Food thread with pictures. And jazz digression, for the edification of ThreeChordsMcGinty. Plus poetry references for middle-class ponces like @rich p.
The mission: Wild Garlic Pesto. The soundtrack: The Fabulous Sidney Bechet on Blue Note.
First, make a simple wholemeal loaf. This has nothing to do with the pesto-making, but is a gratifying way to begin a Saturday. Leave the loaf to prove and go for a walk in the woods.
Collect some Wild Garlic. Be sure it is Wild Garlic, and not the leaves of the Autumn Crocus, which will kill you. Luckily this is easy, due to Wild Garlic smelling strongly of, er, garlic. It will also have flower buds in the spring, which the Autumn Crocus, believe it or not, will not. Advanced stuff, this. Wash the leaves you have collected.
Inspect your loaf, making a small satisfied noise if it is rising nicely. Put the oven, and the Sidney Bechet, on.
Assemble your ingredients, whilst not quite believing Bechet's heart-stopping soprano sound on There'll Be Some Changes Made. Recall, inevitably, Philip Larkin's beautiful poem about Bechet, which contains one of the loveliest and saddest lines in poetry:
On me your voice falls as they say love should,
Like an enormous yes.
Put the loaf in the oven. Whizz up your pesto stuff, in a sensible order, in a blender. Or a food processor if you have one, which I don't.
Decant into a white bowl and admire the colour. Pontificate on the nutritional superiority of wild greens.
Make another batch, and continue until you run out of either parmesan or pine nuts. You will have too many greens. Have a cup of tea. Curse the practice of including alternate takes on CDs. They chose the best one for the album, FFS! Remove your loaf from the oven.
The mission: Wild Garlic Pesto. The soundtrack: The Fabulous Sidney Bechet on Blue Note.
First, make a simple wholemeal loaf. This has nothing to do with the pesto-making, but is a gratifying way to begin a Saturday. Leave the loaf to prove and go for a walk in the woods.
Collect some Wild Garlic. Be sure it is Wild Garlic, and not the leaves of the Autumn Crocus, which will kill you. Luckily this is easy, due to Wild Garlic smelling strongly of, er, garlic. It will also have flower buds in the spring, which the Autumn Crocus, believe it or not, will not. Advanced stuff, this. Wash the leaves you have collected.
Inspect your loaf, making a small satisfied noise if it is rising nicely. Put the oven, and the Sidney Bechet, on.
Assemble your ingredients, whilst not quite believing Bechet's heart-stopping soprano sound on There'll Be Some Changes Made. Recall, inevitably, Philip Larkin's beautiful poem about Bechet, which contains one of the loveliest and saddest lines in poetry:
On me your voice falls as they say love should,
Like an enormous yes.
Put the loaf in the oven. Whizz up your pesto stuff, in a sensible order, in a blender. Or a food processor if you have one, which I don't.
Decant into a white bowl and admire the colour. Pontificate on the nutritional superiority of wild greens.
Make another batch, and continue until you run out of either parmesan or pine nuts. You will have too many greens. Have a cup of tea. Curse the practice of including alternate takes on CDs. They chose the best one for the album, FFS! Remove your loaf from the oven.