By The garden gave us its last tomatoes this week, a final handful of cherry tomatoes that I picked on Wednesday evening in the golden September light. The plants are yellowing, the vines are tired, and the season is ending the way all Nebraska seasons end: with beauty and surrender. I laid the tomatoes on the windowsill to finish ripening and looked at the garden bed, empty now except for the basil, which is still going, still green, still fragrant, still holding on the way stubborn things hold on in Nebraska. The basil does not know it is almost October. The basil is just being basil. I respect that.
I made one last batch of fresh pesto with the basil before the frost takes it. Basil, garlic, pine nuts, parmesan, olive oil, salt. Blended in the food processor until smooth and green and smelling like summer concentrated into a paste. I froze it in ice cube trays so I can pop out a cube of summer in January when the world is white and cold and the memory of the garden is the only green thing left. That is what pesto is: a memory in olive oil. A promise that the garden will come back.
At home, the fall routine is in full swing. All four kids in school, me on the road three to four days a week, Dave at the truck stop, Gayle on backup duty. The machine is running. The slow cooker is earning its keep. This week I made a beef and broccoli in the slow cooker: sliced flank steak, broccoli florets, soy sauce, garlic, ginger, brown sugar, cornstarch to thicken. Served over rice. It is not Chinese restaurant quality but it is real food made in a truck cab, and I ate it at a rest stop outside Hastings, and the trucker in the next space looked over and said what is that. I said dinner. He said it smells like a restaurant. I said it is a Peterbilt. He laughed. I gave him a plate.
I have been giving truckers food for nineteen years. It is the most natural thing I do. You see someone eating garbage at a truck stop, you give them real food, and their face changes, and for a minute they remember what it feels like to be fed by someone who cares. That is my job. Not the hauling. The hauling is just how I get from one person to feed to the next.
The pesto I made this week was always going to end up here — tossed with pasta, simple and green and tasting like the garden at its best. Most of the batch went into the freezer in ice cube trays for January, but I kept enough out for one good dinner, because you don’t make the last pesto of the season without eating some of it right now. This recipe is as honest as the basil it comes from: nothing fancy, nothing hidden, just good ingredients doing what good ingredients do.
Pesto Pasta
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 12 minutes | Total Time: 22 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 12 oz spaghetti or linguine
- 2 cups fresh basil leaves, packed
- 1/3 cup pine nuts (or walnuts)
- 3 cloves garlic
- 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
- 1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more for pasta water
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/2 cup reserved pasta cooking water
Instructions
- Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until al dente. Before draining, scoop out 1/2 cup of the pasta cooking water and set aside. Drain the pasta.
- Make the pesto. While the pasta cooks, combine basil, pine nuts, and garlic in a food processor. Pulse until coarsely chopped. Add Parmesan, salt, and pepper. With the processor running, slowly drizzle in the olive oil and blend until smooth and green. Taste and adjust seasoning.
- Combine. Return the drained pasta to the pot over low heat. Add the pesto and toss to coat, adding reserved pasta water a few tablespoons at a time until the sauce clings to the noodles and reaches your preferred consistency.
- Serve. Divide among bowls and top with extra Parmesan. Serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 580 | Protein: 17g | Fat: 28g | Carbs: 67g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 390mg