I am a city girl through and through, but during the summer the suburbs sing a one-note siren song that has nothing to do with escaping the teeming masses or the asphalt-aggravated heat and everything to do with grilling. Where I live, apartment buildings are not allowed to have grills, no matter how petite, and every summer that regulation fills me with wistfulness for my misspent Midwestern youth, when grilling was the default cooking method from March to October.
Since I’m unwilling, at least for now, to trade the privileges of city living for suburbia—or the country, despite my occasional Green Acres-style fantasies—summer turns into one long “how little can we turn on the oven” competition. (Answer: not quite as little as I would like.) The season is a steady parade of dishes that require minimal cooking, one that could quickly get tedious if not for condiments like this cilantro-jalapeno pesto. It takes no more than 10 minutes to put together, and can be put to a myriad of uses: scrambled into eggs, an accompaniment to broiled fish, or our favorite—slathered onto whole-wheat ciabatta and loaded up with roasted veggies. If you’re lucky enough to have a grill, this pesto is still your friend; it goes equally well on virtually anything that comes off of a grill, no suburbs required.
Trim the bottom 1″ of stems off your
parsley and cilantro and discard. Roughly chop the rest of the herbs, stems and
all, and put them in the bowl of your food processor.
Trim the root ends off of the green onions, and
the top 1″ or so off the top. Roughly chop the onions and add them to the
food processor bowl.
Finally, chop the stem end off of the jalapeno(s).
De-seed them, if you prefer less heat, or just roughly chop them and add them
to the food processor.
Add the cashews and a drizzle of olive oil to the
food processor, then process until you get a paste. Stop, scrape down the bowl,
and add salt to taste. Process again, adding a bit more oil if needed to make
the contents into a paste.
Use immediately or refrigerate until ready to
eat.
Some years ago,
my partner and I moved from Lansing, Michigan, to Boston. It was a big step
personally, the first time I’d left my home state with no plans to return. It
was also a big step financially, as I would be unemployed for several months
while I studied for the Massachusetts Bar exam and the cost of living in the
city was sharply higher than that of Lansing.
We found ways
stretch one income, taking a flat in East Boston long before it was trendy and
making weekly pilgrimages to Haymarket. Haymarket is where fruits and
vegetables go to die—literally. Middlemen buy up the produce that wholesalers
can’t offload to grocery stores and truck it to north Boston, where it’s sold
at cut-rate prices on Fridays and Saturdays. It’s where the city goes to shop,
and it isn’t uncommon to see be-suited attorneys and finance types queuing
behind members of Boston’s various immigrant communities. In our Haymarket
heydays, we carried home absurdly good deals—a crate of mangoes for $5, bunches
of pencil-thin asparagus for $0.50—and if the produce had to be consumed or
frozen nigh-on immediately, well, it was worth it. At the time, I was more
concerned with keeping our food expenses low (and studying for the bar), so I
overlooked Haymarket’s other benefits, like how it helps provide access to
produce for low-income communities and reduces food waste in the Boston area.
Food waste isn’t
the sexiest of environmental topics to tackle, but it is a huge one. Americans
waste 20–40
percent of their food each year, nearly the equivalent of throwing out half of
your sandwich every lunch hour. If the environmental impact of that waste isn’t
enough to make you squirm, consider the damage to your pocketbook: if the average American spends $7,700 per year on food, they’re basically tossing $3,000
into their rubbish bin along with their overly ripe bananas.
Going to Haymarket
helped us avert food waste at the retail level, but I still shudder to think of
the household-level waste we’ve generated, the pounds of carrot peelings and
thousands of kale stems I’ve thrown away over the years. Why did I waste time
peeling carrots when I could have just given them a good scrub and eaten them
whole? And why did I get rid of all those kale stems when I could have been turning
them into a delicious pesto?
Rather than throwing
away your kale stems—ahem, perhaps those from my Tofu,
Mushrooms, and Hearty Greens in Miso Broth recipe—may I suggest making the below recipe instead? Truthfully, it isn’t so
much a recipe as a guideline for pesto that can be scaled up or down and is
infinitely adaptable. Use whatever type of nuts you have on hand—I’ve used almonds,
pecans, pine nuts, and walnuts with good results—and add more or less basil, or
even parsley, according to preference. You could even blanch whole kale, ribs
and leaves and all, and use that along with (or without) the basil. I call for
a relatively small amount of oil, but if you prefer an oil-ier pesto, feel free
to add more. Make a half batch. Save up your kale stems and make a double
batch.
Trying to save the
environment feels like such a big issue that I’ve often wondered whether there’s
anything I can do. Does shopping at Haymarket or hoarding my vegetable scraps
really matter, in the grand scheme of things? I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t.
What I do know is that doing something feels good—close to scoring a crate of
mangoes for $5 good—even if all I’m saving is a handful of kale stems.
Kale Stem
Pesto
Source: I Thought
There Would Be Free Food
Makes ~2.5 cups
Active time: 20
minutes
Note: Since kale is remarkably hardy, you can cook a kale dish
on Monday, keep the reserved stems in the refrigerator, and not make this pesto
until the weekend. If you do so, you may need to re-trim the cut ends of the ribs
before continuing, but the end result will be just as good.
Ingredients:
Water
Salt
Stems from 2 big bunches of any-kind kale (I had about
30 stems of various sizes)
2 ounces fresh basil
1/2–1 cup your choice of nut (I prefer the higher amount)
1 cup grated, shaved or shredded Parmesan
1–2 cloves of garlic, optional
1/4–1/2 cup olive oil
Directions:
Heat water in a lidded pot large enough to hold all
your kale stems with room to spare. Salt prodigiously; the water should be ocean-style
salty.
While the water is heating you have time for several
tasks. First, chop your kale stems in half or thirds, if they’re particularly
long, and set aside. Chop away the tough ends of the basil stems and discard,
then chop the rest of the basil, stems and all, into 1-inch long pieces and set
aside.
Second, prepare an ice bath for blanching the kale
stems. Half-fill a large bowl with ice, then top it off with water, and set
aside.
Third, heat a large skillet over medium heat. When
it’s toasty warm, add your nuts and toast until they’re golden brown and
fragrant. This will likely take 5–10 minutes, depending on your stove and how
many nuts you’re using. If you’re like me and tend to burn nuts on the
stovetop, you can also try roasting them at 350°F for 3–5 minutes, check in on
them and shake the pan around, and then roast for an additional 5 minutes or so.
By this point, your water should be boiling, or close
to it. Once it’s boiling, dump in the kale stems and let them cook for ~3
minutes, or until bright green and you can insert the tip of a knife through
the meatiest part of a rib. This may take longer if the stems are very thick
and less if they’re thinner. Use a slotted spoon to remove the stems from the
boiling water (which you can use to cook pasta and make a meal of this pesto)
and plunge into the ice water until the stems have cooled, ~3 minutes. Drain the
stems in a colander and set aside.
The nuts should be toasted by now; if they are,
transfer them from the skillet to a plate and let them cool slightly. Grate, shave,
or shred your Parmesan, if you haven’t already.
Once the nuts have cooled somewhat (they needn’t be completely
so), pulse them in a food processor with the Parmesan, salt to taste, olive
oil, and garlic, if desired, until the mixture is uniformly ground. Add the
kale stems and pulse again; you may need to stop the food processor, scrape
down the sides of the bowl, and process again. Finally, add the basil and pulse
to your desired consistency. If at any point the mixture becomes too thick to
pulse, add enough oil to help it along, adding a tablespoon or so at a time. Scrap
your pesto out of the food processor and enjoy with pasta, wraps, scrambled
eggs, leftovers, or anything else that could use a dollop of green goodness.
