ProduceGOURMET TRAVELLER 49ILLUSTRATIONS DAWN TAN & LAUREN HAIRE (PORTRAIT)
I
t’s only two gates and
20 metres away to get to
the garden, but even that’s
too far when it’s blowing a gale
that pushes half-melted snow into
your ears and down your collar.
Why can’t I be a normal person
who keeps produce within the
practical confines of her kitchen,
so that on wild nights like this
I don’t need to don a snow suit
in order to cook?
This year, sleet-fearing me is
grateful to autumn me, who, in the
season of gentler weather, had the
foresight to harvest plants and dry
them gently by the fire. Rather than
donning my snow suit, fetching
though it is, I can simply reach for
a crisp bunch of leaves conveniently
hung by the stove to add some
garden goodness to our dinner.
Out there in the real world one
can procure anything, anywhere,
anytime. Mangoes in Tasmania?
No problem. Raspberries in winter,
coconuts everywhere, or basil
when a basil plant outdoors has
the proverbial snowflake’s chance?No trouble at all. But in our chilly,
low-tech corner of the universe,
peppermint sleeps through winter
and must be dried if we want its
sweet tingle for after-dinner teas.
Lemon verbena – my favoured roast
chicken herb – sheds its leaves as
the days become cold. And fresh
chillies are but a distant memory.
In the season of braising, roasting
and piping-hot cups of tea, our
supply of dried herbs, flowers and
seeds gives us a feeling of plenty.
When I first moved out of
home I was given a spice rack.
Jar upon jar of herbs I rarely used,
and too-small jars of the ones
I did. I am ashamed, and surely
not alone, to say some of those
jars linger, having dodged years
of pantry culls. Dusty grey-green
containers of flavourless dill
tips, and dried basil (what is this
even used for?). Who could forget
the oregano scandal of 2016 where
supermarket jars were tested for the
amount of herb they contained,
the worst containing only 10 per
cent oregano, the balance being“Every one of
those aged
jars of herbs
hiding in the
back of your
pantry tastes
of nothing
more than
dust and
neglect.”olive and sumac leaves. Hardly
the thing that will elevate your
lamb burgers from good to better.
Every one of those aged jars hiding
in the back of your pantry tastes
of nothing more than dust and
neglect. There are terrific dried
herbs out there. Our local bulk-
foods store is filled with aromatic
jars that have a high turnover, and
the self-serve option means I only
buy what I’ll use within a month
or two, removing any impulse to
hang onto those jars of grey death.
There is a parallel between a
plant’s need for water when it’s
growing and its capacity to become
a flavourful thing when dried.
Basil, coriander and dill, from my
experience, taste of nothing when
dried; perhaps the heat or length
of time required to dry them is
also the length of time it takes for
their tasty volatile oils to evaporate.
Drought-hardy bay, oregano and
thyme, meanwhile, all keep their
punch when dried gently in an airy
spot away from direct sunlight, and
all find a place by my winter stove.
Variety is key. Common
oregano has lush, bright green
leaves and pink flowers. It’s mild
and we sprinkle it lavishly on
summer pizza, but dried it doesn’t
hold a candle to its cousin, Greek
oregano, which has smaller, hairier
leaves and is at its aromatic best
just before its white flowers bloom.
We grow and treasure Syrian
oregano, confusingly also called
za’atar, a gloriously complex but
unspicy species with grey leaves
that I hide in the back of the
cupboard, lest somebody put
it into just any old casserole.
Drying also changes the
flavour of some plants. I find
dried bay leaves more warm and
less herbaceous than fresh. And
although I can see the tree from
my kitchen window, no matter
how dense the sleet outside, I relish
staying cosy in my kitchen as I crush
a few dry leaves in my palm and
enjoy their scent before dropping
them into a bubbling pot.●Going herbal
Drying herbs is an act of giving to the kitchen larder for
when the beds are bare, writesPAULETTE WHITNEY.