A fresh take on pesto and a simple pasta trick make all the difference.
I’ve loved Martha Stewart’s approach to food for as long as I can remember. It probably started with me flipping through my mom’s copy of Entertaining and taking in details like the way a table was set with intention, or the way a dish was finished just so. It felt aspirational, yet somehow completely approachable.
So when I came across Martha’s beautifully bright green pasta, I knew I needed to try it. She calls the dish Pea-Pesto Handkerchiefs, and it’s a deceptively simple pasta made with peas and broken lasagna noodles.
What makes Martha Stewart’s spring pasta so special?
The color catches your eye first—that vivid, almost luminous green that looks like it would take a lot of effort to achieve. But this dish tastes every bit as beautiful as it looks.
Martha’s pesto is made with basil, like a classic pesto would, but it leans more heavily on peas. The peas are blanched then blended with the basil, toasted pine nuts, Parmesan, olive oil and garlic.
And then there’s the pasta itself. Instead of specifying a standard shape, the recipe calls for breaking lasagna noodles into smaller pieces—what Martha refers to as “handkerchiefs.” It’s a small shift, but a fun one. Of course these noodles can be used beyond their classic layered dish! The uneven edges create folds and ridges that give the sauce somewhere to settle, so it clings well without slipping off.
How does it taste?
My family is big on pesto. Every member of my household eats it in some form almost every day, whether it’s stirred into soup, spooned over grilled shrimp or spread into a pesto grilled cheese sandwich. Because of that, I tend to stick to one tried-and-true recipe that everyone will happily eat without question. Pea pesto isn’t exactly a new idea, but it’s one I often forget about. This was a great reminder to change things up.
The flavor is familiar, but noticeably different. The peas bring a gentle sweetness and a softness that changes how the other ingredients come through. The basil and garlic are less assertive, and the Parmesan and pine nuts are still there to round things out.
I made this on a day when it was absolutely pouring rain—the kind of gray, steady downpour that settles in for hours. And somehow, one bite of this pasta felt like stepping into a patch of sunshine. By the time I finished the very large portion I plated for these photographs, I’d already started thinking about when I’d make it again. Which, in a house that cycles through pesto at an almost alarming rate, is saying something.
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