It’s Basil: Day Two.

All that talk on Basil: Day One of making pesto while the sun shines really put me in a mood.

A mood to not make pesto.

But before you think I am relishing my role of contrarian (a role I do indeed relish). Let me tell you what I am in the mood to make. Pistou!

Pistou? What's pistou?

Well, before you answer gesundheit! Let me just say, that pistou is a French sauce.

It is an olive oil based basil sauce and it closely resembles pesto (minus the pine nuts). Though it is also practically synonymous with a soup too. The classic soupe au pistou! But to be true and technical the pistou part of this soup is the basil topping served on top or stirred into the soup.

I can hear you sayng..."so why is there a pretty picture of grilled prawns?"

I'll get to that.

Are you knee deep in basil?

Did you really mean to plant, buy, beg, borrow or steal quite so much of it? It’s like something just came over you right?

Well you are not alone. There is an Old Italian saying, “make pesto while the sun shines”.

It’s a rather astute observation. It is not merely a common sense roadmap for dealing with summer’s great affluence of basil. Which is, after all, summer’s boldest herb.

On the surface, sure it’s a good idea to make pesto right now. Something you could can or freeze. This path will certainly ensure you access to the bright zesty influence of basil even in the darkest depths of winter.

I like a nice cocktail. A perfectly prepared, impeccably presented, cocktail. I like the whole process of a cocktail. The amassing of the very best ingredients. The high-tech gleam of good stainless steel bar tools. The shimmering, sparkling crystal of very good barware.

I like the entire ritual.

Maybe the allure is that certain bit of glamour attached to the ritual. Engulfed in nostalgia. Swank. Stylish. It’s that, yes, but so much more.

This is of course epitomized in the scintillating viscosity a very good martini. Always gin, never vodka.

But I have a confession. I am not that good a bartender. I am not saying I cannot mix a drink. I mix a perfectly respectable cocktail—most of the time.

I am trying to get the finer points of mixology into my lexicon. But I have a feeling an impeccable Perfect Martini can only be mixed by somebody who has the talent bred into his or her DNA.