If there’s one thing I’ve been sure about from the time I was young, it was that I want to be a mother. I can’t tell you whether that desire was born naturally out of some biological pull towards reproduction, or just one that I internalized from growing up in a culture where woman = mom (a complicated question that I’m still working to figure out), but I always knew that I wanted to raise children of my own with a partner.
There are a million reasons why motherhood is appealing to me, and those reasons have rarely, if ever faltered. In fact, they were recently amplified when I fell in love with a man who is vocal in his desire to also have babies, specifically with me, and in a way that feels equitable to the both of us. (Talking about how we’d split childcare responsibilities is practically foreplay for me tbqh.) But with the Supreme Court’s wild and crazy end to its term, coupled with the string of mass shootings over the past few months, I’m feeling less sure about my decision to have kids. Is it a good idea to risk my life to potentially birth a child in a country that protects its weapons more than its citizens, on a planet that is rapidly roasting itself thanks to its population?
It’s a hard things to square. I’m 32, and my biology dictates that I’m running out of time to do this. But it’s a scary circle to attempt to square, made worse by the fact that it’s sometimes difficult to talk to others about. So I tried to overcome that hurdle by asking the women around me who are in similar situations to me: in their 30s, with long-term partners, previously super sure about having children, but are now questioning what their parenthood path looks like in our new reality.
My friend Katie, after I floated the topic out to her via text, quickly admitted that she had been working through this herself. Both sides of the argument tend to center around a kind of selfishness. Those who are pro-children (read: the Pope) will claim those who don’t have kids are selfish because, well, they’re choosing to keep their lives their own. Those who support childlessness say that bringing children into the world is actually selfish, because of all of the aforementioned dumpster fires our future-children would have to deal with. But which side is more selfish? Are either of them really selfish? We couldn’t really decide.
But we also talked about some friends of ours who work in and alongside environmental activism who chose to have children because they have hope in the future. We contrasted that with people who are choosing not to have children because things feel doomed. “I find that strictly scientific, which is fine,” she typed. “But it denies a whole other realm of intelligence which is spiritual. The very smart part of your brain that says, ‘how can I, this little speck, be all-knowing?’”
Reading that text filled me with warmth. There, maybe for the first time ever, was a reason I could place in the “pro-having children” column and believe with my entire chest. Because, no matter how bad things are right now—and trust me, I know the world is completely and utterly fucked in a million ways at the moment—I have hope that we can turn things around. So bringing a child into the world and raising them to be good and involved and loving and empathetic and considerate and active in the world around them seems like a little investment in the future. For me, it’s a way of manifesting the kind of planet I’d want to live on, and the type of community I hope that they’ll be raised in.
It’s still something I’m working on, and I know this isn’t the last time I’m going to roil over the idea of motherhood here. It’s something I continue to agonize over, especially when the bodily autonomy of pregnant people is also being legislated away. But for now, I’m trying to hang on to that idea of being future-focused, and to be figuring out ways to plant the seeds of hope that I have to believe will sprout into something better. Because I, a tiny little speck, am far from all-knowing. So why not attempt to cultivate optimism in tiny, everyday ways?
Which brings us to pesto.
My friends Kate and Liz are out of town, which means I’ve been “borrowing” their CSA box and cooking with it for the past three weeks. Summertime is truly heaven for home cooks like yours truly, because there is so much goddamn gorgeous produce that it makes me want to cry. I’ve been blessed with perfectly wrinkled heirloom tomatoes, handsome curls of butterhead lettuce, and long, stringy tangles of garlic scapes. Garlic scapes are basically young garlic—they bloom from the bulbs of garlic plants and are cut off in order to allow the plant to focus on the bulbs below, resulting in large heads of garlic. The scapes are slightly more mild than adult garlic, which makes them easy to cook with.
So I’m sitting here with a tangle of baby garlic scapes, trying to figure out what to do with them, hours after my conversation with Katie, when my mind starts blinking “pesto.” Not only do garlic scapes make a delicious pesto (you sub them in for the regular garlic, and they provide a more mild, herby taste), but pesto also freezes like a dream and lasts in your freezer for months. And let me tell you, there is nothing more delicious than reaching into your freezer in the dead of winter, defrosting some pesto, and having a bowl of summer ready in mere minutes. It feels almost…hopeful. Like an investment in the future happiness of your own tiny, dumb little world that then births more hope for warmer days ahead.
I figured that, while I work out my hopefulness around a future with children, I can at least whip up a future-looking pesto for a winter meal ahead. That’s manifesting, right? So I went to my grandmother’s recipes and dug out her index card for pesto, and it was so delightfully bare-boned. Which made me smile. Because had I brought the question of children to my grandmother’s feet, she would have shrugged and said, “So whatdaya gonna do? Just not have kids?” In other words? Que sera, sera.
Her pesto recipe isn’t much of a recipe at all. It doesn’t specify which kind of leaves to use, even though basil is traditional. All the same, though, because the recipe I’ve developed on my own is pretty incredible. It doesn’t involve butter, but it combines both basil and parsley (because I like that shit herby). You can substitute garlic for the scapes (I give you measurements for both below). And it’s easy to whip up and pop in your freezer (because I want to give you this gift this winter).
So that’s what I did on that balmy Thursday. Because even though I knew my brain was a tangle over children, and whether I am truly hopeful enough to bring one into the world, I could at least do this one future-focused thing. And that was good enough for now.
Here’s what’s cooking
Summer Scape Pesto
INGREDIENTS
5-8 garlic scapes, flower bulbs removed and sliced into 1-inch pieces or 2 cloves garlic
1/3 cup walnuts (you can toast them first if you’re patient—it’s worth it)
1/4 cup Parmigiano or Pecorino cheese, grated or cubed
1/2 cup basil leaves
1/2 cup parsley leaves
Olive oil (measurement dependent on how loose you want yours)
Salt and pepper, to taste
INSTRUCTIONS
Add garlic, walnuts, and cheese to your food processor and pulse until a crumbly mixture forms.
Add the basil and parsley and pulse until well-incorporated.
With your food processor on its lowest setting, stream in the olive oil until you form a paste, scraping down the sides of the processor as you go.
Add a pinch of salt and a few grinds of pepper and blend again. (I sometimes leave the pepper out—it’s up to you if you like it. Truly, for me, pepper is always optional.)
If you’re serving immediately…
Boil your pasta in salty water. (The water should taste like the sea.) When it’s done, strain the pasta, reserving a cup of the pasta water. Add a few spoonfuls of pesto to the pasta, along with a splash of pasta water, and mix until incorporated. You may need to add a few more splashes of water to get the pesto to fully loosen, but make sure to add a little at a time, stopping when you have a saucy, glossy consistency. Serve immediately.
If you’re freezing…
Once you have a paste, scoop your pesto into a small container. (I like to use old grated cheese containers for this!) Cover with a layer of olive oil and pop into your freezer with the lid on. Your pesto will stay fresh for up to six months.
When you’re ready to cook, take your pesto out of the freezer and allow it to defrost fully in the fridge. You can then follow the steps for serving, above.
Have this, it will make you feel better
This week I’m highlighting The Afiya Center, the only organization founded and directed by Black womxn in North Texas. TAC provides resources for Black womxn and girls in Texas to help educate and provide resources to help them achieve reproductive justice.
I just finished reading My Sister The Serial Killer and tore through it in a weekend. It’s quick, darkly funny, and the perfect blend of a satire and slasher novel.
Even though I am slightly afraid of slicing the tip of my finger off, I’ve decided that I finally need a mandoline slicer. I’ll get into why they’re so useful in a future issue, as I plan to skip recipes every now and then and talk through techniques instead.
Thanks for sharing your grandma's recipe! I love to look at old handwritten recipes. In the area of mandoline slicers, I have one of the fancy metal ones that doubles as a way to take your fingers off. I recently purchased a very basic safety one and find that it really does do most of what I need. I got it off QVC ( I know, I know) and it was made by Geoffrey Zakarian. Not expensive and won't take your fingers off. Food for thought.....