The sauce of summer?

For this Italian guy, there are very few aromas more enticing than that of summer basil. I can bury my face in a big bunch of it, and come close to becoming intoxicated. In fact, I know some people for whom the smell is just too strong, too powerful. My old therapist used to say that it "bordered on vulgar." Well, I don't know about that, but if you've held even a leaf of fresh basil in your fingers, and rubbed, you know what I mean.

Basil is a member of the mint family, and the origin of its name is the same as "prince" in many languages (think of the "basilica" of St Peter. It's the same root). And indeed, it may be the strongest of mints, if you can even think of it that way.

For me, this is one of the ingredients that says "summer." I will not work with it outside of the warm months, and I think of the d ried stuff as just a cadaver. It's worthless. But when it's around, oh yes, bring it on.

From the title, you may have assumed, correctly, that we are getting to pesto. We've all had it. Most of us have had a bad version, with too much salt, or too much cheese, or not enough basil, or too much parsely (yes, parsley), and we use too much of it because the flavor of the bad stuff just isn't good. I'm going to tell you how I make mine, and make some suggestions on using it. And here's one of the ones I most enjoy making.

Use it in the winter. Seriously. Pesto freezes beautifully, and if you feel about its scent and power the way I do, you will appreciate the impact it can have if you float some pesto on a bowl of winter minestrone in February. Ray Bradbury had his dandelion wine, Annalena has her pesto. After you make it, you can load it into ice cube trays, freeze it, and then store the cubes in a plastic bag, and take them out as you need them. Trust me on this one, sometimes it is just what you need to bring a winter meal up to speed, and you can recall those summer days, the way those lovely young children recalled summer whenever they opened a bottle of dandelion wine.

So, here's how I make mine. I take four cups of basil leaves. It can be very tedious to pull the leaves off of the stems of the plants, but you really do need to do this, leaving behind as much of the stem as possible (there IS a good use for the stem though, as I'll talk about below). The stem can give a very woody taste to your pesto when you process it. Pack the leaves loosely into a measuring cup and put them to the side, while you get a pot of water , without salt, to a boil.

Wait... boiling water for pesto. Yes. It's a trick I learned from a recipe I read years ago, and I had my doubts. But it works. Sometimes, when I made pesto from the raw leaves, there would be a bitter edge to it that is as unpleasant as some of the tannic, big Tuscan olive oils where the pepper is all you taste. But putting the basil leaves in boiling water for ten seconds (yup, ten seconds), seems to take care of that. So you put em in and pull em out, and drain them on some paper towels while you get the other ingredients ready.

Now, this is MY recipe, and other people will have other variations. You should play within the constraints of using the ingredients listed. Olive oil is a must. For four cups of leaves, one cup of olive oil. Extra virgin. The best you can find. Pine nuts. Two tablespoons. I don't toast them, toast them if you like the darker flavor. Garlic. Two cloves for a batch. Less if your garlic is very strong. Salt. Half a teaspoon. And, optionally, although for me, an essential part of this, is a quarter cup of water. You shouldn't use what's in the pot from the quick cook of the leaves though. Remember, you left the bitter flavor there.

I put the oil in a blender, first, and then the garlic and the pine nuts, whirring this to a puree. Then I add the basil leaves, and the water. The water , to me, gives a creamier emulsion and makes a smoother sauce. Leave it out if it bothers you, but try it once. Then the salt. Taste. If it needs more, add more.

This is a very loose sauce, and "pesto" means "paste," of course. The pasty texture comes from grating cheese into it. When I was younger, I used TONS of cheese in my pesto. But now, I almost never use it. Maybe there has been a change in my palette, but I more enjoy that fresh, strong jolt of basil, without the cheese, than the combination. Sometimes I'll sprinkle cheese over a dish that I use pesto on, but not always. And having pesto without cheese allows me to use it on things like fish.

When I use it during the summer, I almost always make trenette. I am not certain how this dish developed, because it seems anathemic to everything Italian, but it sure is good. Trenette uses a special pasta - also called trenette - that resembles linguine very closely. So use linguine if you don't have trenette pasta. Use the dried stuff , it's fine. While the water is coming to a boil, trim and break up about half a cup of green beans. They should be broken into bite sized pieces. And also peel and dice one small boiling potato (the red skinned ones), for every two persons you're serving. Then, when the water comes to a boil, add the salt you would normally use, and add your pasta, green beans, and potatoes, all at once. They will cook together. The green beans may be softer than you would likethem as a side vegetable, but they're right for this dish. When the pasta is ready, drain everything, and get your pesto ready. Stir in a good tablespoon per portion (that's the standard amount: use more if you like, but try it with just one). I can't say this enough: as the pesto hits the hot pasta, the smell will come up and WHAM, you get it again. Then stir everything together, add grated cheese if you like, and serve this interesting , wonderful amalgalm of starch and fat to your guests. They'll love it.

Oh, back to the stems. Well.... that's to be continued when corn comes into season. To tease, it's a stock made of corn cobs, and pesto stems. Yup, you read right.

Hey, remember, I told you about pea pod stock. Would I lie to you about this?