Pesto Pete


Leftovers from a catered lunch meeting found their way into the break room refrigerator.

I pull out a tin of pasta . . .

“Look,” I say to the woman watching me, “this one has my name right on it! ‘Pesto Pete,’ that’s what they call me.”

“That says ‘Pesto Penne,'” she says.

“Close enough!”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *