Wild nettle pesto

After taking Caia for a coastal sunshine stroll yesterday, Johanna and I ended the day at her wooden lookout deck over a bottle of Albariño that we had brought back from Portugal in December. Overnight, the blue skies had turned a solid grey, providing some downtime to catch up on academic duties and get Johanna’s guesthouse ready for rental.

From childhood, I remember my mother making nettle soup and the fleeting season for picking them at my grandfather’s farm in Skåne. Today, with a slightly postmodern twist, Johanna and I picked nettles of our own and made pesto for lunch.