One floor up: the long wait.Something I have never been inclined to do is tuck a telephone into the space between my chin and shoulder. I have seen people to do this and rather admired the resort as part of what is now called multi-tasking. I note to day a mother with her mobile so installed her hands free to attend to a small child.
Today supper will be pesto made from the last of basil that flourished in the green house this Summer. The blend of Parmesan, pecorino, pine kernels, olive oil and masses of finely pounded basil leaves is unctuous and perfumed and perfectly suited to the short, worm-like, twists of pasta called trofie, which retain the maximum amount of sauce.
5 comments:
Sweet dog photo.
We get through a lot of basil plants, bought at Tesco, placed on the kitchen window-bottom (a Yorkshireism I can't - in fact don't want to - rid myself of), ignored perhaps for ten minuttes, found to be dead. Their great attraction is their exqusite sensitivity - the tiniest brush against a leaf releases such powerful scent. It occurs to me it would be easy to overdo basil in a recipe.
Perhaps it is a good thing I live as far away from you and Heidi as I do, for your supper would tempt me to rudely invite myself over for a bite of it - yum!
A very appetising description!
A leggy ageing basil plant, given to me by friends off on holiday, was lately turned into pesto. I thought of you and made an effort to do it properly, toasted the pine nuts, and made it in our (rather small) pestle and mortar instead of the blender. It was a bit stringy and grainy but none the worse for that.
I don't know trofie. An Egyptian friend years ago introduced me to the tiny ellipsoid grains of pasta, sometimes called larks' tongues, I think. I can eat them with nothing more that a few greens, and, in a rather crass bit of fusion cookery, oyster sauce!
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