(HOST) The gardening season is now in full swing, and commentator Tom Slayton, veteran journalist and editor-emeritus of Vermont Life magazine, is remembering last year’s garden – even as he plants this year’s basil…
(SLAYTON) Last week I put this year’s 12 basil plants in the ground, firmed the dark, crumbly soil of my tiny garden around their roots, and watered them.
There’s nothing unusual about that, of course. Lots of people grow basil. But, for me, the planting had a satisfying feeling of completion.
That’s because I also just last week finished off the last container of last year’s frozen pesto. This year’s basil plants started going up just as the last of last year’s basil was, in effect, going down! I liked that.
Pesto, as most gardening Vermonters know, is that green, basil-infused sauce that turns spaghetti from ordinary to sublime and goes so well with soups and risottos and other Italian gastronomic delights. Like sweet corn and home-grown tomatoes, your own pesto is one of the true touchstones of summer.
I’ve learned to be patient and not plant basil too soon. It doesn’t really prosper until the weather is consistently warm. And I certainly don’t want to lose any plants to a late frost!
After all, this little row of basil is really my big cash crop. I realized that painfully a few years ago when I actually paid money for some store-bought pesto. Not only was the tiny container stunningly expensive, its contents didn’t taste anything like what I make in my kitchen late every August. I couldn’t find even a hint of that pungent basil-garlic-and parmesan taste in the tiny container I paid too much for.
The dozen plants in my garden start off slowly – tiny green sprigs poking into the tentative Vermont spring. But after 10 or 12 weeks they become a row of hearty bushes – leafy green basketballs that I can steal a few leaves from as summer progresses.
Late in August, when the plants are at their peak, I know it’s pesto time. I offer each plant my thanks and luxuriate in their aromatic pungency as I strip and chop their bright green leaves. Then it’s into the blender with a cup or two of olive oil, a handful of pine nuts, and as much chopped garlic as I think the sauce – and my guests – will stand.
I pour the green, tangy sauce into little containers and cap them – each container will last me the better part of a week when thawed and anointed with fresh parmesan and black pepper.
Then I stack them in the freezer, happy knowing that in the depths of January I can resurrect the essence of summer – and eat it! It takes only a couple of hours to turn basil plants into a winter’s worth of summer, and I always save out enough of the fresh-made sauce for a sybaritic on-the-spot feast of buttered sweet corn, fresh-cut tomatos, and my latest crop of pesto on spaghetti.
These are meals worth remembering a full year – the aromatic wealth of the garden, tucked away in my freezer, just waiting to be thawed to remind me once again how sweet a Vermont summer can be.