Driving home from Salem, I assembled the ingredients in my mind: basil on the window sill, garlic in the bowl on the counter, Parmesan in the cheese drawer, pine nuts in the pantry.
Pesto? Really? There may be a foot of snow on the ground, but — yes — I just made and devoured a heavenly bowl of pasta with pesto. Since this dish usually appears on my table in the hot months and almost always with some element of planning, I felt a little surprise in its coming together. Joy, even.
It’s possible that a new status quo is emerging in Salem, though it’s a little hard to tell. Today, my sister was alert and clear thinking, with one exception.
“Will you be taking the Berkshire spur home?” she wanted to know.
No, I told her. Route 128 all the way.
For some reason she thought we were in Western Mass.
PS I do know not to house fruits and vegetables in the same container. I think K must have put the onions in the fruit bowl.