More pasta. I came back from Portland, Maine, feeling bloated and gross, and swore that I would go on a diet to reclaim some sense of self-worth (penance for all of the buttery croissants and sticky buns). For the most part, I’ve been drinking lots of tea, and eating piles of kale, poached eggs, and farro. It’s all very simple and good.
But maybe this “light” meal gives you some kind of idea of how loosely I conceive of the word “diet,” or how silly I find the term to begin with. Eating a big bowl of pasta drenched in pesto is somehow acceptable “diet food” in my mind, although it’s clearly not. Not that I have ever successfully been on a diet, I’ve never been interested in restricting what I eat. So right now I see it more as a “simplified eating pattern,” in direct reaction to the overconsumption of baked goods in the last 10 days. I need a break. I need a detox.
So, I cracked open the final jar of summer pesto, and tossed a tablespoon with whole wheat penne, hothouse zucchini, chickpeas, and basil — and no butter in sight. That counts as something, right? [Also: I was so inspired by Jennifer's gorgeous Los Angeles garden pasta primavera — I can't wait until we start getting favas and fresh peas!]
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