Pistou Basil

 Poor little neglected food blog.

Meredith and I have been out of town intermittently these past few weeks and haven't been doing a great job of keeping up with our posts.

Sorry, readers!

Today I would like to tell you about a marvelous discovery I have made.

Pistou Basil.

Remember how once upon a time I made a disastrous attempt to grow basil? Remember how, after one harvest of leaves and a desperate attempt to bring it back to life by over-watering, it looked like this:



Well, after that disaster, I vowed never to grow basil again. I vowed to replace that traitorous herb with something more be-fitting of my shady plot of sand I call a garden.

But then I went to the PPK (the Pretty People Kroger... called such because it is located in a ritzy neighborhood full of rich, beautiful people). I was seduced by the shelves of exotic herbs enticing me with their unfamiliar names and the promise of new life. I couldn't help myself.

Instead of buying a cactus that surely could survive the treacheries of heat, inadequate sun, and the gusts of harsh air from our yard man's terrifically powerful leaf-blower, I bought "pistou basil", a delicate looking plant that Wikipedia calls a variety of the traditional basil plant characterized by smaller leaves and a milder flavor.

While I stood in line at the check-out counter, I was hoping and praying that if I planted it, all my dreams of being able to make bruchetta, marinara sauce, and pesto with my very own home-grown basil might not just be fantasy, they might not just be a distant dream... they might not be lost with the death of the Pistou's evil predecessor.

And I was right.

Look how beautiful that plant is! It has grown more vigorously than I possibly could have anticipated! In fact, it has outgrown it's original pot. Tomorrow I will buy it a big, beautiful, elaborately decorated pot in celebration of its ability to withstand all the hardships thrust upon it by this less-than-capable gardener.

People of the world, take heart! You, too, can grow pistou basil and be rid all the worry and anxiety caused by its traditional counterpart.

RIP, Basil.

Goodbye, little basil plant. I am not sad to see you go. I paid $4 for you and only got one decent harvest before you shriveled into this pathetic heap of self pity. That's ridiculous. I can get a bunch of fresh basil from Kroger for $3. It would have been worth it if you were as beautiful and healthy as my neighbor's basil plant. You always looked so puny in comparison and I felt ashamed. Come on, I only over-watered you once! Did you really have to react like this? Tomorrow I will pull you up by your roots and throw you away. I will replace you with something that is more appreciative of all my tender love and care, something that can handle my shady, humid, scorching-hot, urban garden. Like a cactus.


Hold on, little parsley plant! Don't give up yet! I'm so sorry for the over-watering. Ina Garten told me that the more I cut you, the more you will grow. Those few little leaves popping up since I followed her advice are giving me hope. I don't know if you were worth the $4 investment, either, though. For $0.50 I can get a big bunch of beautiful organic flat leaf parsley that lasts all week. I haven't even had one harvest out of you. If you don't get your act together, you may meet the same fate as the basil. Yes, that is a threat.

Basil is the Posh Princess of the Herb Family

I have 2 ½ weeks left until I am done with my graduate program. Forever. That means no more school… ever. Needless to say, I have been dealing with some rather paralyzing anxiety about the future: completing my final papers and projects, graduating, taking the licensing exam, finding a JOB. Yikes, the real world scares me. (So by the way, if anyone hears of any open social work positions in the Houston area, let me know). However, I fight back: when I feel the anxiety rise up and start to take over, I promptly grab my journal and a cup of coffee in my pretty pink mug and go out to my sweet little porch that overlooks my herb garden. It is truly a restorative oasis that has brought me so much joy this spring. Don’t you just love spring? Minus the whole graduation, impending life decisions thing…

So today I was sitting out on my porch looking at my herbs and thinking about all the different ways I can use them: homemade bread crumbs, pasta sauces, infused teas... Here’s a picture. Aren’t they pretty? I know my garden is small but hey, I live in the middle of a huge city, you take what you can get.

Do you notice anything? Besides that cool piece of yard art, I mean. Like… do you notice how small and puny my basil plant is compared to everything else? This is something that really ticks me off. I give these plants so much TLC it’s not even funny. I water them every day. I make sure they have good, rich soil. I even mix in my leftover coffee grounds with the earth to give it some added nutrients. Everything else is thriving: the rosemary, thyme, oregano, parsley, mint and sage. But that basil… I am telling you. I have been baby-ing it for a month now and it refuses to grow in height or stature. It just sits there looking pathetic. Here’s a close up:

I don’t have room for this high-maintenance act in my life. I much more admire the resiliency of my mint plant that endured being uprooted from my mother’s garden, transported on a 3.5 hour hot car ride to Houston, and then replanted in a spot that only gets sunlight a few hours a day. It has endured hardship but is wild, tangly, thriving and beautiful. That’s my kind of girl. The posh princess basil needs to wake up and meet the real world. This is not a comfortable green house; this is humid, hot Houston. We (the basil and I) need take a little life lesson from the mint and not stagnate when faced with life’s stressors.