Pesto Magic

Since I started enjoying the pleasures of local produce in May, I've rediscovered something that I didn't realize I'd lost: my love for food. Don't get me wrong, I hadn't stopped eating. I'd just stopped eating well. I don't mean I'd stopped eating "healthy"—although I did that, too—I just mean I'd stopped eating good stuff that has flavor and satisfies. I'd fallen into the rut of quick-fixes and the same-old-same-old. But not anymore.

I spent two hours in the kitchen this afternoon, and I enjoyed every minute of it. I made pesto galore—parsley and basil and cilantro versions of the famous sauce. I bought fresh herbs at the market on Sunday and knew I'd never use them all for garnishes and cooking, so I experimented with the food processor and some olive oil. I came up with some tasty sauces, sealed them in freezer bags, and stuck them, well, in the freezer. And this winter, when I pull out one of those little pesto packs, thaw it in warm water and toss it with some pasta, I'll remember tonight and smile, knowing that on the day I packed that tasty treat away I was thinking of the winter night I'd enjoy it. Delayed gratification at its best.