Love it

 I’ve left it a bit late to take a picture of this plant; it looks better in May.

But it’s not so surprising that it looks a bit raggedy – it’s had a rough life.

I first met it maybe 15 years or so ago, when I was still living in the mountain village; in fact, not long after I had moved there.  We only had one direct neighbour, that is, one neighbour who could keep an eye on our front door and time her exits with ours. We saw a lot of her.

One day, she and I got to talking about the enormous leafy green plant that grew close to her front door in the summer, but died back to the ground in the winter. In summer, it must have stood 1.5 m tall at least.  She told me that it had originally been planted by her grandmother, and also that it was a medicinal herb, reputed to be good for cleansing the blood.   Since her husband suffered from kidney failure and needed dialysis once a week, she used it a lot.  She gave me some to try.  Eaten raw, it was bitter like most herbs, but cooked, it was the most delicious seasoning I’d ever come across.  Imagine something like a smidgeon of marmite crossed with very strong celery and the slightest touch of aniseed, and you’ll probably screw up your face in disgust.  But that would just testify to my failure in describing it properly.  This is my favourite herb ever.

Now it just so happens that for years I was fascinated by medicinal herbs.  Or any herbs come to that.  Rural romanticism.  Later, I concluded that ibuprofen solved most things.  But at the time I was enchanted.  A medicinal herb!  That is lovely in cooking!  Planted by her own grandmother!  I used it a lot, pulling off a few leaves whenever I wanted (with her permission), for cooking. 

Then, Progress Arrived, and the Council Decided We Needed Pavements.  Everyone’s tiny little garden in front of their house was demolished in favour of clean, hygienic concrete.  The typical village complex about plants/animals = dirt and backwardness.  I myself had a long conversation with the mayor in order to save my front garden.  Having initially threatened to knock my house down, he finally conceded me half of my garden, with plenty of muttering about how there would be other mutters of favouritism.  Favouritism? How could this be favouritism if the Great Leap Forward was Concrete, and I was only going to receive half my allotted share?

Be that as it may, the tall herb was for the chop.  But my neighbour was out the day the workmen arrived, and worked with them as they dug into the soil, saving the roots of her precious plant, to plant elsewhere.  She gave me some of them, because they were like a bundle of carrot roots which separated easily.  I planted two sections in my garden, and they thrived.  My ex-partner began to develop a strong dislike for the taste, which he said appeared in every meal.

When I left the village some years later, I dug up one of the roots and took it with me.  I moved to a tied cottage – free, in return for looking after the (large) garden - and planted the roots in a dark and unused corner of the garden, telling the owners where and what it was.  The situation didn’t really work out for lots of reasons.  One vile day, at the climax of not working out, when I had handed in my notice and was due to move out within days, I walked out onto one of the lawns in tears, and found my beloved herb ripped out by the roots and left in the sun to dry and die.

I rescued it, and put it in a bucket of cool water out of harm’s way in my house.

I moved out to my present house, split the roots and planted it here in two different spots, one sunny and dry, one shady and a bit wetter.

The one planted at the wetter site does best.  It’s still not as tall as its mother plant, but on a good year it gets to over a metre high.  I still love it, and it’s still my favourite seasoning herb. I try to use it sparingly when cooking for Significant Other, so as not to spark off the inevitable reaction.  But he’s not keen.

So when he’s not here, my spring treat is a one egg omelet made with grated cheese (Cheddar or San Jorge), a bit of chopped cooked bacon or ham, and some finely chopped lovage.