{"id":1333,"date":"2008-01-15T00:31:00","date_gmt":"2008-01-15T00:31:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2008\/01\/15\/like-a-charm"},"modified":"2008-01-15T00:31:00","modified_gmt":"2008-01-15T00:31:00","slug":"like-a-charm","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2008\/01\/like-a-charm\/","title":{"rendered":"Like a charm"},"content":{"rendered":"
I don\u2019t know how it is where you are, but around here, winter has been a little weird. Kind of wishy-washy, I guess you could say. Not that I\u2019m complaining or anything. No sir. I\u2019m just saying. We\u2019ve had the usual load of rain and even a scant dusting of snow, but everywhere, all around, the shrubs are sending out little green buds. Yesterday it was sunny and 50 degrees, and we went to Discovery Park<\/a> in nothing but jeans and t-shirts – long-sleeved, but still – and collected shells on the beach. We even saw a plum tree with a few open blossoms(!). I grinned so hard that I thought my face might crack open. Then, when we came home, I made lemonade. Lemonade<\/span>! And spiked it with vodka! And then<\/span>, while Brandon was out running his favorite thrift-shop circuit, I lip-synced to \u201cHungry Like the Wolf<\/a>\u201d about 85 times. It was such<\/span> a good day. Like spring, really.<\/p>\n At least we have parsley. That\u2019s all I can say. Our little herb-and-arugula garden beside the house has pretty much gone kaput, but the Italian parsley, it lives on. It\u2019s going gangbusters, actually. It\u2019s nearly three feet tall and almost as bushy as my father\u2019s beard in an old photo I have in the basement, taken in the mid-\u201860s, during what I like to call his \u201cCuban revolutionary<\/a>\u201d facial hair phase. It may be the middle of winter, but by god, we still have parsley. Which means we can make pesto. Or a variation on pesto, at least.<\/p>\n<\/a>
Global warming, is that you? Because sometimes – and I know<\/span> I\u2019m not supposed to say this, but – I think I love you. Come on in and have a seat. I\u2019ve got a big glass of boozyade for you.<\/p>\n<\/a>
Of course, today it\u2019s raining proverbial cats and dogs. As I type this, a man is cowering his way down the street outside my window, dodging raindrops. Best not to get my hopes up, I guess. We\u2019ve got a while to go before spring.<\/p>\n<\/a>
In fact, that\u2019s what I did last night with our friend Olaiya<\/a>. We wanted something to dollop on top of a bowl of parsnip soup, and parsley sounded like just the thing, whirred to a slurry in the food processor with a little oil and salt. For added interest, we threw in a small palmful of almonds – Olaiya\u2019s inspired suggestion; I really can\u2019t take credit – and a squeeze of lemon, and before we knew it, the slurry had morphed into a pesto of sorts, earthy and salty and herbal and addictive. (Isn\u2019t that the definition of a good pesto: addictive? I certainly think so.) It was unexpectedly lovely, more delicate than I could have imagined. I liked it atop the soup – which, to tell you the truth, didn\u2019t turn out all that well – but I loved<\/span> it today, when I made a second batch to stir into a pot of hot fettucine. It went down like a charm.<\/p>\n