Arugula Pesto

photo from here

Using what's left.

This is one of those mildly hippie mantras that I want to live by, I really should live by, but invariably week after week, fail to live by.

I found this poster on Pinterest and find it very intriguing. Much more intriguing than, say, a "Keep Calm and Carry On" poster/mug/t-shirt/tattoo. But maybe that's just me.

More than anything, I'm really bad about using what I have. Grocery shopping - now that I'm really good at. And engage in almost daily (completely unnecessary as I live alone, but what can be done? I have a problem). But regularly throwing away what was once perfectly good produce, cheese, or bread because I neglected it in the back of my refrigerator makes me feel guilty/wasteful/decidedly NOT Oregon, so I'm making small, discrete changes to rectify this. Heavy use of the freezer is involved. As is realistic planning. Progress report to come. Wish me luck.

This pesto was inspired based on what I had in the fridge and pantry, and in the spirit of using the perishable before it perishes.



Arugula Pesto
1 clove garlic, roughly chopped
1/4 c. parmesan cheese, grated
1 big handful arugula, stems removed
a few tablespoons of sunflower seeds
1/4 c. + extra virgin olive oil

Combine all of the ingredients, save the olive oil, in a food processor. Moisten the dry ingredients with a dash of olive oil and pulse until broken down. While pulsing, slowly drizzle in olive oil  until you reach desired consistency.


I served mine as an afternoon stack with warm naan. And, in honor of using what I have (I had leftovers), I served eggs the next morning with a drizzle of the pesto.

I'd consider that a solid check mark in the "Alexis" column.

Pecan Stilton Crackers + Walks of Shame

Something that happened to me recently:

I was riding my bike home from work, huffing and puffing my Craigslist purchased 1970s in-need-of-major-TLC-Schwinn Cruiser up Nob Hill, when all of a sudden, the front wheel stopped. It just…stopped spinning. And I nearly flew over my handlebars. Into oncoming traffic. When the initial shock and embarrassment wore off, I physically lifted my bike off the road and onto the sidewalk (remember: Front wheel. Not moving.) when a kind Samaritan stopped to help me. (Dear Portland, I love you. Thank you for attracting so many kind people.)

“What happened?!”

“Uh, I don’t know. My bike just…stopped moving.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Absolutely – go ahead. I’m not very good with bikes.”

Five second analysis.

“Well, for starters, your front tire is extremely flat.”

“Oh…really?”

“Yes. Completely. Feel it.”

Confirmed. Extremely flat. Re-confirmed. Not very good with bikes.

“Oh…well is anything else wrong that would have made it just stop like that?”

This kind Portland-er did a very fine job describing to me what was wrong with my bike [insert fancy bike lingo here], but I can’t remember a single buzz word. As I mentioned, bikes aren't my thing.

“Looks like you’re in need of a major upgrade. Good luck.”

Truer words have never been spoken, my friend.

So, I proceeded to walk/carry by bike home (the ultimate walk of shame in this town), crank the oven up to 350, and I got to work on something that I am much more comfortable with: butter, pecans, and cheese. Combined and rolled and glazed and sliced and baked and eaten. The ultimate cure for the walk of shame hangover.

Black Bean Dip

Earlier this week, I attended a "Cinco de Mayo"-esque fiesta hosted by one of my coworkers. As to why I was attending a Cinco de Mayo party in July...I do not know. I did not ask questions. Because this Mexican potluck party was the perfect opportunity for me to prepare one of my favorite appetizers: my mom's famous black bean dip.

It is so so so easy and centers around one of my all time favorite ingredients: frijoles negros. Me gusta. Mucho.

This is great served warm with tortilla chips. I also like it cold as a black bean salad. But I'm also a weirdo when it comes to black beans...so maybe ignore that last serving suggestion.

This will take you 10 minutes. Maybe 12. But not 15. And I have a sneaky suspicion you already have all the ingredients in your kitchen.