I’m a big fan of pesto. In recent years I haven’t made it as much as I’d like because I haven’t had access to a ready supply of basil. Of course I could buy it, and sometimes did, but I got spoiled for fresh-picked basil pesto when we lived in Vermont and I had a decent vegetable garden, something I’ve never managed to quite get going in all the years we’ve lived in California. It’s quite lame, actually.
I’m happy to report that this year, inspired by my brother-in-law’s incredible garden, I now have a small plot of my own, a raised bed in our tiny but eminently sunny front yard. It’s not what the real estate agents would tell you makes for optimal curb appeal in this suburban neighborhood, but the back yard is just too shady for most summer vegetables. Grass lawns are so 20th-century anyway.
I got a late start, so while other gardeners around here are already harvesting squash, peppers, and tomatoes, mine won’t be ready for another few weeks. But I have herbs! Last night I picked the first basil of the season, and buried my nose in it for about 20 minutes before I got down to the business of making the pesto.