Pesto, the Long Way

My friend Lindsay was kind enough to drop off two big bags of herbs from her garden for me this week. There are clear advantages to living in the suburbs (but I still don't want to have to own a car.) Naturally, when confronted with a huge pile of basil, is it simple—dare I say, imperative—to make pesto.

To make matters more complicated, I read an article which stated that American pesto (sigh...) is never as good as Italian pesto because we make it with a food processor. Of course we make it with a food processor. It takes three minutes. That's faster than a microwave. Do you know how much three minutes is worth in this country? Quite a bit, I say.

The article (which you can read here) said no, don't fall for it. It should be done by hand. All you need is a sharp knife and a willingness to spend a pleasant half hour micronizing basil leaves. Since I love nothing more than taking something that is easy and making it difficult, I thought I'd give it a try.

Pasta Pesto
1 cup of pesto.(If you want the recipe, click on the link to the article. I also threw in a bit of fresh oregano—about two stemworth of leaves.)
1 ball of unsalted mozzarella
1 pkg genetically modified grape tomatoes. Or real actual tomatoes, seeded and diced, since they're in.
1 lb pasta that does not resemble brains

Put a pot of water on and start making your pesto.

Chop chop.


Chop chop chop. Why did I think this was a good idea?



ChopchopchopchopchopI'msoboredchopchopchop. Chop. It's probably not fine enough but I think I need to get my knives sharpened.


Onto the pasta. Pesto works best with things that can grab it; groovy pasta, if you want to be literal (and groovy.) I got this incredibly bizarre pasta from our corner snobshop. They have all kinds of fancy pasta in intriguing shapes that cost way too much money but are like crack for morons like me.

Note: Don't buy pasta that looks like brains.

Okay, chop up your tomatoes and cut your fresh mozzie into smallish chunks. When your pasta is nice and al dente, drain and plop into a bowl.

Now, the order of this matters.

Add your pesto and mix. And your diced tomatoes and mix. Then, add your cheese and stir up. Years ago I made this and put all the mozzarella in the bottom, dumped the pasta on top, and the cheese melted and congealed into this solid foam rubber disk on the bottom of the bowl. Not my finest hour. Anyway, add a few grinds of pepper, and check for salt.



Is making pesto by hand worth it? I certainly think so. First of all, it really doesn't take all that long—about as long as it takes for a pot of water to come to a boil, so it's not like you don't have the time. Also, you really do taste the flavors. You can taste the pine nuts, and the bits of oregano popped out again the basilly background wonderfully. I wouldn't mind doing it again.