“Mama, you make the best of these,” my son said, pointing at the superball-sized potato on the end of his fork, “in the whole world!”
And he was eating them without the pesto.
But that’s what happens when you cover new yukon gold potatoes (relatively fresh from the earth, ranging in size from quarters to baseballs, with thin skins that rub off as you wash off the dirt) with cold water, bring them to a boil, add a mess of salt, and cook until the potatoes are oh-so-tender all the way through, drain them, and serve them hot. People tend to get excited.
I get excited about the whole pesto-on-potatoes scene I’ve been re-enacting around here this spring. And tonight I figured out why. It allows one to eat considerably more pesto than when the pesto gets tossed all evenly and reasonably with pasta. Much, much more. And, as I mentioned before, I’ve rediscovered pesto. There’s a reason everyone went so pesto-crazy in the 80s (that was the 80s, right?). The good stuff is insane. And this recipe is the good stuff, though I say it myself.
With the pestoed potatoes we had a salad made with dressing made with red wine vinegar I “made” myself. Yes, I poured leftover bits of red wine into a pitcher with a bit of vinegar mother a former co-worker gave me. It was all very taxing. The pouring and the waiting. Very taxing indeed. Worth it, though. I have my first batch sitting in bottles. Word on the street is as it sits it ages and as it ages it becomes even more delicious. We were pretty pleased with it last night, and I only filtered and bottled it the day before. I can’t wait. See? It is taxing.
Gwenelda | 13-Dec-11 at 4:30 am | Permalink
You’ve imperssed us all with that posting!