7/27/2015
Homegrown Magic
John Friel
My pesto patch is lookin’ good.
If you’re unfamiliar with that magical gooey sauce of the Roman gods, allow me to clue you in. There are actually many kinds of pesto: the word is simply Italian for ground or smashed, as with a mortar and pestle.
Ergo, one can make pesto with red peppers, spinach or numerous other things. But the classic, the type species, is pesto Genovese, an inspired mashup of raw garlic, fresh basil, grated cheeses, pine nuts and olive oil. It’s not merely smashed, it’s smashing. Italy has spawned nothing finer. Yes, the Sistine Chapel, Sophia Loren, Lamborghinis and heliocentricity are all impressive, but useless on linguine.
What makes my pesto better than any I can buy is, it’s not just homemade, it’s homegrown—at least, the parts I can grow, namely garlic and basil. Forget homemade pecorino Romano cheese: I have no place to keep sheep and no wish to milk one. My climate doesn’t accommodate olives or the right pines, so those, I farm out. Still, the experience is enhanced immeasurably by extracting the principal flavors directly from the earth.
I think of my pesto patch when scanning trade magazines or strolling trade shows, marveling at the multifarious manifestations of the current craze for homegrown food. My employer produces ornamentals, not edibles, so this surge doesn’t benefit me—directly. But I’d argue it helps us all, whether we grow foodstuffs or fuchsias.
When interest mushrooms (har!) in some nouveau phenom, whether it be an Internet meme, soccer or something green, there are stages to its development. First comes infatuation: When markets expand exponentially, it’s tempting to think it’s endless. It’s not.
Inevitably, saturation defeats infatuation. What was cool got co-opted, the cutting edge dulled by overexposure. The hipsters who stoked the vibe move on. But meanwhile, the New Thing has drawn a crowd and some will stick. The foodie rush will taper off, brands will vanish, but growing one’s own will have made lifelong converts.
A decade or so ago, real estate gurus urged communities to invest in golf courses. Golf was growing so fast, they said, we can’t build enough! Well, they did. More courses have closed than opened for the last eight years, parceled out for housing after sitting fallow a few seasons.
Fortunately, we’re not golf. Gardening can be frustrating, but no gardener fails utterly. Something always grows and you don’t need to buy new ugly pants.
I’ve long railed against betting our future solely on our entertainment value. I see red when told I’m in the decorating business or in competition with the local minor league baseball franchise. A certain percentage of plant sales will always be impulse purchases, a fact I think is widely overinterpreted. Impulse items in our gig are all well and good, but only in their proper role: gateway drugs.
That’s why I’m all for the spike in edibles. A new, energetic generation is playing in the dirt. These Millennials are growing on me. They may bore easily, but the best of them aren’t afraid to start from scratch and see things through. Besides, they now outnumber Boomers like me by millions, so it’s not wise—hell, it’s not possible—to overlook them. Some will flock like magpies to the next shiny object—but not all. Some will be us. Many already are.
My pesto patch is lookin’ good. The basil is a bushy bounty of juicy leaves. The garlic tops are yellowing. Soon I’ll unearth the bulbs and hang them somewhere cool and dry; and then, it’s magic time. Presto! Pesto!
GP
John Friel is marketing manager for Emerald Coast Growers and a freelance writer.