Waxing On-Perennial Herbs-Mint
I adore growing perennial herbs. I love talking about perennial herbs. I love cooking with perennial herbs. I love smelling perennial herbs. I love touching them, talking to them, divining with them, exchanging energy with them. I love steaming with them. I love writing about them.
I, in fact, am so enthralled with edible gardening and perennial herbs that I am absolutely flabbergasted when I tour someone esle’s garden and they have no herbs! Not even Lavender! Who doesn’t grow lavender?! Well, apparently a lot of people. And apparently I may be a bit too fervent with my proclamations of disgust at learning that someone doesn’t host herbs in their garden, on their porch, or in their windowsill. In fact, on touring my husband’s friends new home with beautifully manicured gardens, I spied bare soil between fruit trees and ornamental shrubs. This couple was obviously quite impressed with their new digs and pleased with their very pristine gardens. What sprang forth from my mouth was, “You need herbs.” The wife gave me a sideways look like I had gone absolutely mad.
I am always looking for an opportunity to share this love for herbs in a generous and verbose way. After all, there is absolutely nothing more satisfying than trotting out to the herb garden with bare feet, a glass of wine in hand, gathering basket in another, to clip a stem of something fragrant and green to add to the evening meal. Wouldn’t you agree? The act is the perfect blend of letting medicine be thy food while at the same time being an act that fulfills all of the sensory requirements of a moment. To feel the open air on your skin as you dance out onto the cool paved pathway into the fragrant herb garden, sipping on a sweet pink liquid, remembering that time you helped grandma snip basil in her garden that one summer evening, twirling about, touching the earth, listening to the doves coo, the eagles sing, watching the bunnies scatter as you make your way under the arbor and into your garden of wild wonderful edible things where you nibble on a piece of Lovage and swoon at the divine explosion of flavor that only it provides. Who wouldn’t want that experience at the end of a long day?
It certainly beats climbing into the car, to run into the grocery store, in stagnant air, under flourescent lights, to reach around other shoppers, tiptoed, in order to grab that plastic package of 3 stems of wilted herb for five dollars a pop, wouldn’t you agree?
And, really, Why wouldn’t you want my garden feedback??? It is most generous of me to share my opinions is it not? And I am longing to wax on poetically about the endeavor, and why would their be anyone who wouldn’t want to read about or listen to my feedback on my passion project?!
I suppose I can come off a bit aggressive, and offensive, and accusatory, when I challenge someone else’s garden ways. This discourse generally leads to a discussion about their foodways, of which I am equally as passionate to give opinions about, and that ultimately leads to discourse about parenting, and well, the ball just starts to roll down hill from there and it is a slippery slope indeed.
But I digress, or more truthfully, procrastinate.
Today, I’m supposed to be writing an essay on perennial herbs, and here I am, distracted, unattached to the project. Here I have the perfect opportunity to wax on academically and poetically about my life’s passion. I get to write about the herbal sensorium for one paper, and the history of herbs for another. And, well, here I am, writing my second post to the air, on Medium.
Perhaps I am disgruntled by this “homework” effort because it is at someone elses whim, not my own. Or, perhaps, it’s because one of my professors called my focus for my project too euro-centric (I am 51% sicilian, and 38% northern european, so this stands to reason…).
She says this from the perspective of a food historian, and from an historical perspective, she shared this tidbit of knowledge, “You know, we now know, that there are things that came from other parts of the world.”
Yes, I’ve heard tell, I thought to myself.
So I said, out loud, “Okay, instead of parsely, sage, rosemary, or thyme, I’ll focus on Mint.”
Mint, the potent fragrant Mentha that grows wild and is used as food and medicine across most of the globe. This, she agreed, would be much more exciting a food history project than those herbs that mapped back to the Romans.
It could be peri-menopause, you know, the whole hormone thing, but for whatever reason this conversation took the wind out of my sails. I mean, I like mint, but it’s certainly not among my favorites. Mint creeps around over and through everything. It is at times so pungent that I find it assaulting. I tire of the normale, spearmint and peppermint, and even chocolate mint has become mundane.
But, I must admit to be enchanted by the notes of other mints. Like orange mint, strawberry mint, or banana mint. My favorite mint thus far, to use fresh, is Apple Mint. It’s a bit woolly, and it is mild and sweet.
Perhaps mints do have their merit. They soothe the nerves, aid the stomach, and cool the body. I adore tucking fresh mint leaves into a tall pitcher of lemonade, or even into a water glass full of cucumber. When mint blooms it attracts an assortment of pollinators that dance together in a wild hum inside of my mint bed. In fact, I avoid the area entirely from seven in the morning until seven in the evening, from June to September, fearing that I’ll chase them off.
I do adore dipping my hand into the wide mouth mason jar that holds last summer’s dried mint. The crunch is quite satisfying, the release of that minty fresh smell reminiscent of a warm summer’s day. It dries quite while in the Pacific Northwest on the hot dry days we have at the end of July and beginning of August. In fact, I think I detect a hint of wildfire smoke in the jar, a new accompaniment to the hotter weeks of the year.
I grow a wild and unruly mass of mint, all different varieties dancing together around a crab apple tree. I dry them all together as well, without worrying which is which. The end result makes a delicious and satisfying gently mint and lightly sweet tea. I steep a jar full of fresh mint in vodka, and make a simple syrup of mint as well. These together become liqeur and is excellent poured into a hot mug of drinking chocolate, but is equally good on its own, over ice. A summer salad of warm peaches and blackberries drizzled with honey and adorned with ribbons of mint is quite delicious as dessert on a late summer evening. Oh, Tzatziki, so refreshing over falafel patties, or on a hot piece of smokey salmon. Mint is the perfect zip to this sauce of garlic, yogurt, citrus, and grated cucumber. And, mmm, what about Pho?! The dance of fresh mint and basil mounded in spiced broth with slurpy noodles, what a divine balance of flavors and textures…
Perhaps I will be able to write about mint after all.
