delicacy raw in the spring to cleanse your blood from winter impurities, that it will lower cholesterol, and that it will reduce hypertension. But let me warn you, if you subscribe to this practice, you can only associate with like-minded individuals for a while. I tried it a few years back. The cloves were both hot and sweet, but the aroma lingered on my breath for a very long time.

Other folktales about garlic abound, both about the fresh and regular varieties. The ancient Greeks and Romans fed it to athletes and soldiers because they believed it developed strength and aggressiveness.  And midwives put it in birthing rooms to protect the newborns from sorcery and illness.

In the Middle Ages, garlic developed a reputation as a protector against the Evil Eye and vampires. It was also believed to be a strong deterrent against “illnesses provoked by malignant spirits” which my Italian book of herbs defines as “mental disturbances.” I wonder if psychiatrists know about that.

Garlic was also believed to be a powerful aphrodisiac, and in World War I, before the discovery of penicillin, it was used as a disinfectant.

My second purchase was Genovese Basil. Large-leafed basil has been available for a couple of weeks, but I held out for the variety from Genoa, home of pesto. This variety has fairly small leaves and is the most flavorful, although it won’t have a full flavor until it has a few more hours of sunlight a day than it gets now.

My herbal book recounts both sacred and profane legends associated with basil. In one, basil is said to have grown up from the vase in which Salome buried the head of John the Baptist. The other holds that Elena, mother of Emperor Constantine (who brought Christianity to the ancient Romans), gathered seeds from the site of the crucifixion of Christ and disbursed the plant throughout the world.

On the profane side, a 13th century song immortalized one Isabella of Messina. She preserved the head of her lover, decapitated by her brothers, in a jar of basil. Even more profane is the legend that a pot of basil on the balcony of a young girl indicated that she was ready to receive a lover.

I hadn’t read about this legend when I visited Genoa a couple of years ago. I saw pots of this small-leafed basil on doorsteps throughout the city. I assumed that meant the people of Genoa loved their basil. But maybe there was more to it.

I’m putting the pot of basil on my balcony along with the garlic, but don’t worry. I’m not a young girl.

TAGS: Garlic, basil, legends, culinary legends, Patricia Winton, herbs