Pasta with pistachio cream sauce

On this fooliest of foolish days, I must buck the practical joke trend and post something with all seriousness.

I want to share my new favorite pasta sauce: pistachio cream. Whipped up on a whim, thanks to some leftover pistachio milk, I’m still a little stunned at how out-of-this-world wonderful it turned out.

Fingers not crossed behind my back. Pinkie swear and scout’s honor. No foolin’.

It was my first time making pistachio milk — love, by the way — and wasn’t entirely certain what to expect from either milk or sauce.

I was not expecting the crazy flavorful outcome.

I’ve seen pistachio milk on other blogs here and there, but had a really difficult time tracking down raw pistachios (and my so far singular source is très expensive — must keep hunting for future use, because there will be both milk and sauce again).

The flavor of the milk? It’s hard to describe. Almond milk tastes very much like almonds, right? But while there is definitely pistachio flavor in pistachio milk, the distinctiveness of the nut — almost a sharp quality — is smoothed out and softened. It’s so lovely, I prefer it without further additions, such as vanilla extract or cardamom (although those are tasty, too).

In thickened sauce form, it needs only a pinch of salt to be outstanding.

(Despite “cream” in the name, there is no dairy in this pistachio sauce, neither cream nor cheese. And it needs none. It’s dairy-free, egg-free, and gluten-free, and therefore vegan and paleo — the pulp from the milk-making process serves as the lone thickener.)

With the extra chilly spring we’ve had this year, my over-wintered leeks are still crisp and tasty. This young leek was smallish — about a foot tall — going into winter and hung tight all season long (look at those healthy roots!), patiently waiting his turn in the kitchen. A worthy wait, I think, for this pasta dish, as it goes so well with the pistachio cream.

It’s still morning, and I’ve already seen/heard plenty of April Fool’s antics on TV, radio, and interwebs. But here in Cincinnati, April 1, 2013, means one thing, and one thing only: it’s Opening Day, y’all, and therefore, Cincinnati Reds Day.

I’m not an HR professional, but I would guess that Opening Day is one of, if not the, most popular days to play hooky from work: a one-day cold/migraine/flat tire epidemic will sweep the city. (Indeed, the commute into town was nearly desolate.) The annual pre-game parade winds conveniently past my office window, and marching band music plus a sea of red T-shirts will cheer the normally stoic and buttoned-down, gray-suited business district.

Take me out to the ballgame.