You haven’t forgotten about pesto, have you? This is a public service announcement.
I made pasta with pesto for guests recently, and they loved it. As in, could not stop talking about how good it was while they ate it as fast as they could and then asked for more. The happiness-to-effort ratio was approximately 1,000,000 to 1. I felt like I tied my shoes successfully and was given a Nobel Prize. Then I made some pesto the other afternoon — it takes about 10 minutes — and boiled some noodles at 9 p.m., then ate pesto pasta while watching “Glow.” I kept thinking, “This is so good” (the pesto pasta, though the new season of “Glow” is good, too, especially episode 8). Happiness-to-effort ratio: also off the charts.
Pesto is simple, pure green gloriousness. The taste of this magic sauce combines the peppery freshness of basil, the tingle of raw garlic, the luxuriousness of olive oil, the savory-umami of Parmesan and the earthiness of pine nuts. Pesto may, of course, be messed with — parsley instead of basil, or substitute hazelnuts or almonds, or try a goat-cheese or ricotta version — but the classic version is classic for a reason. It’s light but rich, bright but smooth, verdant and lush.
Pesto pasta is perfect. Goddess of Italian cooking Marcella Hazan, never wanting for an authoritative proclamation, said that pesto has “just one great role: to be the most seductive of all sauces for pasta.” The truest version, served in pesto’s hometown of Genoa, has potatoes and green beans in it. This might mark me as a philistine, but I had it there once, and the romance of the tiny restaurant off the winding cobblestone road did not dispel the nagging question of why my fettuccine had potatoes in it. Pasta with pesto — just pesto — is perfect.
Marcella, rest her opinionated soul, surely would’ve disapproved, but leftover cold pesto pasta — or, more elaborately, pesto pasta salad — is also good. You can find a recipe-hack for Seattle’s secret favorite pasta salad online by Googling “Pagliacci pesto pasta salad.” Created after the pizza chain opened its first spot in the University District, it’s a vestige of the 1980s — when pesto achieved popularity in the United States, before stupidly falling out of favor. (The U-District Pagliacci outlet also, stupidly, just closed. RIP.) It’s also stupid-simple: Make pesto pasta, add peas and artichoke hearts, then a creamy element for a little old-school macaroni-salad flair — the people at Pagliacci tell me they use heavy cream, but a couple spoonfuls of mayonnaise seems like a completely defensible choice. Chill and eat (with Netflix, if you like).