To each her own

The Japanese have their cherry blossoms.  A culturally significant and recognizable seasonal event of the senses.

I have my garlic scape pesto.

Since making an intentional shift towards eating more seasonally and locally in the last five years or so, garlic scape pesto has risen to the top of the luscious and delectable seasonal treats that come with living this way.  

I love it.  Very much.  And when the season is over, I feel a tinge of regret (like the falling fluttering cherry blossom petals invoke for many Japanese), but that regret is so small compared to the deep connective reverence that I get to experience.

This pesto, a bunch of garlic scape cleaned, ends removed, and chopped into inch long pieces before being tossed into the mini-food processor with a handful of pine nuts, some sea salt and a few glugs of olive oil...pulls me right into my present with its verdant, garlicky kickass self.

There is something so complete about enjoying it that I never think about it during the rest of the year.  And when the next season rolls around, I am simply joyful to be able to partake of its incredible properties once again.

I made what I am guessing is my last batch of the summer.  I will look for scape at the farmer's market this weekend, but I have a feeling it has made its quiet departure for the season.