Eating those weeds

Here on my hilltop I am blessed with rich, free-draining soil and, being Wales, there is always plenty of moisture to go around as well. It means that I can grow pretty well anything - provided, of course, that it doesn't mind constant winds, snow, late frosts and a shortage of sun throughout the summer months.

One thing that grows very well is the nettle.

Some weeds like buttercups and dandelions are attractive enough that it is difficult not to admire their beauty when flowering en masse in my pasture. On the other hand, there is not a lot to be said for nettles from the aesthetic viewpoint. Oh, I suppose they have a certain stature and presence, and the colourwash effect from bright acid to dark sagey green works as an effective counterfoil to more showy plantings, but I dislike them intensely.

There, I said it.
I know that as a yoghurt-weaving self-sufficiency type I am supposed to love them. But I don't. They are nasty, invasive, stingy weeds and the world would be a better place without them.

When R was here to do the mowing, it left me with enough time to keep the nettles and docks under control. Now I have to do both, the nettles have won most of the recent skirmishes, and if I am not careful will win the war as well. I am very reluctant to do it, but napalm death may be required (or at least a bit of glyphosate).

In the meantime, however, I have been doing my bit to stem the advancing tide by eating them. Nettle soup is always a favourite, provided there is some good chicken stock available. I have a friend who makes a fantastic nettle champagne, and last year I discovered that saag made with nettles is truly delicious.

I was recently sent a recipe for nettle pesto, and wanted to try it out.
As usual, I didn't follow it exactly, but pesto is a forgiving dish so it didn't seem to matter.
So, with a trug full of freshly-plucked nettle tops (which barely made a dent in the forest out there), I put a pan of water on to boil. Blanching is, of course, an essential step if you don't want your pesto to have a unique, tongue-swelling piquancy that isn't a usual feature of the dish.

A minute in boiling water is enough to kill the stings. Then you simply put the now bright green nettle tops in the blender with some garlic. The recipe also called for pine nuts which I did not have, but a goodly handful of walnuts took their place. Press the button to whizz it all up together, add some salt and start pouring in a mixture of sunflower and olive oil. Parmesan is traditional here, but I like to make pesto in large batches and freeze it for later use, and I prefer my cheese added at the point of consumption.

I made this with no great expectations of culinary excellence. In fact I expected it to simply taste "green". That isn't a bad thing in itself, but hardly a basis for an enthusiastic recommendation. But I am not ashamed to admit that I was very pleasantly surprised. The nettles have a sharp freshness and slight bite that I wasn't expecting, and the vivid green makes it particularly attractive.
Pesto alla genovese it is not, but a tasty use for an ever-present resource it certainly is. I fully intended to freeze half of this batch, but I found that it also went rather well on crackers!
(I have a sneaking suspicion that it would be nice mixed half and half with coriander too).