On Edible Fire: Chili Pesto

Sometimes food glows. Still vibrant from the vine and stalk, from the root and tree and out of the black soil of the garden, good food has color and snap and life in it -- and it is life giving. It is the art we eat.

With its lovely forms and transient beauty, it is preceded by a luxuriant olfactory forecast, and then consummated with its own disappearance into a hungry face whose wan and innocent expression is transformed from anxious to relaxed, the gaze turning outward again and resting contentedly on companion faces.

The storm recedes. The organism will survive.

Then satisfied, free of immediate concerns, this eater becomes gently loquacious and outgoing, slightly tummyish with pleasure, affectionate, receptive to lap sitting, handholding, footsie. This is the real happy hour. This easy time.

These people have eaten a rational meal, designed and delivered to nourish and sustain them, uplift them, and make them glad for awhile.

Add to this meal a large dose of cayenne pepper, a generous smacking of jalapenos, a few serranos, or a tiny hint of those little time bombs of candescence, Thai chilies, and the denouement may eventually be similar, but these people will now have spent their mealtime deliberately engaging the symptoms of elevated blood pressure.

They have been sweating, blushing, palpitating, with bloodshot, watering eyes, panting, jumping up out of their chairs snorting "Hah!" on occasion, and shooting forth pungent steam from their mouths as if the weather inside dining rooms was very cold. And grinning, doubtless, between gasps and second helpings.

If there are food warriors whose quest is to advance the frontiers of edible fare, to push the gustatory envelope, so to speak, then chiliheads, as the tabloids call them, are in the vanguard committing competitive culinary arson on themselves and the others in their "staggers".

Bonding over salsas, curries, kim chee, sadistic pickles, an unlikely mix of chili aficionados will swap tall stories about even hotter stuff in other times, other places.

However much I like heat -- and I have melted my apron ties backing up to the woodstove -- I have never gone much past the medium hot level of spicy cooking. Chili Pesto is, by my standards, not only delicious, but safe for your eyes, mouth, nose and internal organs. You can, by the same token, tamper with this recipe, adding heat if you are among the wild ones.

Roast and peel:

8-9 mild, green Anaheim, or New Mexican chilies

Dice them and put them into the bowl of a food processor or blender. If you want to raise the BTUs with hot chilies, this is where to do it.

Add and whiz:

1 C. Parmesan, freshly grated if possible

3 cloves of garlic

1/2 C. fresh cilantro

1 tsp. salt

1/3 C. pine nuts, (optional)

When the mixture becomes pureed, start adding, in a steady stream, as you would for mayonnaise:

1 C. olive oil

Now taste it. At this point you can add black pepper to taste, and stir in some black olives, red onion, parsley, fresh tomatoes, dash of lemon, and you have a wonderful sandwich spread that is tasty on toasted rye bread. Add grated cheddar or jack cheese -- with jalapeno if you like it -- and stick it under the broiler.

If you like Italian layered cheese torta, you can substitute this pesto for the traditional basil, spreading it between layers of a mixture of cream or neufchatel, softened and beaten with 1 T. milk, maybe some Parmesan cheese. An extra dash of color from a separate batch of red pepper pesto looks inviting and extravagant.

Use the regular torta method, with a muslin (wet) lined bowl or clean terra cotta flower pot, thin even strata of pestos and cheeses, pressing it down gently before refrigerating. It needs to firm up for a few hours before it is ready to serve, but it is good to remove the cloth after an hour or so, so that the colors don't bleed into it. You can prepare this 2-3 days ahead of serving.

Garnish this composition with thinly sliced baguettes, raw vegetables, and a selection of some really wicked chilies and you should appease everyone -- especially those who have been so virtuously working up an appetite in the early garden.