In Your Head They're Still Fighting

Despite the fact that I am still fuming after yesterday's episode in which my sister was a controlling bitch, I'm trying to be philosophical today. No matter how much I love someone I can't work her karma for her - especially when she's being a controlling bitch. But I digress. I'm philosophical, bitchez!

Good thing we didn't try carrying this metric buttload of produce.

Our town has a farmer's market on Fridays, where local farmers, bakers and cheesemakers bring really good stuff to a parking lot on the main street, fucking up traffic that must travel Route 27 and probably doubling our carbon footprint. Today, Pete and I dragged the little red wagon out of the basement and launched a two-person parade to the market. We had an absolute blast walking from stall to stall, choosing bok choi from the tattooed girls, fresh onions from the family chatting up older ladies, and raw milk cheese from the cheese evangelist. His gospel is local and grassfed, and he preaches it loud and proud. Praise be to gouda!

Pesto!

In our vast old age, Pete and I entertain ourselves on a Friday night by making pesto. We stripped leaves from stems on four bunches of basil. Pete washed them three times - this is his ritual. Then he tossed them into the food processor with a mess o' garlic, grated parmesan and drizzled in olive oil until he was happy with the texture. I tasted it. The tenant wandered by and tasted it. The committee decided the pesto needed a little more cheese and a smidge of salt. We tasted again and decided it needed pepper. When it was a winner, Pete jarred. My job: zip around the kitchen restoring order with a sponge.

Pesto action photo!

We decided weeks ago that we would make a concerted effort to jar something every weekend, whatever's good and in season. Today, the basil looked brilliantly green and smelled heavenly, so that was a natural choice. The ease with which we processed these jars is promising; we could easily do this again next Friday night. We have jars. We have lids. We have space in our freezer. I almost can't stand the glamor of planning January's dinners in July.

I have the ancestral food dehydrator in my basement, though I've never used it. It's a bad weekend to ask questions, but what the hell. Have you tried one?