BRATTLEBORO — I love basil. I find its fragrance exotic and complicated, pungent with spice, yet at the same time clean and sweet. Whenever I buy a bunch or better yet, pick some fresh from the garden, I hold it up against my face and slowly inhale its tangled aroma.
Last summer my basil rotted in its rows, just one more victim of the weather. Ever hopeful, I planted a lot of it this year, and although I thought I would never say this, I actually think I have too much.
I am not a huge fan of pesto, so what am I to do with this overabundance outside my door, before it all goes to seed?
I did some research and found a few exceptional and innovative recipes that are less commonplace than pesto, and I am all for charging into unknown culinary territory, spoon in hand. What is life without a little risk in the kitchen?
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First, what are we talking about when we talk about basil?
Basil, or by its proper name Ocimum basilicum, is a member of the mint family, and like many common plants is native to Asia, where various species have been cultivated for over 5,000 years. It gradually spread eastward and ended up in the American colonies in the early 1600s.
There is a lot of folklore associated with basil: that it was a cure for the bite of the mythical dragon-like basilisk, that the wife of the Hindu god Vishnu took the form of basil when she came to earth, that it was the herb of royalty.
That's because its name means “king” in Greek, that it was used in courtrooms in India to swear upon, much like the Bible here in America, that when given to a beloved it would guarantee faithfulness, that it would only grow if you cursed mightily as you planted the seeds, that Salome hid the severed head of John the Baptist in a pot of basil to camouflage the smell.
I looked up basil on Johnny's Selected Seeds and they have more than 40 varieties - none, though, advertised as masking decomposition!
Basil is a tender herb whose leaves can be easily bruised. Fresh basil does not keep well in the refrigerator. It oxidizes quickly, which makes it turn brown and flavorless.
It is better preserved by putting it in a jar of water like fresh flowers. Then take a plastic bag and punch some holes in it and place it over the basil in the jar. This will keep the basil fresh for at least a week, as long as you replenish the water supply in the jar.
Basil is also destroyed by heat, so it should be used fresh, added to a recipe at the very last minute. Like many herbs, basil works beautifully when it is infused into a liquid, such as cream, oil or sugar syrup. If desired, we can get just a little more complicated, but even more delicious. Basil pairs beautifully with fruit. Peaches are in season. (See recipes.)
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In America, consumption of basil has grown eightfold since 1960, and not just in my kitchen. It is the most popular of culinary herbs.
In Italy, the basil grown in the town of Pra in Genoa has gained Protected Designation of Origin (DOP) status, much like fine cheese and wine. The DOP means that the basil meets a set of high standards in regard to its geographic origin and treatment.
It would be as if the basil from Brattleboro was designated and marked as the very best, so that basil from some other town could not be sold as “Brattleboro basil.” Not a bad idea, actually. Italians worship pesto. Every two years, Italians in Liguria have the Pesto World Championship. Even I can't resist that.
At least once a summer I do make pesto. I serve it with a funny-shaped Italian pasta called trofie, but any shape will do. I cook little green beans and tiny new potatoes in the water with the pasta and mix them all together with the pesto.
And when I do make pesto, I use a mortar and pestle. I know - how ridiculous. But for something that I only make once or twice a year, that added ritual actually means something to me. As I pound away, the pestle releases the very essence of the basil leaves, and I think not just about pesto but about every indigenous food that has fed peasants for years and now is thought of as gourmet and trendy.
The texture of pesto made this way is not like that made in a blender or food processor. Using the mortar and pestle, you have complete control over the consistency of the pesto, and the result is always a creamy, homogenous, emulsified sauce that bears little resemblance to what we normally think of as pesto.
When you make the recipe (see sidebar), think of Dante and Beatrice while you pound. Think of tradition. Enjoy yourself.