Attentive Asparagus and Melting Strawberries: Asparagus Pesto

I was at a roadside farmstand in the Hamptons this week when I asked a particularly daft question. When I arrived, the farmer told me that the only items that were local right now were the strawberries and the asparagus. She sighed, and seemed disappointed.

The strawberries looked good to me. Pretty, teeny and perky. The Lolitas of the farm.

I asked my farmette how long the strawberry growing season was. She looked at me quizzically and somewhat irritated. “Well that’s the $64 dollar question, ain’t it,” she said.

“???” I responded. Ears open, mouth shut.

“You see, we don’t know what the season is gonna be like, now do we. If we get sun, we get sweet berries. If we get rain, the berries melt in the field.”

“Melt?” I asked.

“Sure. Whaddya think happens to ‘em?” she smiled a scold, and walked away to unload a truck of fuschias.

Oof. I mean, I can appreciate hard labor, but I also like a sure thing, especially when it comes to earning a living. Farmers do their best with their land and technology, but in the end…as it has been said by many a Yiddish speaker before me: Man plans. God laughs.

And speaking of man, how ‘bout that asparagus? In New York City these erect little soldiers are just everywhere. Quite an eager suitor for that tart little strawberry, come to think of it. Yet I've never seen them in a dish together. Mutual availability doesn't always make a match.

I couldn't resist the temptation of the young asparagus; I had to have some. And when I arrived home carrying bunches of the stuff, I found their Jersey brothers already lining my vegetable bins. I had an asparagus harem. Oh what, oh what to do?

Nearly every farm stand in the Hamptons was selling asparagus pesto, and as everyone in the food business knows, pesto is a variation on the we-have-too-much-of-this-and-need-to-find-a-way-to-use-it-before-it-goes-bad theme. Jams, jellies, even ravioli and dumplings are all just a way to give food one last shot before it hits the bin. A culinary rope-a-dope, if you will.

So I tossed my bunch of Jersey asparagus with a little oil, salt and pepper, and charred it under the broiler. Then I threw it in the food processor with the tiniest clove or raw garlic, a generous shaving of parmesan, some just-toasted sliced almonds, and a little olive oil. Voila! Asparagus Pesto.

I spread the pesto on a cracker and dropped to my knees. This was the stuff! I could toss the pesto with pasta or garbanzos, or I could thin it with a little chicken stock to make a puree to put under striped bass or somesuch. I could served the dish with grilled lemons; my favorite.

And as for those strawberries? They were so sublime that I couldn't control myself; I ate them raw in the car. This season, it was the strawberries turn to make me melt.


Asparagus Pesto
Toss with spaghetti and some bay scallops, or spread on crackers and enjoy. Less aggressive than basil pesto, it's an incredibly satisfying way to get rid of the old and make room for the new.

1 bunch asparagus
1 tiny garlic clove
1/3 cup sliced almonds, toasted until golden
¼ cup Parmesan cheese (shaved on a Microplane grater)
olive oil, salt, pepper
verjus, sherry vinegar, champagne vinegar or lemon juice

1. Toss asparagus with a drizzle of olive oil, salt and pepper. Place on a baking sheet under the broiler. Babysit it until it sizzles, and gets a little color – 5 to 10 minutes depending on the aggressiveness of your broiler.
2. Place asparagus in a food processor with the garlic, almonds, parmesan, and another tablespoon or two of the olive oil. Pulse until chunky-pureed.
3. Taste. Good, right? Adjust for acidity with a tablespoon of verjus, or a teaspoon or 2 of vinegar or lemon juice