When I think about making pesto, a romantic little picture is painted in my brain. I’m in a rustic, Tuscany-style home, barefoot in some sort of oldish, wrinkled – yet totally chic – long, linen dress, in a kitchen that’s older than my great, great grandma, and I’m there making pesto with the guidance of a sweet Italian old woman I can barely communicate with.
I’m adding stuff to the mortar and pestal, grinding it up and we’re laughing and looking adorable. The pesto is made from fresh basil that I picked just a few moments before, the cheese made from the neighbor’s cow and the garlic is fresh from the early morning’s walk (because I imagine you can just walk down the street and run into garlic everywhere. I dunno?). I’ve never been to Italy, sadly, so I’m not positive, but in my brain this is how it works.
The real life story of this pesto is that it was made by a girl living in LA who’s had one too many tootsie rolls this past week and needs a proper dinner. I have electricity so I opted to make this using a food processor, though a pretty mortar and pestal is totally on my Christmas list!
I’m a pretty big fan of pestos that aren’t traditional (evidence: here and here), which makes me believe that maybe I should be calling them something other than “pestos,” but whatever. This “pesto” is what I like to think of as a basil-no-longer exists kind of pesto. It celebrates the changing season, so kale is in place of fresh basil.
In this instance I used dino. Mainly because it’s called dino and that’s the coolest name in the world for a vegetable. If I was a dude I totally wish my name was dino.
Also, do you think dinosaurs ate dino kale? Hope so.
I dig it in my desserts, pancakes, drinks – with or without a lil’ alcohol. I kinda like it a whole lot.
And I’m pretty sure it didn’t even start with me eating coconut one day and loving it; but actually began with that scene in ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ when Young Mary tells Young George that she doesn’t like coconut, and him totally appalled at such an ignorant statement, retorts with, “Say brainless, don’tchu know where coconuts come from?” He tells her how they come from Tahiti and the Fiji Islands, and goes on about how when he grows up he’s gonna go exploring and travel the world and go to islands that no one in Bedford Falls had ever even dreamed could exist. And with that nerdy response about coconuts, Young Mary falls in love. If I remember correctly she even whispers her sentiments for him in his “deaf” ear. I think–as a nine-year old in my Christmas PJs–I fell in love with him a little, too.
So yeah, basically the whole reason I love coconut–and this blog post exists–is thanks to Young George Bailey.
I think we should start with the most annoying thing about handling a young coconuts: opening it…
It’s Wednesday. I’m all sorts of sleepy. I have a huge to-do list. Yet my brain keeps replaying how Teresa (from RH of New Jersey) pronounces “cumin” and says “ingredient-enses.” Wish I could get that out of my head. For real.
I’m also looking at my google reader and obsessing over my new blog addition. No. No. It’s not a new fashion or food blog or lifestyle blog. I want to share it. It’s major. Just kiss your whole morning productivity away because you’re in for it.
Wait. Hold on. I have to say something before I share my new obsession. The disclaimer is this: Of course I would never hurt an animal, and yes, I’ve had a hurt animal before and my heart cried. Literally. But holy geez…is this cute.