Have you ever heard of making pesto with butter? I hadn’t until several weeks ago, and then I made it as fast as possible because it involved butter and I lurve my buttah.
Perhaps it’s no coincidence that if you remove the last two letters of the word “butter” you get “butt.” It’s where butter goes.
I’m still taking belly dancing. I often practice before bed. My room is the only place in the house with a full-length mirror (though I have to open the closet door to get to it), and before bed is the only time I have when I can concentrate on my groovy moves without a pack of kids hip-boinking me.
Mr. Handsome is not amused by my antics. He spends his days in chimneys, under houses, on roofs, inside drippy showers, rolling around in insulation, whacking his thumb with hammers (though I’m sure he’ll want me to tell you that only happens once in a blue moon as he's an accomplished carpenter who knows the difference between a digit and a nail) and comes home completely beat. So when I start tick-tocking across the carpet, he makes a great show of loudly groaning, flopping over on his belly, and covering his head with his pillow. Considering that belly dancing is supposed to be a bit on the sensual side, this does not bode well—for me as an up-and-coming belly dance star ... or for our relationship.
But still, I practice. I practice all the moves: the tush-push, the snake arms, the Egyptian, the hip slides, the hip circles, the tail bone circles, etc. I am very dedicated.
I am not nearly so dedicated about my running. I had been running first thing most mornings, but now that a chill darkness is seeping into my running time, I dropped it faster than a hot potato. I’d rather go for a walk in the late afternoon or do snake arms before bed.
Didn’t this post start out about basil? Geez. The state of my brain is an absolute mess. Such helter-skelter thoughts I have.
You know, they say that to write is to think clearly. I am living proof that this is a lie.
Buttery Basil Pesto
Adapted from Jennie of In Jennie's Kitchen
This pesto is creamier and less pungent than that of the straight olive oil variety. I don’t know that I like this kind better than the other, but everyone in my family loved it. I think they might have liked it better.
There is one big plus to this version of pesto: it doesn’t turn an unappealing brown when exposed to air. In fact, I kept a loosely-covered jar of it in my fridge for several days and it didn’t change color at all. Amazing.
1 ½ cup basil leaves
2-3 cloves garlic, sliced
½ cup pine nuts
½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
8 tablespoons butter, at room temperature, cut into 8 pieces
½ cup olive oil
Combine the first six ingredients in the bowl of a food processor and pulse till roughly chopped. Add the butter and pulse till well mixed. (It may form a large unwieldy ball—if it does that, cease pulsing.)
While the machine is running, slowly add the olive oil (it will dissolve the unwieldy ball, if you have one) till the mixture is a creamy-nubbly mess.
Store in the fridge for several days, well-covered, or freeze.
Yield: enough pesto for two pounds of pasta.
This same time, years previous: Basil Pesto (what a coincidence!)