Pesto by hand

My boyfriend loves gadgets. He is by far one of the most gadgety people I've ever met. Going to Target with him is a dangerous proposition: he will happily spend an entire afternoon wandering the aisles of the electronics department in a gleeful daze, coming to life only occasionally to pull something off the shelf and announce, "I'm getting this." Grocery shopping is just as hazardous, because every grocery store I've been to with him has a cookware section. If it slices, dices, pulverizes, or serves food in a visually arresting manner, he is drawn inexorably to it like a moth to a ceiling lamp.

And yet, he doesn't own a food processor.

This became an issue one recent Saturday as we prepared to go shopping for dinner ingredients. I wanted pesto. I craved pesto. I was horrified by the thought of buying premade pesto for dinner, when it's so easy and satisfying to make at home. But I'd never made pesto without a food processor before. So I turned to the Internets to see if you could, in fact, make pesto entirely by hand.

As it turns out, of course you can. I found an extraordinarily helpful post entitled How to Make Pesto Like an Italian Grandmother, which also includes beautiful pictures of the pesto-making process. (I am a terrible photographer, for the record. If you're looking for food porn, I am not the blogger for you.) Traditional Italian pesto is famously simple, a finely cut almost-paste of basil, garlic, pine nuts (also called pignolias), and fresh-grated parmesan cheese suspended in extra virgin olive oil. This dish depends on quality and technique: it's all about fresh ingredients and a sharp, quick-moving blade.

The original poster claims that you need a mezzaluna, a curved double-handled blade, to make pesto by hand. This is nonsense. What you do need, and what should be a mainstay in any home kitchen, is a good, well-sharpened chef's knife. To save myself some energy when actually making the pesto, I decided to chiffonade the basil first: I took four or five basil leaves at a time, stacked them flat, rolled them lengthwise like tiny green cigarettes, and then cut across the roll to create little ribbons. I love doing this as quickly and showily as I can, keeping my fingers tucked well out of the way of the flying blade. (Mid-chiffonade, my boyfriend peeked over my shoulder, shuddered, and retreated to the comfort of his computers.)

I piled on the other ingredients, a handful at a time, and milled them together with the wide part of the knife until the countertop was covered with green flecks and my hands were sore. Then I poured the whole mess into a bowl, drizzled in a slick of oil, and took a bite.

I am here to attest that hand-chopped pesto blows the machine-made stuff right out of the water. Milling the ingredients together a handful at a time produced a pleasingly unpredictable texture, with big distinct chunks and vanishingly tiny flecks. I was also shocked by how subtle the flavors were, compared to the usual flat, brassy pestos dominated by basil and garlic. Hand-chopping mellowed those flavors, bringing out the buttery richness of pine-nuts and the saltiness of cheese. It was sophisticated and homey, bracing and smooth, all at once.  I made a batch of pasta, sauteed some peppers and Italian sausage, and tossed everything with the fresh pesto for an extraordinarily flavorful meal.  You can bet I will be making pesto this way from now on.

Even if my boyfriend does end up buying that food processor after all.

Hand-Made Italian Pesto (yield: approx. 1 cup)

1 large bunch fresh basil leaves, chiffonaded
3-4 large cloves of garlic, or 6-8 smaller ones, sliced
1-2 handfuls toasted pine nuts (pignolias)
1-2 handfuls fresh-grated parmesan cheese
3-4 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil

In the center of a large cutting board, combine about half of the garlic and one-third of the basil and chop. When the pieces are small but not utterly obliterated, add another third of the basil and chop again. Repeat with the other half of the garlic and the last third of the basil.

Add the pine nuts, a handful at a time, then the parmesan, a handful at a time, chopping well in between each addition. By the end of the process, you should be able to form the mixture into a lump and have it more or less stick to itself. Transfer to a large bowl and pour olive oil over the pressed-together pesto. (If you're not using the pesto that day, it can be stored this way in the fridge.)

Just before serving, stir to combine the olive oil and solids. Use in any dish calling for pesto--I'm planning to use my next batch for pasta salad with orzo, sun-dried tomatoes and feta.