$#@&ing basil...
I finally got to prepare food with a mortar and pestle last night. I felt like a mad scientist - which was my total dream job when I was a child. I always envisioned my own laboratory where I could create three-headed cats or some other freak of nature. Alas, it was nothing that exciting - just pesto.
I went to see Cat (not Cathy) at Cat’s Secret Garden (not Garden by the Sea) and thanked her for the free leaves she gave me last week. And to show her my gratitude I bought some more basil...which she apparently only sells by the bush. What the hell am I supposed to do with all this basil? Is there a book called The Joy of Prison Cooking I should be using for my recipes? Don’t get me wrong. I love basil. It’s my new favorite herb. I’m totally naming my kid Basil (sorry, Zoltan). But this is ridiculous. My mission next week is to buy a basil plant. That way I can just take what I want.
After giving a bunch of basil to my mom, I used the rest (or most of the rest) to make the pesto. At first, it was fun mashing up the pine nuts and the garlic and the leaves. But it quickly became work. My arms were killing me. My face was all flushed. I looked like Hell. I wanted Anthony to have a romantic evening with his girlfriend and instead he had dinner with that sweaty girl in high school that you tried not to stand too close to in gym class. Cooking can be hard! You have to have patience and strong back muscles. Which wouldn’t be so bad if I were making great dishes. But so far everything I’ve made has been adequate. It won’t kill you (which I guess is something), but it won’t make you make yummy food noises, either.
Obviously I’m going about this the wrong way. I’m overanalyzing every recipe trying to figure out what’s wrong, instead of playing with them to make them right. Maybe I’ll try that tortilla soup recipe again...
I went to see Cat (not Cathy) at Cat’s Secret Garden (not Garden by the Sea) and thanked her for the free leaves she gave me last week. And to show her my gratitude I bought some more basil...which she apparently only sells by the bush. What the hell am I supposed to do with all this basil? Is there a book called The Joy of Prison Cooking I should be using for my recipes? Don’t get me wrong. I love basil. It’s my new favorite herb. I’m totally naming my kid Basil (sorry, Zoltan). But this is ridiculous. My mission next week is to buy a basil plant. That way I can just take what I want.
After giving a bunch of basil to my mom, I used the rest (or most of the rest) to make the pesto. At first, it was fun mashing up the pine nuts and the garlic and the leaves. But it quickly became work. My arms were killing me. My face was all flushed. I looked like Hell. I wanted Anthony to have a romantic evening with his girlfriend and instead he had dinner with that sweaty girl in high school that you tried not to stand too close to in gym class. Cooking can be hard! You have to have patience and strong back muscles. Which wouldn’t be so bad if I were making great dishes. But so far everything I’ve made has been adequate. It won’t kill you (which I guess is something), but it won’t make you make yummy food noises, either.
Obviously I’m going about this the wrong way. I’m overanalyzing every recipe trying to figure out what’s wrong, instead of playing with them to make them right. Maybe I’ll try that tortilla soup recipe again...