The Burden (and promise) of Pesto

It isn't a ritual. I wouldn't even call it a tradition. But at a certain point in the progress of summer the thought rises as ineluctably as the water temperature in the nearby lakes: we've got to make some pesto.

I'm referring here not to a small summery daub fed from the herb garden that runs alongside the driveway. No. This is the supply that we make in large batches and freeze in small quantities, to be thawed and consumed on those cold evenings when the sky is gray, the sun sets at five, and snowdrifts block the glass doors leading out onto the deck.

And so, on yet another cool and beautiful mid-summer morning, I make my way downtown to the farmers market. Seven-thirty. It's quiet enough that I can park right next to the stalls. My mission: to pick up a bunch of basil sufficient for the task at hand.

That "bunch" will have to be a fairly large bunch, of course, and I'm pleased to see, after looking at a few modest bouquets of basil on the tables of the Hmong truck farmers here and there, that Dehn's Garden Herbs is occupying its usual place halfway down the central aisle. Let's get it over with. A bag of fresh basil about the size and weight of a coast guard cushion for five dollars. I'll take it.

The fridge back home is bulging with produce, but I find it impossible to resist a few other vegetables sitting on the table of the elderly Hmong couple in the next stall: some potatoes, and a cardboard tray containing three fairly large eggplants. Why eggplant, of all things? Maybe as a nod to the Bastille Day celebration we never quite got going this year. Or maybe, to borrow a phrase from the mountain climber Sir Edmund Hilary, "Because it was there."

The ad hoc nature of the enterprise may be suggested by the fact that year after year, we find ourselves wondering which pesto recipe to use. The proportions vary quite a bit from one to the next. I have a dim recollection of someone's advice not to put the cheese in if you're going to freeze it. And a friend insists it's best to omit the pine nuts; they taste much better when you heat them in a dry pan and sprinkle them over the pasta just before you eat it. That's certainly true. But it often happens that you don't have any pine nuts on hand in the middle of winter, so we always put them into the pesto before freezing. (There's nothing to stop you from adding more later, too.)

The aromas of anise, basil, and garlic soon fill the kitchen. Plucking the leaves from the stems is a pleasant task, but transferring the pesto from the food processor to the zip-lock bags is a fine art. There's a lot of olive oil involved, and things can get messy.

Four scoops per bag, or five? Well, they don't have to be identical. Finally those beautiful green envelopes of summer stuff have been tucked away in the freezer.

Now, what are we going to do with that eggplant?