The best pesto comes through innovation, and is always best made with the leaves, nuts and cheese that suit your own tastebuds
I was once told to slap sage between my palms before using it in cooking. In doing so, apparently, the tiny glands filled with volatile substances on the leaf’s moleskin surface burst and their scent is released. So I slapped, until I mentioned this advice to someone else, who happens to be a gardener. “Slap if you like,” she laughed, “but a gentle press is all that’s needed to release the meaty-musty scent.” This, according to author Harold McGee, is actually a chemical defence against any threatening insect that may brush past.
The cook and gardener Carla Tomasi always brought bunches of sage and rosemary from her garden near Rome to the studio when she gave cooking lessons. So much so that their combined smell is Carla. Together in a pot, the silvery-green sage and evergreen rosemary needles were gorgeous, and sent up another wave of volatile molecules, sweet eucalyptus and spiced moth balls every time anyone brushed past. It was satisfying to pull leaves from the woody stems when we needed them, almost like having a garden. We often dipped sage leaves in batter and fried them, or warmed them in butter with ravioli, while handfuls of chopped rosemary went into pasta and bean soup, braised chicken and rabbit, and the rest. At the end of the lesson, Carla would encourage me to wrap the cut ends in a damp kitchen towel bun and take the remaining bunches home, which always felt a bit like having Carla sitting on the kitchen counter.
UK readers: click to buy these ingredients from Ocado
