Here in Minnesota, the weather has turned very suddenly to Fall. On Thursday, I was at the State Fair on a 95-degree day, eating chocolate-covered bacon, fried pickles, cheese curds, craft root beer, beer-on-a-stick, and fried apple pie. The next day, the temperature had dropped by at least 20 degrees, and now nighttime is cold enough that I’m thinking it might already be time to pull my comforter out of the closet.

But while I love Fall here in the Midwest — I venture to say that it dwarfs the beauty of East Coast Fall — I’m not quite ready to say farewell to summer yet. After a late start, produce is still coming into the farmers’ markets here, and I’m trying to squeeze out a few last bites of the bounty.

Which brings me to these eggs, which taste like a mouthful of summer. I know that everyone waits for tomatoes and corn and strawberries, and I love those, too, but for me, the best part of summer might be the basil. Basil, basil everywhere. Basil that is so cheap at the market for such a big bunch that it’s hardly worth taking up space in the garden. Basil that will keep for days and days in a jar of water, making everything around it fragrant.

I love deviled eggs, but I had never tried to make them before. I had always heard that they were an excruciatingly time-consuming process, which must be a myth perpetuated by delis and caterers everywhere. Because I’m here to tell you, my friends, they’re not! They’re not exactly easy or quick, but they’re not excruciating, either, even with the extra garnishes here.

And let me tell you about the garnishes here. I think this quick basil mayo may have changed my life. Used to making aioli from scratch, I was looking down my nose at it a bit, but I was cooking a lot of other things, so I thought why not. And it was remarkable.

I used the leftover mayo on everything — grilled cheese sandwiches, spread on toast with tomatoes for breakfast — and it kept just fine in the fridge for about a week, which was as long as that test could go before it disappeared. Before the basil disappears entirely, I’m planning to make a jar or two, and see how long they’ll keep in the fridge. The better question, though, might be how well I can restrain myself from eating it all immediately.

Deviled Eggs with Basil Mayo and Fried Capers

Adapted from Molly Wizenberg at Orangette

Serves about 4 as a pre-dinner snack

Ingredients

- 6 large eggs

- ½ Tbsp. olive oil

- 1 Tbsp. jarred capers

- 3 Tbsp. mayo

- ½ Tbsp. Dijon mustard

- ¼ tsp. lemon juice

- pinch of salt

- 1 recipe Basil Mayo, below

1. Hardboil the eggs. The way I do it: put the eggs in a pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil; turn off the heat; cover the pot; let sit approximately 10 minutes. Drain immediately and rinse with cool water (or put in a bowl of cold water).

2. When eggs are cool enough to handle (preferably fully cool, but we all know how timing goes), peel and cut in half lengthwise. Scoop out the yolk into a medium bowl. Add mayo, mustard, lemon juice, and salt to the yolks. Using a fork, mash everything together. Taste and adjust as needed.

3. Heat oil in a skillet. Add capers (fish them out of the jar so they’re not super liquidy). Fry until they are starting to split and get brown. Remove from pan onto a plate lined with paper towel.

4. To assemble eggs: Arrange egg whites on a platter. Spoon filling into a sandwich-size Ziploc. Cut a small bit of the corner off (opposite the zip part). Now you can squeeze the filling into the egg whites, as if you have a pastry bag. Fill egg whites with yolk mixture. Put a dollop of the basil mayo on each, and finish off with a fried caper or two.

Quick Basil Mayo

Adapted from Molly Wizenberg at Orangette

Makes a little more than ½ cup (you will have some leftover)

Ingredients

- 2 Tbsp. olive oil
- ¼ cup packed basil leaves
- ½ tsp. lemon juice
- 1 medium garlic clove, pressed
- pinch of salt
- ½ cup mayonnaise

1. Put olive oil, basil, lemon juice, garlic, and salt in a blender or food processor. Process until mixture is smooth, scraping down the sides if needed.

2. When mixture is smooth, combine with mayo.

In the span of one week, it has gone from almost unbearably hot and humid here in Minneapolis to shockingly breezy and brisk. Sleeping with windows open, ceiling fan whirring, covers thrown off has become windows closed, comforter tucked to chin. Ice coffee has become hot coffee; breakfast has gone from avocado mashed on toast with salt to hot cereal with maple syrup. Cotton dresses, made for lounging, have become fuzzy blazers, made for TA’ing. Thoughts of the beach have become thoughts of apple picking, and thoughts of cross country skiing beyond that. Change is afoot.

But maybe it is not quite so autumnal where you are, or maybe you at least have a little summer corn still making its way to the market. Because I can think of no better way to bid summer a fond farewell than with this corn pesto, a dish that simply tastes like summer.

I’ve been thinking about this pesto since I got my August Bon Appétit in the mail a month or more ago. Corn pesto! What an idea. It somehow has all the creaminess of carbonara with considerably less of the unhealthiness. Other than prepping the corn, there’s almost no serious laboring here, and you should be expert at taking corn off the cob at this point in the summer anyway. And other than the pine nuts, nothing here is costly; and, at that, you only need about $3 of pine nuts, if you can buy them from a bulk aisle and scoop just the amount you need.

While I do strongly encourage that you use pine nuts here to keep the corn flavor front and center (rather than the walnuts I’ve taken to using in basil pesto), the bacon is probably optional. A shocking thing to hear me say, I know. Bacon, optional? But really, here I think it might be overkill, at least as the garnish on top. Cooking the corn in bacon fat probably does add some flavah, but if you are vegetarian you shouldn’t miss out just because of that. Or vegan, for that matter, as I think this could still be quite delish without the Parmesan.

The point is, eat this. Eat this now, before it’s too late, and summer is again just a memory.

Fettuccine with Corn Pesto

About 4 main course servings (I found that this made way more pesto than needed for this amount of pasta; you could either make more pasta or tuck the excess pesto away in the fridge or freezer)

From Bon Appétit

Ingredients

- 4 bacon slices, cut lengthwise in half, then crosswise into 1/2-inch pieces

- 4 cups fresh corn kernels (cut from about 6 large ears)

- 1 large garlic clove, minced

- 1 1/4 teaspoons coarse kosher salt

- 3/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

- 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese plus additional for serving

- 1/3 cup pine nuts, toasted

- 1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

- 8 ounces tagliatelle or fettuccine

- 3/4 cup coarsely torn fresh basil leaves, divided

1. Cook bacon in large nonstick skillet over medium heat until crisp and brown, stirring often. Using slotted spoon, transfer to paper towels to drain. Pour off all but 1 tablespoon drippings from skillet.
2. Add corn, garlic, 1 1/4 teaspoons coarse salt, and 3/4 teaspoon pepper to drippings in skillet. Sauté over medium-high heat until corn is just tender but not brown, about 4 minutes. Transfer 1 1/2 cups corn kernels to small bowl and reserve. Scrape remaining corn mixture into processor.
3. Add 1/2 cup Parmesan and pine nuts. With machine running, add olive oil through feed tube and blend until pesto is almost smooth. Set pesto aside.
4. Cook pasta in large pot of boiling salted water until just tender but still firm to bite, stirring occasionally. Drain, reserving 1 1/2 cups pasta cooking liquid.
5. Return pasta to pot. Add corn pesto, reserved corn kernels, and 1/2 cup basil leaves. Toss pasta mixture over medium heat until warmed through, adding reserved pasta cooking liquid by 1/4 cupfuls to thin to desired consistency, 2 to 3 minutes. Season pasta to taste with salt and pepper.
6. Transfer pasta to large shallow bowl. Sprinkle with remaining 1/4 cup basil leaves and reserved bacon. Serve pasta, passing additional grated Parmesan alongside.

I am a hoarder. Or, to use a more endearing term, a pack rat. Living in Minneapolis (ie with lots of space and a kitchen all to my own) has only encouraged this habit. All I can say is, if the Apocalypse (or a really big snow storm) comes, I’ve got plenty of sugar and flour. And toothpaste. For some reason, lots of toothpaste.

What I realized today, though, as I was spinning handful after handful of basil leaves into golden pesto, was that these days there is one socially acceptable (in fact, socially encouraged/deified) form of hoarding. I’m talking, of course, about canning/preserving.

If you haven’t heard that canning/preserving is in, then you must somehow be in the midst of an Apocalypse yourself. It’s everywhere, and was last summer too, but as the media catches up to the Great Recession, it’s really everywhere this summer. And as I surveyed my bounty (thus far) this afternoon, I felt an uncontrollable satisfaction, somewhat like the Ant must have felt. Two quarts of corn chowder tucked away in the freezer, two pints of somewhat ungelled but properly sealed strawberry preserves, one quart of dilly beans/carrots, and two quarts of “sunshine pickles” (recipe forthcoming). And now, four half-pints of pesto in the freezer, and a bunch more frozen basil on top of that.

So, today I’m going to talk about the basil/pesto, because freezing is by far the most approachable method of preserving (no hot water baths or fears of botulism), and freezing pesto is serious bang for your buck. Today at the farmer’s market, I bought three absolutely extravagantly enormous bunches of basil for $1 each. Additionally, I used probably 1/3 lb. of walnuts, at $5 a lb. (for about $2, rounding up). And then a good dribble of extra virgin olive oil, about 1/3 bottle from TJ’s (I can’t remember how much that was, but cheap). Traditionally one uses pine nuts rather than walnuts; however, pine nuts cost $32 a lb. (six times the price of walnuts!), and also, I wasn’t sure how well their more delicate flavor would survive freezing. Also, you leave out the cheese — usually Parmesan, but you could also use pecorino or asiago — when freezing, and add it in later, when you’ve thawed the pesto and are ready to serve.

Which is all to say, that making your own pesto, during the summer when basil is at its peak, is super cheap. Making your own pesto in the winter is another story. And buying pre-made pesto is yet another story entirely. So, make your own pesto!

Not to mention that making pesto is terrifically easy, assuming you have a food processor or blender. If you’re mortar and pestling this stuff, then maybe you won’t want to be working in bulk. But if you’re looking for quantity to last through the winter, then doing it all in one go is the best, for one simple reason: one-time clean-up.

I used Elise’s pesto recipe from Simply Recipes as a basic guide, more or less hewing to it, but I’m sure proportions were slightly different each time. David’s post from almost two years ago (two years ago!) really emphasizes how fungible the proportions are.

Oh! And to make this post even longer: What about the pure frozen basil, you ask? Well, it wasn’t just basil; it was basil whizzed with olive oil (no measurements, just dribbled in until the whole things cohered) and then spooned into an ice cube tray. Then, when it’s frozen, you can pop your basil/oil “ice cubes” out and freeze them in a ziploc, with them still staying separate. And then, whenever the mood strikes, you’ll have approximately a tablespoon of basil (with a little oil, but you’d almost always be using olive oil with basil anyway) at the ready. I’m not sure what I’m going to use my basil cubes for yet, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out. (Warning: I found these little buggers a little tricky to get out of the ice cube tray; if you have one of those flexible trays — as pictured above — I’d use that, and maybe give it a spray with olive oil cooking spray, if you have some handy.)

Basil-Walnut Pesto

Makes about 1/2 pint of pesto

Adapted from Simply Recipes

Ingredients

- 2 cups (packed) fresh basil leaves

- 1/3 cup walnuts, chopped and toasted

- 1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil

- 3 cloves of garlic

- salt, to taste (about 1/4 tsp.)

- freshly ground black pepper, to taste

- 1/2 cup grated Parmesan, or other cheese (leave out if freezing, or, if you’re vegan — this is pretty great sans cheese)

1. Whiz basil, nuts, and garlic in food processor til they form a thick/slightly chunky paste. (Scrape down any leaves.)

2. With food processor on, add olive oil in a steady stream. The pesto should now be a more coherent paste.

3. (Add cheese here if you’re not freezing, with food processor going.)

4. Add salt and pepper to taste, pulse one more time to combine.

5. Spoon into a half-pint container (I just ask the nice employees at the deli counter of the nearest supermarket for empty ones). Freeze. Enjoy in the thick of January, when you have all but forgotten the taste of freshness.

Why is summer so great? Days spent lounging by the lake, long bike rides, fish tacos, homemade strawberry jam. All true. And you know what else? Everything just tastes so good! And it is now, I think, in these dog days of summer when everything starts tasting best. Juiciest, freshest, ripest. And so it is now, when recipes come unbidden, floating into my head.

This recipe, my most recent frolic, is really something. I think that about everything I post here, of course, but this one really knocked my socks off. When I first thought it up, I had a feeling it would be pretty great. Upon first bite, I realized I had been wrong; it was spectacular. Broiled peaches, with slightly blackened skin brought a jolt of flavor that goes straight down to your toes; complemented by creamy mozzarella, the crisp bite of red onion, and earthy, sophisticated basil. Don’t think of this as a replacement for the traditional tomato caprese; think of it as another dish entirely, with its own set of satisfactions.

I broiled the peaches because they had been sitting around just a little too long, and were no longer looking perfectly appetizing raw. Remembering talk about grilled peaches, I them in the broiler for a few minutes per side and, voila, salvaged. Not only salvaged, but perhaps enhanced. They became unbelievably sweet, unbelievably juicy, unbelievably the essence of peach.

They may actually have become a little too sweet, or, more specifically, too sweet to eat an entire bowl of, as was my original plan, back when I thought I’d be using raw peaches. Instead, I ended up toasting some slices of baguette and eating the whole thing as if it were an hors d’oeuvre. That might be the best way to go, but it is a messy way, indeed, so think plates, or at least big, absorbent napkins. Or maybe think, something that I will gobble up all on my own, in the privacy of my own home, where no one can see the mess I make.

Peach “Caprese” Salad

Makes 1 small bowl-full (for 1 for lunch, or maybe 5 baguette slices worth of topping)

Ingredients (proportions here are rough, and up to your whims)

- 2 peaches, cut into chunks/slices

- 1/2 ball of mozzarella, cut into cubes

- 1/2 red onion, sliced thin

- 1/8 cup basil leaves, roughly chopped

- red wine vinegar

- Balsamic vinegar

- salt and pepper, to taste

1. Preheat broiler. Cover broiler pan with foil; place peach chunks on foil. Broil for about 5 minutes (until skin starting to brown/char); flip over; broil for about another 5 minutes. Remove from broiler. Let cool (5-10 minutes).

2. When cool enough to handle, combine with other ingredients. Splash red wine vinegar over everything, with a dash of Balsamic (this may be sacrilege, but it was just what I wanted — a little tart, a little sweet — and it was great). Season with salt and pepper.

Serve with toasted baguette slices.

So I’m going in a more summery direction: Modified bún (Vietnamese noodle salad)!

Here’s what makes it a great summer dish:

• Mint, basil and cilantro (cooling)
• Cucumber (further cooling)
• Lime (refreshing)
• Cold noodles you need only to soak in hot water, cutting down stove time

I came across the recipe on The Kitchn earlier this month and fell in love the first time I made it. The herbs complement one another delightfully, and the dish is filling but never heavy.

The only bummer was how many stupid plastic bags of green things I had to buy. But then, lucky me, that very week my professor gave me a beautiful basil plant! It’s a pretty bodacious specimen, and it’s even survived its transfer to a bigger pot. Look at it go:

Those leaves aren't yellow; they're aglow with nutritious sunlight!

I’m thinking it’s going to do better than my little tarragon plant, which is still alive but has had a long year. Winter on a windowsill did not do it good. But I’m taking my horticultural responsibilities pretty seriously and am determined to keep these alive, even if it means buying a grow-lamp and running up the electricity bill.

Enough about me; here’s the recipe, as I’ve adapted it from The Kitchn (my changes in italics):

Vietnamese-Style Salad (2 servings [my boyfriend and I are hungry, hungry hippos; other people might like less food])

The Stuff
4 oz. rice sticks (I use about 2/3 of the 6.75-oz. bag by Dynasty) + trace of sesame oil
1 cup bean sprouts
1 cucumber, cut into match sticks
1 carrot, cut into match sticks
(how big is a carrot? how big is a cucumber? just try to get even amounts of the two)
lettuce (I forgot to use lettuce the second time I made this and have since omitted it; I like it better without!)

Sauce
2 T lime juice
2 T fish sauce (without this the recipe could be vegan, but after trying it with just soy sauce per The Kitchn, I agree with all the comments that, oh no no no, this dish needs fish sauce)
2 T sugar + 2 T water
1 t grated ginger (maybe this is totally inauthentic, but it tastes awesome)
2 t Sriracha (recipe calls for just garlic, but this provides garlic and chili, which makes it just the right kind of spicy for me)

Garnish
1 heaping T of packed basil leaves (I snipped 15 from my plant, please forgive!)
1 heaping T of packed mint leaves (in the stupid, overpriced plastic box from the store)
1 heaping T of packed cilantro (trying to preserve the rest of my store-bought bunch upright in a glass of water with a bag over the top, will let you know how it goes)
1/4 C peanuts, crushed

Step 1: Boil enough water (I did this in my small tea kettle) to cover the rice sticks. Let sit in a covered pot for 10 minutes.
Step 2: Chop the carrot and cucumber. Rinse and drain the bean sprouts.
Step 3: Chop the garnishes.
At my chopping pace, 10 minutes has passed, so onto
Step 4: Drain the noodles and put a few drops of sesame oil on them while they cool. You can stick them in the fridge for later, too. (Unlike “pasta,” rice sticks don’t seem to clump, so you could do this well ahead of time if you wanted to, I think.)
Step 5: In a small bowl, mix the sugar and water to make a simple syrup (I microwave for 15 seconds to get the dissolving on).
Step 6: Add lime juice and fish sauce to simple syrup. Stir.
Step 7: Add grated ginger, and stir in the Sriracha.
Step 8: Divide noodles between two plates or big bowls. Spread carrots, cucumber and bean sprouts over each. Pour the sauce over everything. Add the garnishes.

NB: This dish usually takes a protein. The original recipe suggested frying tofu, which I’ve done, and I can imagine this would be really great with shrimp–but for now I’m going really simple/cheap style, and letting the herbs star in this show.

HERB INSPIRATION #2: Make this dish, eat under my new ceiling fan (thanks, landlord!). And keep my basil plant alive.

As I sat down to write this post, I had a little smidgen of this left in the pot. As I write this sentence, that little smidgen has now been consumed. That is how good this combination is, that the mere thought of it necessitated the need for more.

This dish couldn’t be simpler: three ingredients (zucchini, white beans, basil, plus s&p and olive oil), one pot, about 10 minutes. Endless variations (add chopped tomato, add goat cheese, add roasted red peppers, serve hot or room temperature) and endless ways to make more hearty (I was originally going to serve this over barley, but I forgot; it could be an entirely different animal if served over penne, or scrambled with eggs).

So deliciously creamy (from the beans) that I was surprised to realize it was also vegan while checking the tags from this post. The basil is the key here; find somewhere that sells basil abundantly and cheaply in season and go wild. This is not the time to skimp. Perfect for a hot day when a salad just won’t do.

Zucchini with White Beans and Basil

Serves 1 (or 2, if you serve it with some kind of grain)

Ingredients

- 3 zucchini, ends discarded, halved lengthwise and then sliced into half-moons

- 1 can cannelini beans, drained

- good 1/2 cup or so of basil, sliced

- olive oil

- salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

1. Heat olive oil in a large saute pan over medium heat. Add zucchini, saute until golden on both sides (or almost).

2. Add beans. Cook until beans are heated through and liquid has evaporated (however much soupiness or non-soupiness you want). Add basil, give a stir so basil wilts slightly. Season with salt and pepper.

Extra garlic + extra cheese = extra love + extra happiness. This is a pretty simple equation. The cheese variable may have its limits (I think the 2 1/2 pounds of mozzarella used in this recipe comes pretty close), but as much garlic as you can stand to peel and mince will probably always do you well (this is assuming that, like me, you reach your limit at, max, one head of garlic).

I was just a sous chef on this eggplant parmesan enterprise, which I think taught both the executive chef and me that it really is important to read a recipe all the way through. Or, who knows, maybe not, because this turned out great regardless. The extra cheese here was a mistake (a great one), the extra garlic was not (but was also great). We also cut a couple corners labor-wise because, one, we were in a cabin in northern Minnesota with 16 hungry writers waiting on us, and, two, because who really wants to wait around for two hours for eggplant slices to drain?

I just read about a different — healthier, easier — method of prepping the eggplant on Bitten, but this — my first attempt at eggplant parmesan — is the classic, complete with breaded, fried slices of eggplant. The original recipe had us dipping the eggplant in flour and then in egg, which didn’t make much sense to me and produced a kind of scrambled egg-eggplan hybrid; reversing the order of dipping fixed all problems.

This is not a quick dish to make, but it’s not a particularly hard one, either. And you will be a hero to all who eat it.

Eggplant Parmesan
Adapted from Simply Recipes
Serves 8 as a main course

Ingredients
- 2 lbs (about 2 large) eggplants
- Kosher salt
- 1 28-oz can whole peeled tomatoes
- 5 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
- Olive oil
- Freshly ground black pepper
- 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
- 1/2 cup fine dry breadcrumbs
- 4 large eggs, beaten
- 2 1/2 lbs of fresh mozzarella cheese, sliced into 1/4 inch rounds
- 1 cup grated high quality Parmesan cheese
- 1 packed cup fresh basil leaves

1. Cut eggplants lengthwise into ¼ inch slices. Arrange one layer in the bottom of a large colander and sprinkle evenly with salt. Repeat with remaining eggplant, salting, until all eggplant is in the colander. Weigh down the slices with a couple of plates and let drain for, ideally, 2 hours (we drained it for about 45 minutes, with some results). The purpose of this step is to have the eggplant release some of its moisture before cooking, and also some of its bitter flavor.

2. While the eggplant is draining, prepare tomato sauce. Chop up tomatoes as best you can (reserving the liquid); combine chopped tomatoes, liquid, garlic, and 1/3 cup olive oil (or put the whole thing in a food processor). Season with salt and pepper to tasted and set aside.

3. When eggplant has drained, press down on it to remove excess water, wipe off the excess salt, and lay the slices out on paper towels to remove all the moisture.

4. In a wide, shallow bowl, combine flour and breadcrumbs. Mix well. Pour beaten eggs into another wide shallow bowl. Place a large, deep skillet over medium heat, and pour in a half inch of olive oil. When oil is shimmering, dredge the eggplant slices first in the beaten egg, then in the flour mixture. Working in batches, slide coated eggplant into hot oil and fry until golden brown on both sides, turning once. Drain on paper towels.

5. Preheat the oven to 350°F. In the bottom of a 10×15 inch glass baking dish, spread 1 cup of tomato sauce. Top with one third of the eggplant slices. Top eggplant with half of the mozzarella slices. Sprinkle with one third of the Parmesan and half of the basil leaves.

6. Make a second layer of eggplant slices, topped by 1 cup of sauce, remaining mozzarella, half the remaining Parmesan, and all of the remaining basil. Add remaining eggplant, and top with the remaining tomato sauce and Parmesan.

7. Bake until cheese has melted and the top is slightly brown, about 30 minutes. Allow to rest at room temperature for about 10 minutes before serving.

Usually, for me, Labor Day is a day of beer and barbecues. I imagine, most years, it is the same for most people. But this year, as I was driving the hour out to Nerstrand, Minnesota, it dawned on me that thousands of other people (more than 20,000 actually) around the country were getting in their cars and driving to their Labor Day festivities with the exact same purpose as mine: to make a statement about the need for better school lunch.

I was headed to the Minnesota Eat-In, a community gathering that was part of Slow Food’s Time for Lunch campaign. Almost 300 similar gatherings took place across the country (with at least one in every state) on Monday, and Slow Food’s petition now has 20,000 signatures online and another 10,000 on paper. I’m going to skip going through the background of this movement yet again (you can see our previous posts on Time for Lunch here and here). But let’s just say: it’s really incredible when you think about it. And really necessary.

My Eat-In was a wonderful welcome to Minnesota — a beautiful, not too hot or humid day. A nice drive out to the country. The most welcoming hosts I could imagine, at Shepherd’s Way Farms, with tours of their cheesemaking facilities and tastes of their top-notch sheep’s milk cheese. Great company (including someone who shared his own homemade hard cider). And delicious food!

I can’t even begin to list everything on offer (with 150 people, you get a very big potluck), but some stand-outs included: the farm’s cheese (of course), cabbage chutney with naan, 2 different kinds of deviled eggs, pickled beans, slow-cooked baked beans, and fennel-thyme muffins.

Here at FJ, we like corn salad (previous examples are here and here). And I have a feeling I know why: it’s cheap, easy, and absolutely fresh and sweet, and still surprising. For Labor Day, I made a really big batch, half for the Eat-In, and half for a subsequent picnic, and the whole thing took me about 20 minutes and cost less than $20. To create two big tupperwares worth.

I first made this variation on corn salad when I was camping in August, so that should show you just how low-fuss it is. I’ve listed general ratios below; feel free to tinker with them as you will. The tupperware was scraped clean when I went to pick it up after the Eat-In. Always a good sign.

the perfectly pastoral set-up at shepherd's way

Warm Corn, Basil, and Goat Cheese Salad
Serves…probably at least 10 people, as a side dish

Ingredients

- 3 onions, peeled, quartered, sliced (I prefer sliced to diced for this salad, but that’s up to you)
- 6 ears of corn, husked and cut off the cob
- 3 tomatoes, cored, and chopped
- 1 large bunch of basil, leaves pulled off of stems
- 1 large log of goat cheese
- olive oil
- salt, to taste

1. Heat olive oil in a large pan or pot. Add onions. Cook until tender and translucent, but try not to let them brown.

2. Add corn. Cook for just a minute (maybe the length of time it takes you to chop up the tomatoes).

3. Add tomatoes. Cook for just a second (maybe the length of time it takes you to rinse the basil and pull the leaves off the stems). Add a pinch of salt and stir.

4. Turn off heat. Add basil leaves and stir, so they wilt from the heat. I think this tastes best with the goat cheese all melted and mixed in, but it looks more attractive with the goat cheese sprinkled on top. Your choice. Serve warm or at room temperature. (The basil will turn black if you let it sit, but it will still taste fine. If you want perfectly green basil, you have to either serve it right away, or add it later and forgo wilting it, in which case I would chop it up or slice it in ribbons before adding it.)

There are certain packaged foods that are simply the Platonic ideal of their kind, never to be bested by homemade versions: Oreos, Heinz ketchup, and Coca-Cola being my top three. Is the taste of these foodstuffs so perfectly irreplaceable because they are actually perfectly formulated? Or is it just that we are so used to those flavors that nothing else will quite do? If I had grown up eating Newman-O’s and Hunt’s ketchup, and drinking Pepsi, would I now be just as insistent on those brands as the apotheosis of sandwich cookies, tomato-based condiments, and corn-syrupy carbonated beverages?

I have one more to add to the list, but this one I feel guilty about: JIFFY Corn Muffin Mix. I felt way more guilty about it until my recent realization that EVERYONE loves Jiffy, or at least everyone who wasn’t born and/or raised in the South (and here, “everyone” mostly means my Gossip-Girl-dinner-party-club and Deb at Smitten Kitchen, which is a large and varied enough sample size for me).

Still, while I have no need for homemade Oreos, ketchup (Heinz or otherwise), or Coke, I would actually like to make cornbread from scratch. I’ve made it a couple times in the last year, always with recipes from Southern cookbooks and always in a cast-iron skillet. And it always came out great, but as an entirely different species of cornbread than I am used to — crunchy on the outside, very bready, and extremely savory. What I want is soft, cakey, and sweet. There, I said it. All Southerners can now crucify me.

So I was delighted to find that Deb — and Dorie Greenspan, the original source of this recipe — feel the same way. They promised a sweet, cakey muffin that would make me forget the Jiffy box, and while nothing may ever get me to forget Jiffy, these muffins came close enough that I don’t have to wear a big scarlet “J” on my forehead.

The one thing that always bothers me about corn muffins is that, as golden as they may be, they’re a bit too uniform. These have a nice textural contrast from the fresh corn kernels galore stuffed in, but I still wanted to mix up the color a bit. Also, as much as I love me a sweet muffin, I don’t mind a touch of savory in my morning, and I also don’t mind if the sweet-savory is all in one (all the better!). So, on a bit of inspiration, I bought a nice-looking bunch of basil, chopped it up pretty roughly, and mixed it in with the corn.

Perfection, best served with Frog Hollow peach preserves and a cup of tea. And without cardboard packaging or an R&D lab in sight.

Fresh Corn and Basil Muffins, to Rival Jiffy

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

Makes 12 regular-sized muffins or 48 miniature ones

Ingredients

- 1 cup all-purpose flour
- 1 cup yellow cornmeal, preferably stone-ground
- 6 tablespoons granulated sugar
- 2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
- 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg (optional)
- 1 cup buttermilk
- 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled
- 3 tablespoons corn oil
- 1 large egg
- 1 large egg yolk

- 1 cup corn kernels (add up to 1/3 cup more if you’d like) – fresh, frozen or canned (in which case they should be drained and patted dry)

- 1 cup basil, roughly chopped

1. Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Fit the molds with paper muffin cups (you can also spray, but the paper muffin cups make clean-up/transport a whole heckofalot easier).

2. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and nutmeg, if you’re using it. In a large glass measuring cup or another bowl, whisk the buttermilk, melted butter, oil, egg and yolk together until well blended.

3. Pour the liquid ingredients over the dry ingredients and, with the whisk or a rubber spatula, gently but quickly stir to blend. Don’t worry about being thorough – the batter will be lumpy, and that’s just the way it should be.

4. Stir in the corn kernels and basil. Divide the batter evenly among the muffin cups.

5. Bake for 15 to 18 minutes (12 minutes for minis), or until the tops are golden and a thin knife inserted into the center of the muffins comes out clean (if you have to err one way or the other, these should be undercooked, otherwise they’ll get dry and crumbly). Transfer the pan to a rack and cool for 5 minutes before carefully removing each muffin from its mold.

(This post appears courtesy of The Yale Sustainable Food Project, and it also appears on their blog.)

The basil is sagging. It’s making small purple flowers on top in a desperate attempt to reproduce before the end. It is going to die, and I am going to kill it.

For most of the summer, I harvested side shoots off the basil, and it dutifully grew taller and replaced the ones I cut with bigger and stronger leaves. The side shoots have all but stopped now, and in my rapacious greed I am going to cut my friend at the base to take the last few leaves it has to offer. I am going to make a pesto.

To make this pesto I will require a food processor and several ingredients. They are as follows:

Basil (not thai)

Garlic

Walnuts (pine nuts are more traditional)

Parmesan Cheese

Olive Oil

Salt

Pepper

I will not use an exact recipe when making this pesto, because the tears in my eyes will prevent me from reading. Also, my particular pesto whims are many and fickle. Instead, I will just start blending them all together, following a few basic guidelines:

Start with the basil.

Add garlic with caution, in small quantities.

Add a little more oil than required to keep the food processor running smoothly.

Err on the side of less with the nuts and cheese – you can always add more.

Salt and pepper at the end.

Most Importantly: Taste constantly. If it tastes like it is missing an ingredient, add it in. If it does not taste like it is missing an ingredient, it is done.

Though I told myself all summer I’d freeze pesto and take it out in midwinter, I have not done so, and now it is too late. This will be the last fresh pesto I will taste until the middle of next summer, unless I cave and order sinful pesto made from sinful basil from some sinful land where the sun always shines, most likely California. I have gone and convinced myself that it is morally irresponsible to do that, and because of that I will feel bad when eating this pesto of shame.

The Alice Watersises of the world will tell me that it will only bring joy to my life to eat locally and sustainably, and yet that seems hard to believe when looking at the poor stumps of my pretty red basil and waiting for the inevitable frost to snatch away all but a few purple-green cauliflowers. There is pain here. As much as I can console myself with stored potatoes, artisanal cheeses, grass-fed beef, canned tomatoes and the rest of the preservables that constitute “seasonal” in the New England winter, I will miss my pesto.

Of course, it is morally irresponsible to eat food trucked across the nation on scarce gas bought with the blood of the international underclass, and for me, that is a more compelling reason to eat locally than the joy of fresh ingredients. I will do it despite the pain. I will remember this pesto, and I will look forward to it next year. I’m fairly certain Steve Earle was singing about a woman when he wrote this, but it works the same for pesto, I think:

Your memory cannot keep me warm, but it never leaves me cold.

I’ll tell you if it actually works for pesto when the temperatures drop below zero.