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Stinging Nettles

29 Friday Mar 2013

Posted by in Green, Herbs, Leafy, Miscellany, Spring, Vegetables

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I don’t know that I’ve ever been more excited to eat something that I’m afraid to touch.NettlesI first heard of nettles as edibles (whee! That’s fun to say!) years ago when I was reading a book on the Irish famine.  I’m Irish-obsessed, in case you didn’t know (my daughter’s name is full-blown Irish Gaelic), and at the time I found it tragic that they ate weeds to survive when the potato crop failed.  But in a different Irish famine book (yes, obsessed), there was some mention of nettles as actually a staple food before the famine (if you don’t know Irish history, it’s tragic.  TRAGIC tragic.  The English were right bloody arseholes.) because they’re one of the richest sources of iron, vitamins A and C, and a full 10 to even 40 percent protein (and to that I say, what the what??  Vegetarians, get in here!).  They’ve also long been a staple in herbal medicine, since they supposedly are one of the best treatments for hay fever, and also for arthritis.  I was intrigued.  Nettles seemed pretty awesome.

Silica StingersExcept that they will sting you.  The taxonomy derives from the Latin for “I burn” and they’re chock full of little stingers especially on the new growth.  Standard rule of thumb for harvesting is to wear gloves, but I don’t own rubber gloves for cooking, and I was frightened.  The farmer at the market made fun of me dismissed my fears and said they weren’t that bad, but I wasn’t taken chances.  So here was my oh-so-graceful and professional method for dealing with nettles:
1. Let farmer with callused hands and scoffing bravado put them into bag.  Don’t put other veggies in same bag in case the prickers brush up against things and stick to my innocent chard or beets.
2. Remove from bag by grabbing only the bottom two inches of stem and awkwardly hold the whole bunch under the faucet to wash.  Rinse by shaking vigorously, thereby blessing the whole kitchen with nettle holy water.
3. To prepare for cooking, just as awkwardly hold giant nettle stalks over the largest frying pan I have, hot with oil, and chop off hunks with kitchen shears, trying not to get burnt by the spitting oil because the nettles weren’t really dry from the vigorous shaking and in case you haven’t heard, oil and water don’t like each other and in a hot pan they take it out on me.

Miraculously, this method worked out really, really well.

Nettle StalksThe nettles lose their stingers within about 30 seconds of cooking, so you could probably cook them, then slice them more neatly if you liked, but I’m not fussy about presentation so much, and I don’t like getting burned by hot, thornless nettles any more than I like getting stung with raw nettle thorns…  Most sources DON’T recommend my version of preparing them (I can’t imagine why) but recommend blanching instead:

  • Plunge nettles into already boiling water for about 30 seconds to 1 minute to get rid of the stingers)
  • Plunge into an ice bath to stop the cooking
  • Roll in towels or paper towels to dry them off

At this point, they can then be sauteed, sliced, frozen for later, whatever, and they’ll be a brilliant green to boot.  I 1) am lazy 2) never have ice on hand and 3) broke my favorite and largest mixing bowl last week, so plunging and bathing and creating more dishes [4) don’t have a dishwasher] is not part of my repertoire.  But if you are the opposite of me in any of those criteria, you can blanch like a normal person.

Nettle branchNettles taste a bit like the lovechild of spinach and an artichoke.  They don’t have the chalky feel of spinach and are milder in flavor, but they do have a little of the mineral/metallic/plastic tang that artichokes always seem to have.  There’s a hint of lemon in there as well, and though they’re a little grassy, they don’t in any way taste like grass or weeds – though if you buy nettles instead of picking them, make sure you pick out the long strands of actual grass that seemed to show up in all the bunches.  Nettles are toothy-leaved and roundish-stalked, not long, flat blades. (Did I, I know you’re thinking, shrug and assume those long blades were perhaps a rogue type of weird nettle stalk among my branches?  Yes, yes I did.)  Look for healthy-looking plants that have not yet begun to flower (flowering makes the leaves turn bitter), the younger the better for sweetness and mildness of flavor.  You can just use the young leaves, not the full stalk and tiny flower buds the way I did, if you want to keep the flavor as mild as possible and still reap all the nutrient benefits.  Nettle soup is a classic way to use them, or nettle pesto once they’ve been blanched, but I liked them sauteed:

Lemon-Parmesan Pasta with Stinging Nettles
Nettles
Olive Oil
Freshly grated parmesan (not the green tub)
Lemon
Garlic cloves
Spaghetti

  • Boil water and start the pasta.  Once you’ve added the noodles to the water, start your nettles:
  • In a very large pan, saute chopped nettles in roughly a tablespoon of olive oil (Use as many nettles as you like – like any leafy green, they cook down quite a bit).
  • When the nettles are wilted, squeeze the juice of one to 1 1/2 lemons into the hot pan.
  • Add a little more olive oil, along with chopped garlic (we used 2-3 cloves for just 2 1/2 people, but we love garlic).  Cook until the garlic smell hits you, just a minute or so.Lemon-Parmesan Pasta with Nettles
  • Drain the pasta, reserving about 1 tablespoon of the pasta water (you can save yourself the trouble of “reserving” boiling hot water by just draining the pasta lazily so a little of the water stays in the pot).  Add the pasta and reserved water to the frying pan, and mix.
  • Spread the pasta dish out in the frying pan to get the most surface area, and grate fresh parmesan on top.  Fold the pasta dish into the serving bowl as if it were an omelette – slide half in, then fold the other half on top – then toss immediately.  This gets the parmesan integrated into the food so you don’t just have hunks of parmesan in certain bites and none elsewhere.
  • Top with salt, pepper, and a little more parmesan if you like.

Next time, I’m making Dungeness Crab and Wild Nettle Frittata or Stinging Nettle and Asparagus Risotto.  They both sounded awesome, but I didn’t find the recipes until I’d already eaten my bunch.  But I’ll buy more.  They’re too tasty not to try again, and besides, I refuse to be intimidated by a vegetable.  I’ll brave you yet, nettle thorns!  Just not, you know, this season.

Stinging Nettle LeafTrim? You can trim a bit of the tough base and eat the rest, or trim off everything but the leaves – your choice.  But watch out for the stingers!  They’re most prevalent towards the tips, so you can grasp the bottoms without getting stung.  Use gloves, or my wimpy method as above.
Edible when raw?  No.  You will get stung, and possibly get burning welts in your mouth and throat, even if you puree them – it’s an acid that causes the burning, and it needs to be cooked to be deactivated.  Unless, of course, you’re part of a contest.
Worth the price of organic? Probably.  Though they’re basically a weed, so there’s no real reason someone should be using a bunch of sprays on them anyway, I’d still go for organic since you’re eating the leaves where the residue will sit.  If you can’t find them organic, I would definitely do the blanching technique and probably toss that water rather than using it for tea (as some people do).
Best with:  Frankly, kind of everything.  They’re such an ancient food and grow in so many places that recipes abound, from Italian pestos to Scottish soups to Indian curries.  I like to eat as seasonally as possible, so I like them with other spring flavors like young garlic ramps, lemon, fresh fennel, asparagus, peas (if you don’t hate them)…  Nettles are a bit more delicate than some other leafy greens, so I personally avoid stronger flavors like anchovies or my beloved bacon as well, but that’s only because nettles don’t need it the way bitter greens do.  It certainly would taste fine if you decided to go that route.
In Season:  In cooler climes, you can probably find them Spring into early Summer, maybe even again in fall, but here in Southern California, you’re looking at a window of just a few weeks in early Spring, so jump on them while you can.
How to Store: In the fridge, in a produce box or plastic bag,  they should keep for a week or more uncooked.  Once they’ve been blanched, use or freeze pretty quickly.
Note: If you get stung, dock leaves are the miracle cure, but since most people don’t have those lying around – make a paste of baking soda and water and apply to the area, and once the inflammation goes down, make sure there are no stingers stuck in your skin.  If so, remove with scotch tape.  There’s no danger in getting stung other than the pain, so it should go away with no ill effects in a couple of days regardless.

Lemon Verbena

02 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by in Green, Herbs, Miscellany, Summer

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There’s something so quintessentially farmer’s market-y about herb stands.  With their rows and rows of woody, leafy, flowery bunches, the scents mixing and wafting down the lanes, that absolutely evokes some hippie fantasy of strewing my front stoop with fragrance, medieval-style, and hand-crushing leaves into a peaceful cup of herbal tea which I will then sip on my hand-hewn wooden rocker while I watch the sun set over an uninhabited landscape.

But alas, I live in Los Angeles, so there’s no such thing as an uninhabited landscape, and frankly, I think herbal tea mostly tastes like lawn clippings.  Or punishment.  But I still love herbs – fresh ones and dried ones and flowering ones…  I grow them by the untended bunches, and then forget to use them in cooking because, let’s face it, they’re in the back of the yard that we never cut so I’d have to hike through calf-high grass to get to them, and I never remember I want to use them until I’m cooking dinner at ten o’clock at night (we keep odd hours in our household) so we’re also looking at slogging through dew, spider webs, and possibly encountering a pile of dog poop along the way.  Needless to say, I end up using my overgrown plants mostly as decoration, and annoyingly enough end up buying my fresh herbs.

But I was determined to find some more uses for the plants in my yard, and I started with lemon verbena.  All I knew about it when I planted it is that it smelled lemony (natch) and it would grow well in our I forget to water arid climate.  And it’s in my soap.  As a result, frankly, it smells kind of soapy.  But I think that’s just me.

This is actually an older picture. It’s now tied back with zip ties because it’s taking over the entire yard.

Well, grow well it did.  What started as a tiny little herb in a 4 inch pot that I was pretty sure wouldn’t last the month because I am a HORRIBLE gardener has become a tree threatening my tomatoes (the only thing I ever grow reasonably well.)  So I’ve got to use it for something.

If you’re buying it at the market, they’ll sell you a few small branches rather than the jungle that I own, but the first thing you’ll probably notice is that the leaves are sticky.  It’s weird.  They’re not sticky like honey, they’re sticky the way I imagine Spiderman’s hands.  And that proves I’ve lived with a nerd too long.  But it’s true!  They have fine hairs or something covering each leaf so they grip.  This is annoying when you’re trying to separate the leaves, but really really nice for the recipe that follows.

The leaves are pale to bright green, long and thin, and a little on the tougher side, as herbs go, so you’ll want to infuse them in something (tea, oil, vinegar) or chop them up small – they’re not particularly fun to chew, though they taste fine.  Though they smell almost overpoweringly lemony and sweet, the taste is actually slightly bitter and green with mere lemon overtones.  Imagine lemon zest if you also got a little pith in there.  It’s not a bad bitterness, just be forewarned if you’re expecting a lemon substitute.  It’s not.

But it’s lovely for an unexpected hint of lemon.  We added some to a rosemary pesto to give it a slight zing (recipe to follow with Rosemary post), but our favorite use for it (other than cocktails…yum!) was with salmon.  The grip of the leaves allowed us to layer them on top of a very nice fillet, bake/broil it quickly in the toaster oven, and voila!  A very, very quick meal that looked gorgeous and tasted very sophisticated.  The lemon verbena added a hint of citrus without blasting the fish with acidity, and the slightly vegetable flavor of the green leaves added a complexity that cut through the meatiness of the fish – though I think they’d work just as well if not better with a lighter fish or even chicken to play up the lemon flavor even more.  Next on the lemon verbena experiment train?  Lemon Verbena Sorbet.  I’m very excited, but also quite afraid it’s going to taste like old soap.  Anyone tried this before?

Lemon-Scented Salmon

Press lemon verbena leaves (sticky side down) in single layer on salmon fillet.  Feel free to place them prettier than I did.  Drizzle lightly with olive oil to protect the leaves from burning.  Bake or broil at 400 until fish is just barely cooked – it should be opaque pink rather than glassy in the thickest part, or flake easily with a fork.  Remove from oven, sprinkle with sea salt, and let sit 3-5 minutes to finish cooking.  If you prefer a more lemony flavor, squeeze half a lemon on top before serving.  You can eat the leaves if you like, or peel them off as you eat.

Parts Used? Mostly leaves.  The flowers are supposedly edible also, I just haven’t found anything on using them other than in teas.
Worth the price of organic?  I always think herbs are worth the price of organic since you’re using them in their raw form, often as an addition just at the end which means nothing is getting cooked out (which I guess makes no sense at all, but it’s my gut reaction), and sometimes in relatively large amounts.  If you’re drying them, all their properties are getting concentrated, which makes me even more inclined to go organic.  But it’s not like they’re on the Dirty Dozen or anything, so, you know, go with what makes you happy.
In season: Summer, though all year in warm climates.
Best with: fish, stone fruits (peaches, nectarines, cherries), sugar, infused in anything liquid that you want to smell like lemon (sugar syrup, oil, vinegar).
How to Store: Place the stems in water like flowers, or store wrapped in a damp paper towel in the fridge.  Cut branches don’t last long – maybe 2 or 3 days, and get woodier as they dry out, so use quickly.

Purslane Makes You Peaceful

07 Saturday Jul 2012

Posted by in Fall, Green, Herbs, Leafy, Summer

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I had never even heard of purslane until about 6 months ago, which is surprising because I’ve always been pretty into herbs.  I thought maybe it was a new name that’s making the rounds or something, because when I googled it, it also came up as pigweed.  Now THAT I’ve heard of.  I think Thoreau ate it at some point in Walden, and what a horrible name for such a cute little plant.  I’m sticking with purslane.

Apparently, purslane, pigweed, verdolaga, whatever you call it, is a notorious weed that runs rampant all over the place.  I’m clearly in the world minority for thinking this is a new thing.  Frankly, I feel a little stupid, but there you go.  Everyone recommends you just pick it out of your own sidewalk if there’s no pesticides around, but for the life of me I can’t figure out which of the myriad of weeds in my backyard might be purslane, so I will buy mine at the farmer’s market for now, thank you very much.  I’m 98% sure we have some lovely patches of it growing where the grass died, but that leaves me about 89% sure it has dog pee on it, since it’s growing where, you know, the grass died.

It’s a green, low-growing succulent, which means it’s leaves and stems are a bit on the fleshy side, but for some reason I just think it’s adorable.  It’s leaves branch off from the fleshier stems – either green or a darkish red – and each little branch ends in a miniature nosegay of flat, happy, oval leaves with the thinnest amount of red or golden piping around each one.  Both stems and leaves are edible, and they have a slightly sour, slightly lemony flavor with a texture somewhere in between lettuce leaves and lettuce stem.  It’s definitely chewier or juicier than a regular old lettuce leaf, but it’s not quite crunch (not like a carrot; more like cucumber crunch), and not really as watery as you might imagine.  Purslane’s big appeal, other than being able to harvest out of your yard if you don’t have a dog, is that it is chock full of omega-3s.  It’s got the highest concentration of omega-3s of any plant, say some, so salmon-haters (talking to you, sis) and vegetarians, rejoice!  You too can get your omega-3s, and for way cheaper than wild sockeye.  It also has very high levels of vitamins A, B (pretty much all the variations), C and E, though apparently it’s also higher in oxalic acid than even spinach, which means very little to most people, but if you’ve ever had a kidney stone, your hackles probably just went up.  So if you’re worried about that stuff, don’t overindulge.  But in addition to Thoreau trying it out, Gandhi practically lived off the stuff.  He called it luni; most sources credit its origins in India, though it grows worldwide.  So if those two guys can eat it, I hereby decree purslane as the Harbinger of Peace and Harmony.

We tried our purslane two ways.  The easiest way is to simply chop into bite-sized pieces and toss it in among the rest of your greens in a lovely salad.  It lends a nice bite and an interesting addition, and goes very nicely with a simple oil and vinegar dressing (balsamic works better than red wine vinegar here – the purslane is a bit too sour for a sour vinegar.  I imagine sherry vinegar might be lovely as well, but I ain’t splurging on sherry vinegar to dress 50 cents worth of weed.)  This salad sounds awesome, but we didn’t have any zucchini on hand.

We also tried “Huevos con verdolagas” which is to saute purslane and onion, then scramble in some eggs, and wrap the creation in a tortilla.  I think corn tortillas are traditional, but all we had was whole wheat with flax seeds, so that’s what our huevos got. 

Honestly, I was only trying this recipe because of this blog.  The salad seemed a fine way to eat it, and the rumors of leaking mucilage when you cook this succulent skeeved me out.  But Huevos con Verdolagas was something of a revelation.

Chop up equal parts onion and purslane, stems and all.

Saute in butter until the onion starts to soften, about 3-5 minutes.Scramble eggs in a separate bowl and add to the sautee.  Scramble until the eggs are cooked, just a couple of minutes.  Wrap in a tortilla and eat.

So why was this such a revelation?  Because I really want to like purslane since it’s so good for me, and the salad was good, but the purslane works better as an addition there rather than the main event.  It’s a little too lemony/sour to be the only green in the show.  But this dish was an easy way to use a lot of purslane, and frankly, was surprisingly delicious.  The smell of the onions and purslane cooking reminded me of the smell of green pepper, which always smells great but ends up tasting like bile and old burps – sorry – so I was nervous.  But the taste!  It did taste like a bell pepper, but like the best parts of them without the bitterness.  It was sharp and acidic and had a little bite but not enough to be in the least bit harsh.  There was a little sourness and a bit of citrus, and I have to admit, I added some cheese because cheese makes everything better, but it didn’t need it.  I even forgot to add salt, and didn’t notice until I’d finished it.  THIS is how I’m going to eat my purslane.  In less than 10 minutes, wrapped to go, and chock full of yummy vitamins.

Many people recommend wilting it, boiling it, putting it in soups to thicken things, and in innumerable other dishes, but we only were able to procure a small bunch at the farmer’s market and it’s 100 degrees out, so doing anything involving soups or long prep time wasn’t going to happen this post.  But if you have a favorite way you like it, please post!

Trim? Not necessary.
Edible when raw? Yes, edible in all forms, though you either want it raw, or you want it cooked down to nothing – Since it’s a succulent, a medium amount of cooking (5 mins+) will release its mucilage, which is as gross as it sounds.  It means it will get slimy.  That slime will thicken soups and things, so you can let it cook a good long while and it won’t be so icky/you won’t even notice, but anything in between “raw” and “cooked to death” is probably going to ruin the dish for you.
Worth the price of organic?  I think so.  You’re eating the whole plant, so there’s no place for those pesticides to hide, and since it is considered a pest among gardeners, I imagine non-organic will be chock full of pesticides since it grows just everywhere and is so hard to eradicate.  I have no evidence for that last bit, it just seems to make sense in my head.  On the other hand, it’s classified as a “noxious weed” by the Dep’t of Agriculture, which means most people that routinely eat purslane probably think I’m nutso for purchasing it at all.  Just pluck it out of your sidewalk, I guess.
Best with: fish, cucumbers, garlic, feta – anything that goes well with a little lemony flavor.  Also, olives, anchovies, avocado, or other oily foods where the sour citrus cuts the grease nicely.  Avoid sour vinegars or other sour accompaniments – they’ll highlight the sour notes of the purslane and make everything taste ‘off’.
How to Store: In the fridge, washed, it should keep about 2 days.  Try placing the stems in water if your bunch came pre-tied stems down.  It gets slimy pretty quickly, so try to eat it as freshly picked as possible.