Localized pleasures.

Earlier this week, I did the unthinkable: I made a breakfast smoothie. I know that doesn't sound too radical, but for a girl who once claimed to not believe in liquid food, trust me: it was a very big deal. I once broke up with a guy because his daily pilgrimage to Jamba Juice upset me so much. And to this day, I defend my reasoning: you can't fall in love over juice. Love is meant to happen over croissants and soft-scrambled eggs, omelettes oozing with goat cheese and herbs, pancakes. Not a styrofoam cup full of soy protein and wheat germ. That stuff, while good for you, is best consumed away from those you hope to be romantic with.

My housemates frequently make smoothies, and typically I haughtily turn my nose up at their offers to share. I struggle with their consumption of so much non-local produce. I'm paralyzed by the number of plastic bags of frozen berries they go through. In the height of summer, our garbage smells like a Caribbean beach after a bonfire: moist and sweet and slightly rotten. It's understandable, then, that my craving the other morning for a banana and wild blueberry smoothie, thickened with coconut oil, flax seed and Greek yogurt, caught me off guard. What made me do it? I suppose the same thing that drives a lot of people to opt for lighter meals: heat and health. It was warm -- uncharacteristically so -- for a spring morning, I was out of eggs and I'm making an effort to eat more fruit (vegetables are never a problem for me, but fruit is, especially in these painful pre-summer months of yearning for ripe local berries, peaches and anything -- God, help me -- other than an apple).

Now, here's another confession: that smoothie was delicious: cool and juicy, nutty from the flax seed and tangy from the yogurt. I've made one daily for the past several days, and I've taken to enjoying a little experimentation. One day I used almond milk, another I skipped the coconut oil and used coconut water instead. I've tried yogurts of different consistencies. And they were all fantastic. The best part, though, is I'm developing a more realistic relationship to my food sources. Sure, oranges taste better picked from my mother's backyard in California, but not eating fruit is not really an option for me in terms of my health. Of course, whether I consume non-local or local fruit, I choose organic whenever possible.

It was in the midst of this non-local fruit affair that I remembered my last bunch of ramps resting in the refrigerator. Immediately, I felt guilty, as if I'd written off all the gorgeous greens from this week's green market in favor of the dazzling violet of non-native crushed berries. The ramps had to be eaten, and soon, as I'd already had them for days and well, it was time. I knew I wanted to make a pesto; it was the vehicle for the pesto I struggled with, since, as I mentioned earlier, I'm making an effort to eat a bit healthier (i.e., less butter, white flour, refined sugar, etc.). I had a bunch of kale and I was craving protein, but I felt tired of quinoa. In the cupboard was a can of chickpeas, which I opened and rinsed. Setting them aside, I set some water to boil for a little pappardelle (I know, not healthy at all, but it was perfect for my plan). While I waited for the water to boil and my pasta to cook, I chopped half a bunch of washed and dried raw kale. Lastly, in the food processor, I made the pesto below. Dinner took less than 20 minutes, but lingered -- thanks to the pungent flavor of the ramps -- much longer. It was light but filling, healthy save the pasta, vegan and utterly satisfying. Would you believe me if I told you I'd have eaten it for breakfast? That is, had there been leftovers, and my smoothie wasn't calling my name.

Ramp pesto

Ingredients

1 bunch ramps -- bulbs and stems, washed, trimmed and cut into 1/2" segments
1/4 cup pine nuts
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Parmesan, to taste (optional)
Sea salt, to taste

In a food processor, combine ramps, a pinch of sea salt, pine nuts and 1/8 cup of olive oil. Blend.

Transfer mixture to a bowl. Stir in additional olive oil, Parmesan and salt to desired consistency and taste.

Serve with pasta, on bruschetta or as a starter for salad dressing.

Yields approximately 1 cup of pesto.