Pesto

Pesto is God's gift to the world.

Pesto can be frozen into cubes.

The diced courgette will be added to the pesto just before serving.

Remember to use the pesto sauce for the pasta today.

In the morning of the 23rd of February of 2022, there was a student crowd at the cafe, where I drank my iced black tea. Dirk, a big-bodied man, was there to order coffee and took it to a table outside. At the pizzeria, I had a pesto slice and a clear colorless effervescent drink.

In the morning of the 27th of February of 2022, on my way out of my Lulu Island house, I saw my neighbours the redhead Rochelle of Russian-Mennonite ancestry and the grey-haired moustached Al from the Anglophone section of Montreal; he was from many generations of Canadians. He said that he did not know French, when he lived in Montreal. I ate a slice of pesto cheese pizza at the pizzeria. The vendor was from Mumbai. Through the window, I could see a young brown-blond-haired man in a dark-grey hooded jacket and blue shorts, which made him look like a "big boy." At the cafe, there was an under-age-30 crowd of ten outside, of whom one looked like a handsome Jew. Inside was a table of five or six over-age-30 people, of whom one was a handsome tomboy in a dark-green jacket and army-green pants. I drank my iced black tea. Heading out of the cafe, I saw the "big boy" smoking in the wooded park. I took the long route home, through the grassy school field littered with goose poop, the northern snowcapped mountains obscured by clouds, an Animistic-Buddhistic view seemingly of a different planet. Near my house, parked in a truck were Olivia and Daniel. Olivia was studying Biochemistry. In the back seat of the truck was a fully black German Shepherd.

On the 1st of March of 2022, I went twice to the pizzeria, once in the morning when I had butter chicken pizza and later in the afternoon when I had mushroom spinach pesto cheese chicken pizza, both times in which I drank a black effervescent drink. In the morning, there were two fire trucks illumined at the mall. In the afternoon, there were handsome men. A lady wore a leopard shawl. Two Hispanics entered. Tharsan the Sri Lankan owner was speaking to an advertising agent lady.

In the morning of the 3rd of March of 2022, at the cafe, I had barbecue potato chips, a cinnamon coffee cake, and iced black tea. I saw an ex-barista, the Mexican Lizbeth, who now teaches dancing. I thought that she had moved out of Lulu Island, as I had not seen her for a long time. Max, a Chinese barista, in green, sat at my table, as she did her psychology homework on her laptop before her shift started. Later in the morning after eleven o'clock, I returned to the mall, to the pizzeria, for a pesto cheese pizza slice and iced tea.

On the sunny morning of the 9th of March of 2022, I found myself in the Lulu Island pizzeria, as Tharsan, the Sri Lankan owner, served me a pesto cheese slice. I took a cold black diet cola from the dispensing machine. Rose the Filipina and Tharsan were preparing many orders, some for schools. A loquacious, neat-looking head-shaven delivery man in a blue jacket and black track pants was loading the pizzas into his vehicle. The big screen was showing news from Seattle, but the sound was turned off, as usual.

On the 11th of March of 2022, a grey morning, I was at the Lulu Island pizzeria, as three vendors, two South Asians and the Filipina, Rose, were busy making orders behind the counter. I had a Hawaiian slice and iced tea. Then, I went to the grocery store looking for dried anchovies, but there was none, according to the two Filipina workers there, so I bought instead five packets of frozen crab-flavoured wild pollock, or kamaboko, and a bag of frozen sole fillets. Then, I went to the cafe, where there was a long line. In front of me was a big boy in shorts, his meaty legs showing. A stocky man in a grey T-shirt and black track pants came in and out. An old man was reading an old book about the ice-hockey player Wayne Gretzky. Drinking my black iced tea, I sat near a table of a Bosnian couple, speaking Bosnian. The cafe music was multilingual, and I could hear Mexican lyrics,"Llorando, llorando, llorando": "Crying, crying, crying." An old man who was a regular before and had moved to White Rock gave me a little KitKat chocolate bar, wrapped in red paper. In the afternoon, I returned to the packed pizzeria to enjoy a pesto cheese slice and iced black diet cola. I could not sit in my usual corner. There were multiracial girl students, with expensive bubble teas. Outside near the greengrocery, white students walked by, saying, "We rather have salvation from suffering." It was drizzling.

Inside the house, Paul is in the kitchen bent over a bowl of pesto: thick shiny basil leaves, machete-crushed garlic cloves, pine nuts, onions roasted till their gold edges blacken, and the bright scent of lemon zest.