Erica De Mane

Still Life with Mortar and Pestle, by Steve Capper.

Recipes below: Pesto with Parsley, Marjoram, and Walnuts; Pesto with Mint, Almonds, and Pecorino Romano

A mortar and pestle is a beautiful thing. If I lost control of my purchasing impulse I’d buy tons of them. But in the real world I own three, a dark wooden one for mashing up moist stuff like anchovies or avocados, a smaller white marble type I use mostly for dry spices, and a medium-size ceramic one whose surface is roughed up for better traction. It’s perfect for grinding fresh herbs. That’s what I use for pesto, when I make it that way.

I’ve eaten classic basil pesto in Liguria, the place of its birth, and I’m always amazed by how creamy it usually is, and how light green. Surely this must be because everyone there makes it the old fashioned way, by hand, with a mortar and pestle. Wait a minute, a restaurant that serves 200 covers a night is grinding pesto by hand? I don’t think so. They’ve got to be doing what I’ve started doing.

The therapeutic value of  manually working herbs and garlic into a paste is significant. When I rotate and press the pestle in a repeated circular motion, releasing aromas into the air, something goes quiet in my head, ridding me of nasty rumination. When I make pesto for two, that’s the way I go. I love to pour a glass of wine and start grinding away. Restorative. But when I need to feed a big group, all that grinding (which can take way over an hour) actually increases my anxiety. It has even made me cry. At times like that, out comes the food processor. My mortar and pestle produces a creamier pesto, less rough-edged, one that clings to troffie or fusilli artfully. I’ve never quite gotten that perfection with my food processor—until recently, when I changed the way I used it.

Years ago, when I first made food processor pesto, I was cautious. Basil seemed so delicate, so thin-leaved that I didn’t want to traumatize it, so I stopped my grinding just when I achieved emulsion. But there remained a slight grittiness, a not completely blended look and mouth feel. Yet I was afraid to over process it, afraid it would oxidize, from, I figured, repeated contact with metal. Why did I fear that? I knew that pesto turns dark mainly from exposure to air, but I convinced myself that the blade was partly to blame.

It wasn’t. When I got over that stupidity, I started to let my pesto process for a little longer than instinct dictated. And, what do you know, I come up with something smooth and creamy and richer tasting than when I had stopped at my previous tentative point. All it took was a little more oomph. I start with the nuts and garlic, then add the herbs, then the cheese, then the oil, and then I let it all go for a full minute, without pulsing, allowing it to whip and fluff up. I’m happy with this new texture and the way it clings to pasta. It’s more like mortar and pestle style. Not quite as luscious, but close.

Pesto will darken quickly however I make it, even as it sits, just tossed, in a bowl on my dining room table. That disturbs me, but now, more often than not, I blanch and shock the herbs. This, I’ve been told, is highly unorthodox, although I did learn it while cooking at Le Madre, a high-end Italian-run Manhattan restaurant, so I’ve figured it was, on some level, legit. Now I use this technique with classic Genoa pesto and with any other herb-based pesto improvisation I come up with.

Here are a couple of non-basil pestos you might like to try. In the first one, I use Liguria’s other favorite herb, marjoram, adding parsley and walnuts, which sometimes replace pine nuts in Genoa pesto. In Liguria they don’t add black pepper or any kind of pepper to pesto, feeling it would compete with the punch of the herbs. I agree with that completely, so I don’t add any here.

It doesn’t taste like the classic, but it sure is good, and not just on pasta. Try it spooned over grilled fish or vegetables. Or make my new favorite, marjoram pesto tossed with gemelli and then topped with just grilled shrimp. Pure beauty.

I’m also including a mint and almond pesto for your consideration. I recently served it with tuna and red pepper spiedini, and they made a good match. It’s also nice spooned over a summer tomato salad.

Whenever I toss pesto with pasta, I make sure and work in a little of the cooking water to loosen it up, ensuring creamy coverage. You can thin down any pesto with a little water if you want a more pourable sauce to drizzle over fish, meat, or vegetables.

The proportions in these two pesto recipes are what feels right to me. To my palate, most pesto I’ve tasted in this country contain way too much garlic. Four or five cloves to a cup or so of herbs is overkill. Pesto is a delicate balance. I never use a sharp cheese, such as pecorino Romano, in a pesto. I don’t add black pepper. My oil will always be mild but of high quality. I pass along these ideas to you hoping you’ll consider them while finding your own balance of flavors.

Pesto with Parsley, Marjoram, and Walnuts

(Enough for a pound of pasta or as a condimento for 4)

1½ cups flat-leaf parsley leaves
½ cup marjoram leaves
½ cup very fresh shelled walnuts
1 large summer garlic clove, roughly chopped
½ cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano or Grana Padano cheese
⅓ cup grated Pecorino Sardo cheese (I find Pecorino Romano too harsh for this)
About ½ cup-extra virgin olive oil (one on the mellow side, not too biting)
Salt

Set up a medium pot of water, and bring it to a boil. Add all the herbs, and blanch for about 30 seconds. Drain into a colander, and run under cold water to stop the cooking and set their color. Drain well, and then squeeze out as much water as you can. You’ll now have a small mossy lump that doesn’t look like much, but, don’t worry, the flavor will be quite concentrated.

Put the walnuts in a food processor, and pulse until fairly well ground. Add the garlic and all the herbs, and pulse until all is moist, crumbly, and green. Add the cheese, the olive oil, and a little salt, and process until you’ve got a smooth, not too thick paste. If the pesto is still crumbly or clumping up, add a little more olive oil until it runs smooth.

Pesto with Mint, Almonds, and Pecorino Toscano

(Good for 1 pound of pasta or as a condimento for 4)

2 cups fresh spearmint leaves
½ cup blanched almonds, roughly chopped
⅛ teaspoon allspice
1 large summer garlic clove, roughly chopped
½ cup aged Pecorino Toscano cheese, grated
⅓ cup grated Piave cheese
About ½ cup extra-virgin olive oil (again, a mellow one; you don’t want a sharp Tuscan oil here)
Salt

Blanch the mint in a pot of boiling water for 30 seconds. Drain, and run it under cold water to bring up its color. Squeeze out as much water as you can.

Put the almonds, allspice, and garlic in the bowl of a food processor, and pulse until well chopped. Add the mint, and pulse until it’s incorporated and everything is green. Add the cheese, olive oil, and a little salt, and process until the mixture is smooth. If it’s a little dry, add a drizzle more of oil.

The blanching should hold the color in both of these pestos for few days, but I’d try to use them as soon as possible to capture them at the height of their flavor.