Beyond Pesto: The Art and Science of Growing & Cooking with Herbs
As a professional chef, I cook with herbs and seasonings daily. As a consultant, I research gastronomy to better understand cultures and how ingredients are used. I study how herbs and spices are grown, handled, blended, and used in authentic global dishes. Recently, I spent several months in the Mediterranean learning about herbs and spices of Turkey, Spain, Italy, France, Greece, and Portugal.
I understand how many herbs and spices are used and which ingredients pair well with which herbs. For example, dill goes with salmon or cucumbers, and rosemary is delicious with lamb. I’ve learned there is quite a bit more to understand when cooking with herbs and spices and wish to share these findings.
I plan to publish several blogs on herbs and spices over the next few weeks, beginning with growing and cooking with fresh basil.
Basil: A Herb That Demands Respect
Basil is a popular herb used in many recipes—one that demands respect. It’s delicate yet aromatic, familiar yet nuanced. There are more than 50 varieties of basil with different flavors, colors, and leaf sizes.
Basil is often treated like a garnish, but when grown and handled with purpose, it can define a dish (good or bad!). Basil is so much more than an earthy spice in tomato sauce or an appealing garnish on a Caprese salad.
As chefs, we use fresh or dry basil almost reflexively—in pestos, salads, marinades, garnishes, and sauces—but how often do we really think about where it comes from and how its cultivation impacts its flavor, aroma, and texture?
In my research, I’ve grown basil in nearly every way imaginable: in-ground beds, my greenhouse, cold frames, pots, and vertical systems. And I’ve learned something important along the way—how basil is grown matters as much as how it’s handled in the kitchen.
Terroir Matters: How and Where Basil Grows Shapes Its Flavor
In-ground basil develops the most complex flavor. The mineral-rich soil, sun, and coastal breezes of Liguria, Italy—famously showcased in Stanley Tucci: Searching for Italy—create the benchmark in basil.
Here in New Jersey, I prepare a soil mix with compost, potting soil, perlite, and sand for a loamy, well-draining soil. I also use black netting to avoid full sun in the summer. When I prepare my favorite pesto recipe the traditional way with a mortar and pestle, using Genovese basil from my garden, I understand why terroir matters. It is life-changing.
Other growing methods:
Greenhouse basil offers consistency and tender leaves and is a little milder. I move the plants around to find microclimates in the greenhouse to avoid stressing the plants and stay diligent with pests such as aphids.
Potted basil is similar to greenhouse basil—it’s perfect for small kitchens, easy to manage, and fresh, but generally less intense. Ideal for restaurants with gardens.
Vertical farm basil is efficient and clean but tends to have the mildest flavor of all due to lack of natural stress. Vertical farming shows great potential to support sustainability and feed people.
Heat, Sun, and the Bitter Truth
Recently, I harvested Genovese basil from my garden for pesto—something I’ve done for years. But this time, the leaves were very bitter and dark in color. After some research and testing, I traced it back to excessive heat and sun exposure. Under these conditions, basil becomes stressed, loses volatile oils, and can develop bitterness and tougher textures. It becomes inedible.
Older, flowering basil begins to lose flavor. The seeds are edible and are sometimes used to prepare teas or tonics, infuse oils or vinegars, or garnish salads and appetizers.
I extend the life of these plants by deadheading the seeds and pruning the leaves for pesto to encourage new, tender leaf growth. I often repot and collect the seeds for new plants. I have several thriving basil plants that are three years old.
Key takeaway: Basil thrives in warmth, but too much direct sun—especially in mid-summer—can be its enemy. A bit of afternoon shade can make the difference between delicious, tender leaves and a bitter pesto disappointment.
I now create mini climates in my garden, cold frames, and greenhouse, moving the basil to different spots depending on the season—and my basil is thriving and delicious.
Fresh vs. Dried Basil
Fresh basil delivers brightness, fragrance, and pleasant volatile oils that hit the palate (and nostrils) immediately. It’s ideal for finishing dishes like pizzas and tomato salads, for pestos, and for any application where aroma matters.
Dried basil, on the other hand, offers stability and convenience—but at a cost. Its flavor is muted, earthier, and less complex. It’s best for long-simmered dishes like tomato-based sauces, soups, or stews so the flavor can slowly develop.
For kitchens that rely on dried herbs, how you dry basil matters:
Air drying or low-temp dehydrators preserve more aroma than high heat.
Once dried, store away from light and air to protect its character.
I prefer freezing whole leaves and crumbling them at the time of use to keep more of the aromatic compounds intact.

Technique Matters: Mortar vs. Food Processor
Years ago, the Gourmet Society at The Culinary Institute of America held a side-by-side pesto demonstration: one batch with a traditional mortar and pestle, another in a food processor.
The results were clear. The mortar-and-pestle pesto was brighter, more aromatic, with a layered flavor and rustic texture. Crushing basil gently releases its essential oils without overheating them. In contrast, the food processor introduced heat and air, dulling both flavor and color.
Pro tip: For chefs looking to showcase basil at its best, traditional technique still wins.
Bringing It Back to Culinary Discipline
Culinary Discipline: Respect the Ingredients
Basil deserves more than a quick chop for a salad or a sprinkle in tomato sauce. Its terroir and technique determine its flavor. Delicate basil leaves oxidize quickly in the refrigerator.
Best storage practices:
Keep at room temperature with the stems in a jar of water.
If refrigerating, wrap stems in a moist towel and place in a zip-lock bag in the least cold part of the fridge.
Better yet, grow basil in pots and harvest as needed.
Like all ingredients, by handling basil thoughtfully and preparing it with care, we give basil the respect it’s earned—and elevate every plate it touches.
If your operation wants to rethink how it sources and uses fresh herbs to improve flavor, consistency, and cost control, I can help you get there.
Let’s start with the basil.

Years ago I traveled around the south for a few weeks researching some of the amazing foods of each region. In Charleston, I was introduced to a local pig farmer, Tank Jackson who manages Holy City Hogs. Tank and his wife raise heritage breed pigs and distribute the pigs around the country. He offers on-site cooking whole pig roasts, primal cuts and sausages, and I believe he produces the best pork in the country.

Years ago, while working as a chef in a busy continental restaurant, we featured grilled, fresh swordfish on the menu—finished with a generous spoonful of herbed compound butter and capers. It was popular and delicious. One afternoon, a seafood purveyor stopped by with a sample of frozen swordfish steaks, fully thawed and ready for evaluation. Curious, we grilled it side by side with the “fresh” swordfish we had been serving—fish we believed to be of high quality. The result was surprising. The frozen swordfish was superior—firmer, cleaner in flavor, and more consistent in texture. In contrast, our “fresh” fish, likely several days out of the water, lacked the same integrity. It was a defining moment and an important reminder: in many cases, properly handled and quickly frozen seafood can offer better quality than fish labeled as fresh. For chefs, understanding sourcing and handling is just as critical as technique—especially with a product as prized as swordfish.

The name "caponata" itself has a fascinating origin story. One popular theory suggests it derives from capone, the Sicilian word for mahi-mahi. Historically, wealthy Sicilian aristocrats enjoyed a sweet-and-sour fish dish. Because seafood was too expensive for the working class, local home cooks substituted fish with affordable, meaty eggplant. Over time, this creative peasant food evolved into the beloved antipasto we celebrate today, often rounded out with celery, olives, and capers.

The legendary New York-style cheesecake was famously popularized by Lindy’s Restaurant , an iconic Theater District deli opened in 1921 by German-immigrant Leo "Lindy" Lindemann and his wife Clara . A NY-style cheesecake has a dense but velvety cream cheese base, citrus zest, and a distinct cookie-dough pastry crus t. For years, I took the bus into NYC to work in amazing restaurant kitchens. On one bus ride I met and became friends with a manager at the legendary Lindy’s Restaurant. One day, he did the ultimate honor: he shared the closely guarded, original cheesecake recipe with me. This new recipe is directly inspired by that legendary Lindy’s classic, capturing its iconic velvety richness and signature flavor profile, but re-engineered for a modern, protein-packed lifestyle. Why This Recipe Delivers High-protein swap : Cottage cheese provides a clean, protein-packed base that replaces heavy fats without sacrificing richness. Silky texture : Blending the batter thoroughly ensures a velvety smooth consistency that rivals any NY-style cake. Savory-approved : Simple, foolproof assembly that requires no pastry-chef precision to get a perfect bake every time.

One of the great pleasures of my career is spending time each year working as a Culinary Educator aboard a cruise ship alongside my wife. She teaches baking & pastry while I focus on savory cooking and culinary techniques. Our travels take us to fascinating ports around the world, providing opportunities to explore local markets and study regional cuisines. I have a particular affection for the Mediterranean and always make it a point to seek out local variations of pesto, one of the world's great culinary treasures. One evening aboard ship, the pasta station served rigatoni with a choice of pesto, marinara, or Alfredo sauce. The cook prepared each order by reheating the pasta in hot water and then finishing it briefly in a sauté pan with the selected sauce. I watched in disbelief as he prepared to heat the pesto exactly the same way. "Horror!" flashed through my mind. Pesto is not a cooked sauce. Heating it aggressively dulls the fresh basil aroma, darkens its vibrant color, and diminishes the delicate flavors of basil, garlic, pine nuts, and extra virgin olive oil that make pesto so special. I may have startled the cook when I quickly called out, "Please don't cook my pesto!" Instead, I asked him to simply toss the hot rigatoni with the pesto off the heat, allowing the warmth of the pasta to gently release the fragrance and flavor of the basil. The result was exactly as pesto was intended to be enjoyed—fresh, vibrant, aromatic, and unmistakably Mediterranean.

As chefs, we spend years mastering sauté work. I remember my early days working the sauté station for lunch in a French restaurant in NYC. We served over one hundred guests in an hour-and the food was excellent — a dozen hot pans on the flat top, stocks simmering, mise en place of freshly chopped herbs, minced shallots, butter for mounting into sauces à la minute. There is rhythm to good sauté cooking. You learn quickly that great sauté work is not about rushing — it is about organization and control .





