Me and my Pluck Buddy

I just looked up (I am at my husband's desk, which is really my old drafting table from when I used to copy music with pen and ink [ah, the good old days] which is situated at the south end of the attic) and noticed that the moon is just like the proverbial silver dollar on a black velvet background. Cool.

Today was a pestoferous day. That is, the entire afternoon was taken up by the picking, plucking and processing of fresh basil into that most pungent of Italian pasta toppings, pesto genovese. I do this every year. I've probably written about it several times now. But this time it was different. Usually I get my kids to help with the plucking, i.e. the time-consuming picking of each individual leaf from the stems to which they cling. That is the part that I hate and with which I really need help. But no child of mine assisted me today.

Last night at dinner, I asked my daughter's BF (who was a guest at our table) if he would like to help, and he actually said he would. So I called him around noon to find out if his offer still stood, and he ended up coming over and together we were able to harvest all the basil (cutting the stalks just above the first leaves to encourage a second harvest in a month) and make a dozen pints, ten of which are in the freezer, one of which is in the fridge (we had some for supper on linguine) and the final one accounted for as the BF's payment for all his help.

The morning was taken up with rather mundane tasks as well, laundry and a shopping expedition to acquire the ingredients I needed for this afternoon's undertaking: grated parmesan, pine nuts and garlic. Thank heaven for Costco.

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