Basil: The Green Leaves of Summer

May 19, 2006

by Catherine Harper

I celebrate the beginnings of several different, overlapping, summers. When

April blooms into May, and the days become long, that is the beginning of

summer, the voluptuous green and flowering summer that turns into warm gold

autumn in August. In mid-July, when the rains dry up, and we have our stretch of

dry, hot days, that is the beginning of another summer that continues through

September, usually, or perhaps later. But the summer of the palate, for me,

begins when the local basil begins to appear in the farmer's markets,

beginning the cycle that will bring in turn corn, tomatoes, peppers and eggplants to

the table.

Basil is the most delicate of herbs. While many tough, resinous herbs of the

Mediterranean thrive in poor, rocky soil, developing their best flavor where

water is not overplentiful, basil is a tender, soft-leaved plant. It requires

as much care as all the other herbs in my garden put together, and indeed is

happiest if given the rich loamy soil and regular waterings I think of as

more the provenance of vegetables. I start the plants indoors, on a warm

surface, and then hold off on planting them out until June. From that point on,

they must be watered and tended, given plenty of sun and protected from slugs

(planting basil in large pots -- large so that they do not dry out too quickly

-- and fixing a three inch strip of copper to the rim to deter slugs is

perhaps the simplest solution). And deer. And even your neighbors. Basil needs to

be gathered in fall before the night temperatures fall much below 50 degrees.

I have an aesthetic preference for working closely with my local climate, and

growing mostly the things that thrive here with little intervention. These

plants seem, to me, to belong here. With all the culinary splendors of the

world open before us, it is a comforting discipline to me to work sometimes with

a more limited palate of local food. Basil, is at the best, borderline.

There is a reason we have no native basil. Basil self-seeds only reluctantly here

and is outcompeted by any number of plants better suited to this clime. But

every year, I plant or buy my starts, and fuss over them throughout the

summer months. Basil I cannot resist.

Basil is the name given to any of about 150 plants in the Ocimum family

(Ocimum basilicum is perhaps the best known culinary basil, varieties of which

are usually sold fresh, though Ocimum minimum, or bush basil, is also common,

and often sold dried). These are native to Africa, the Mediterranean and

southern Asia. Even inside the O. basilicum species, flavor can vary incredibly,

tasting now like cinnamon, now like cloves, and here again like lemon.

Ocimum sanctum, holy basil, is a plant sacred in India to Krishna and

Vishnu, and found to this day planted around their temples. To my mind, basil is an

herb well-suited to temples beyond just these. Many European cultures,

especially those of Latin origin, consider this herb to be associated with love.

In Italy, a pot of basil displayed in a window of a family's compound indicated

that a daughter had reached marriageable age. In Mexico, there is a custom

of carrying basil in one's pocket to attract love.

But basil lore has a darker side. Culpepper, the noted English herbalist,

mentions that while many Arabic physicians defend the curative properties of

basil, he has found it useful only for such things as poultices for drawing out

poisons, for, he remarks rather snarkily, like calls to like. The English

used it to ward against insects and evil spirits. Early English sources also

refer often to its unpleasant odor, a reference which quite bemused me until I

recalled that garlic, too, had been referred to as foul-smelling by many.

(Asafoetida, on the other hand, is a well-loved spice in many Near Eastern

cuisines but is disliked intensely by most people of European descent, who see it

only as a banishing herb. Tastes vary.)

Though the common name "basil" derives from the Greek word "basileum,"

meaning king, the Greeks saw basil as a plant of ill-omen. The Romans, perhaps

similarly, thought that basil would only grow well if abused when planted or on

ground that had been cursed -- a custom that seems to survive to this day. But

not with me.

To me basil, with its strong clear flavor, its affinity with light foods and

its splendor when served fresh, epitomizes summer cooking. Though I used

fresh basil first in cooked tomato sauces, and then more heavily in Thai dishes

where basil was treated almost as a green vegetable rather than as a mere

flavoring, I find myself most pleased with the basil leaves uncooked. Vietnamese

cooking seems to have a particularly fine grasp on the use of fresh herbs.

One of my favorite of such dishes is the cool noodle salad bun, where rice

vermicelli is served on a bed of shredded greens including copious amounts of

basil and mint (not to mention Vietnamese coriander and perilla) topped with

grilled meat and drizzled with a fish-sauce based dressing.

But one does not need to be so complicated.

Pesto

Pesto is a paste, such as might be made by grinding moist ingredients with a

pestle. The proportion and ingredients vary greatly -- what I include here is

the recipe in its simplest and most common form. But increasingly pestos are

based on other herbs than basil, or sunflower seeds and walnuts are

incorporated to spare the expensive pine nuts, or spinach is added to supplement the

basil. These too, can be fine (if you like sunflower seeds, or walnuts, and

remember to use twice the quantity of pesto, which spinach dilutes in flavor

-- this is a fine way to eat spinach, but it does not save on basil). All

measurements are approximate; adjust to taste.

* 5 parts basil leaves, coarsely chopped

* 1 part grated Parmesan

* 1 part pine nuts

* 1 part olive oil

* Fresh garlic and salt to taste

Combine ingredients in a mortar and pestle. Or a blender, or a food processor

(though the texture of pesto worked by hand is superior). Blend ingredients

until they reach the desired consistency (which can be completely smooth, or

rather lumpy and grainy, as desired, but should be more or less pastelike).

If you are using a blender, you might need to add more olive oil so as to have

a liquid enough consistency for adequate blending. Serve tossed with pasta.

Or on bread, or pizza, or crackers. Pesto can also be frozen in ice cube

trays or muffin tins (and later transferred into freezer bags) yielding a number

of single serving portions for less bounteous times of the year.

Fresh Tomato Sauce

By fresh, here I mean "uncooked." This is a dish that should wait for the

arrival of decent tomatoes. If the tomatoes have no scent, pass them by.

Combine the following:

* 2 large tomatoes, chopped

* 1 generous fistful of basil, sliced widthwise into ribbons (slicing

basil widthwise, across the veins, best releases its flavor)

Drizzle with olive oil and balsamic vinegar (or a good red wine vinegar),

then add salt and pepper to taste. One can also add a bit of pressed garlic, or

a finely minced shallot, but in a dish so fully flavored there is no need to

allow the alliums to dominate. Allow the sauce to sit for at least 10 minutes

to better mingle the flavors before eating.

Serve, again, over pasta. Or as a topping for bread. For that matter, tossed

with greens this sauce makes a nice salad.

Keep your thoughts positive, because your thoughts become your words.Keep your words positive, because your words become your behavior.Keep your behavior positive, because your behavior becomes your habits.Keep your habits positive, because your habits become your values.Keep your values positive, because your values become your destiny.

- Mahatma Gandhi

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