By Megan is seventeen weeks. The belly is getting real. She's past the nausea, past the exhaustion, in the phase where she glows and eats and grows and complains about her feet and looks more beautiful every day. I tell her this. She throws a pillow at me. This is our communication style. Love through projectiles.
The twenty-week anatomy scan is in three weeks. We'll find out the gender — we decided together, after weeks of Megan saying "surprise" and me saying "planning" and both of us realizing that we can barely survive a surprise birthday party, let alone a surprise gender. We want to know. We need to know. The nursery needs a direction. The names need narrowing. The onesies need buying.
Spring is here. The yard is waking up — daffodils along the fence, the grass turning green, the mystery hole producing what appears to be a groundhog that Megan has named Gerald II (in honor of the late tomato plant). The porch is solid — Tom's construction holds — and we sit on it in the evenings now, me with a beer, Megan with sparkling water, watching Bay View settle into spring.
At the brewery, spring production is humming. The coffee stout collaboration launched and it's incredible — dark, smooth, with a caffeine kick that borders on medicinal. People are driving from Wauwatosa to try it. The head brewer said, "Your collaborations are the best thing we do." From a man who built this brewery from nothing, that's a coronation.
Made a spring vegetable frittata — eggs, asparagus, peas, goat cheese, herbs from the farmers market. Baked in the cast iron until golden and puffy. Megan ate half. The baby ate the other half (through Megan, technically, but the baby gets credit for everything now).
The frittata got all the credit that morning, but honestly the real star was the leftover pesto I’d blended the night before from the farmers market basil — the kind that’s still warm from the table when you buy it, absurdly fragrant, nothing like the stuff in the jar. With Gerald II patrolling the yard and Megan claiming the last wedge of frittata on behalf of the baby, I figured a batch of pesto was the least I could do to keep spring going. It’s a five-ingredient situation that takes about fifteen minutes, and it made both of us feel like the season was finally, properly here.
Basil Pesto (Pesto Alla Genovese)
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 8 (about 1 cup)
Ingredients
- 2 cups fresh basil leaves, packed (about 2 oz), stems removed
- 1/3 cup pine nuts
- 2 cloves garlic, peeled
- 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan-Reggiano
- 1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more as needed
- 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
- 1/8 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper
- 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice (optional, to brighten)
Instructions
- Toast the pine nuts. In a small dry skillet over medium-low heat, toast the pine nuts for 3—4 minutes, stirring frequently, until golden and fragrant. Watch them closely — they go from golden to burnt fast. Transfer immediately to a plate to cool.
- Pulse the base. In a food processor, combine the basil leaves, cooled pine nuts, and garlic cloves. Pulse 8—10 times until coarsely chopped. Scrape down the sides.
- Add the cheese. Add the grated Parmesan, salt, and pepper. Pulse another 5—6 times until the mixture looks like a rough, sandy paste.
- Stream in the olive oil. With the processor running on low, slowly pour in the olive oil in a thin, steady stream. Process until the pesto is smooth but still has some texture — about 20—30 seconds. Add a splash more oil if it looks too thick.
- Taste and finish. Transfer to a bowl. Stir in lemon juice if using. Taste and adjust salt and pepper. The pesto should be bright, grassy, and deeply savory.
- Store. Press a piece of plastic wrap directly onto the surface of the pesto (or drizzle a thin layer of olive oil on top) to prevent browning. Refrigerate for up to 5 days, or freeze in an ice cube tray for up to 3 months.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 165 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 17g | Carbs: 2g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 115mg