With thoughts of pesto pizza, pesto pasta, tomato and pesto soup, and perhaps even pesto ice cream, this spring I planted eight basil plants. I watered the plants, I nourished the plants, I loved the plants. But unfortunately for my own basil plants (or perhaps fortunately), I discovered my mother's basil plants.
Back in North Carolina, my mother grows a garden. As gardens go, it's not enormous, as she has to utilize a sunny patch near the road to grow anything. However, what it makes up for in size, it wins in sheer growing power. The first time I saw her basil plants, I asked her why she planted so many plants. 'I only planted three,' she protested, 'they just grew that big on their own.'
As my plants would never grow near the size of her plants, she offered her plants for pesto. I love pesto and Brandon loves pesto. Kathleen won't eat hot dogs, but she loves pesto, too. I didn't want to curtail my parents' pesto crop, so I only gave the basil a medium haircut.
Quite a few hours later after picking the leaves, washing, drying, chopping, and adding the other ingredients, we had pesto. A lot of pesto. I personally took home a gallon of pesto (in addition to the pesto my mother brought out in May), and my mother had the same amount if not more. Pesto ice cream anyone?