“Ligurian” Pesto

I tend to do things my own way, much to the chagrin of others around me. I’ve had the fortune or misfortune — I’m still unsure as to which — to take advantage of a great number of opportunities leading me to all sorts of places, and when I use that all-powerful stalking tool, Facebook, to check and see what former acquaintances are up to, I get this funny feeling that I’m not exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Then again, that’s what happened the first time I went to Arenzano, and I don’t think I’m any worse for the wear. After high school, a group of girlfriends and I decided to go bumming around Europe for five weeks. A good friend of mine was doing the same with some of his friends, though we went the cheap route, in hostels and trains, and they spent their time in hotels and on planes. Not that that bothered us a bit when we decided to camp on their floor in their hotel in Arenzano.

The plan was to spend just one night in this small village in the Piedmont region of Italy, but we were pleasantly surprised when we arrived to find how accepted we were into the fold of my friend’s group. He had spent time living here in high school — we had originally bonded over this similarity between my time in the north of France and his here, in the north of Italy. With his friends, we spoke a pidgin language, trying as best we could to understand one another. In the end, it didn’t matter: we managed to make ourselves understood, and when we couldn’t, our shared experiences bonded us anyway.

It was on our first night there, as we swam fully clothed in the Mediterranean out to a buoy tethered to the shore, that the three of us decided to remain an extra night in Arenzano, and so, the next evening, we found ourselves in a restaurant specializing in pesto, which I ordered, of course.

My pesto is not traditional; it combines leafy carrot tops and traditional basil, subs pistachios for expensive pine nuts. But I’ve found that the recreation of a favorite dish, no matter how faithful the recipe, often falls flat. This one, with the spiciness imparted by the carrot greens, reminiscent of arugula, and topped with fresh tomatoes, may not be the pesto one is supposed to make, if one follows tradition, but it’s very tasty anyway.

At the end of the day, I’m not sure I’m quite so bothered about not being where I’m “supposed” to be… after all, who decides what anyone’s supposed to do except for them?

The recipe for this pesto can be found here, along with tales of my time in Arenzano.