So I grew up eating pesto very infrequently because my mother, despite liking basil, dislikes pesto. Once I was on my own, I gobbled it up every chance I got, and experimented with different green stuff (parsley, cilantro), different nuts (almonds, walnuts, pecans, filberts) and different hard cheeses, as well as sometimes adding a little butter to the finished product.
I had never made pesto during my married life, because (and I will explain all about this one day) for the past ten years I have been cooking things that Sandra Lee might feature on her show. Now that I’m cooking for real again, I bought basil at the market, toasted some pine nuts, whipped up a batch of pesto and served it for dinner with penne, served it to Rob (who has never tried it) and found out that…he hates it, too. He tried manfully, but I have to respect an honest dislike for certain foods.
I will still make the pesto. I will freeze pesto for darkest winter, and I will eat it with all my senses because I find it beautiful, delicious, sensuous on the lips and tantalizing to smell. (I guess I can’t think of any particular sounds made by pesto, but I’ll work on it). I will, however, be eating my pesto alone.