A Pesto Plea

I love Italian food, the subtle differences between Roman and Venetian cuisine, the gradual removal of dairy and introduction of citrus and tomato flavors as one ventures south along the coastal and mountainous regions. Few cuisines gave and owe so much to their neighbors and almost-neighbors, from Turkish and Greek influences in the south to Austro-Hungarian and German voices in the north (but don’t tell an Italian chef, a quick beating might ensue).

Which is why, much more so than most any other cuisine, I take sloppy work to heart.

Well made pesto, firm to the spoon, velvety to the palate.

Recently, knowing of my affection and the resulting heart-ache when “original” Italian restaurants turn out to be American-Italian joints, friends secured a table at one of America’s “top” Italian joints. The food was good. Not completely authentic, a fact I blame more on diner pressure than kitchen inadequacies, but close enough. At least there were no meatballs on the menu. Thank the kitchen gods for that.

A great evening, had it not been for one tiny detail. Call me a stickler, but just as a good BBQ joint can be told from its sauces, so can a good Italian restaurant from its aioli and pesto.

Let me come right out, here, and say it – blender pesto is as Italian as Olive Garden. And soggy, runny, pesto is an abomination quite along the lines of ketchup on shrimp and grits.

The “American” way to make pesto is simple: put basil, pine nuts, olive oil, garlic, and lemon juice into a blender, pulse, serve. And this, my friends, is wrong on so many levels.

I like to serve some extra pesto on a spoon, just in case someone is as crazy as I am about it.

You see, the stars of pesto aren’t the aromatics – it’s the emulsion. We all know emulsion from mother sauce hollandaise and mayonnaise, but who knew that garlic is an even stronger emulsifier than egg yolks? Only, well, it doesn’t do so great in hot or whirly environments.

Traditionally, pesto is made by slowly merging the ingredients in a mortar, using the pestle to emulsify oil and garlic (with a little help from our friend, the lemon juice), then adding the leafy aromatic and nuts into the forming emulsion.

Thusly joined, pesto becomes a creamy, velvety, substance, not a runny mess. The emulsifying powers of garlic are strong enough to hold the oil stable to become an almost spreadable product, thick enough to leave a very slowly closing hole when spooned from the mortar.

One may argue, that the hustle and bustle of restaurant life proves prohibitive when it comes to long and delicate manual labor. And this may very well be a concern to Olive Garden or the current fad-du-jour Italian eatery in the East Village. Advertise “authentic” Italian food, however, and no doubt can be had – mortar and pestle it’s where it’s at.

Let’s finish this on a conciliatory note with my personal pizza topping pesto favorite. Goes well, also, with pasta, grilled chicken, or fish.

Rocket Pesto – serves six

• 2 bunches (300g) arugula
• 3 crushed garlic cloves
• 80g macadamia nuts
• 50g finely grated Parmigiano Reggiano
• 1/2 cup good extra virgin olive oil (that’s 4floz, 125ml)

1. Toast macadamia nuts, then grind finely in mortar.
2. Finely chop arugula, cover to avoid oxidation.
3. Place crushed garlic cloves in clean (no nuts or nut residue) mortar and work into paste. Slowly drizzle oil into the worked garlic until all oil is added and a smooth emulsion appears.
4. Add arugula, working the paste, then add nuts. keep working it.
5. Finally, add cheese and work a little to combine. Careful not to break the emulsion. If you are having issues maintaining an emulsion in a mortar, add no more than a few drips of lemon juice during step 3.

Good pesto keeps at room temperature for an hour, sometimes more. Use with more cheese on top of pizza for the maximum in feasting.