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.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Pesto, the Long Way
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Chicken Shawarma Sandwich
A few years ago, when I was first figuring out how to make this, I couldn't find anything until I realized that it isn't spelled "schwarma." Pity. That's much more fun to type.
Mini and I had a conversation while we were endlessly pitting cherries last weekend where she asked me if I ever used allspice. And I slapped her for being so forward. Just kidding. But we were trying to think what else, aside from chunking it into spice cakes, it could go with. And after she left, I thought "Oh yeah. Chicken."
This feeds two.
1 pack of boneless, skinless chicken thighs. (Or breasts. Thighs is traditional, though.)
1 cucumber, peeled and diced
1 tomato, seeded and chopped
chopped lettuce (pick whatever. I don't know from lettuce.)
Marinade:
1 thing of plain yogurt
big splash of apple cider vinegar
1 clove garlic, peeled and smacked with knife a few times
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tablespoon allspice
Tahini sauce:
1/4 cup tahini paste
juice of 1/2 lemon (maybe a bit less)
1 clove of garlic, peeled and smacked once with a knife
1/4 tsp salt to start and go from there
2-3 tablespoons of yogurt
Other:
Pita bread or naan
Harissa or other hot sauce
Dill pickles
Mix ingredients for marinade in a bowl or glass baking dish.
Slice chicken into stripes. Put in marinade and stir to coat. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 8 hours or overnight.
Chop up your tomato, cucumber and lettuce and set aside.
Make the tahini sauce. You will spend at least fifteen minutes, if not more, combining the solid paste on the bottom of the tin with the oil floating on top. It's like the natural peanut butter from hell. You will get it eventually, but seriously? It takes a while. Sadly, it is necessary: It should be smooth enough to move with a whisk.
Add lemon juice and keep whisking. It will start to kind of seize up, but keep going and it should begin to take on a lighter color and creamier texture. Drop in your garlic clove and crush against the side of the bowl with a spoon until its well smashed up, then stir it in. Add salt. Add a tablespoon of yogurt and stir. Taste and adjust everything. If need be, keep adding yogurt until you get to a nice drizzling consistency.
Heat a little olive oil in a —actually, if you have a grill, grill the chicken pieces. Otherwise, use a cast iron skillet. Take the chicken from the marinade, shake off the excess, and cook over medium-high heat until done.
If you can find it, there a traditional type of thin pita break that you can roll these guys up in. Or you can use regular pita bread and stuff the pockets, but you're fairly guaranteed of leakage and breakage if you use those Thomas' ones. I like them open-faced on heated naan, because I loves me my naan.
Anyway, combine the tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce and chicken (and sliced dill pickles, and hot peppers, and chopped onion, etc.) in your bread vehicle of choice. Top with tahini and, if you're so inclined, a few shots of harissa.