Washing herbs is the highlight of my grocery trip each week.
I relish the moment when, home from the store, with four bags on each shoulder, I gently set my herbs on the table and fill a bowl with cool water. I like to unwrap my herbs one type at a time, beginning with my parsley and moving onto cilantro, then mint, then basil and continuing until I’ve made it all the way to my salad greens. While I put away the boxes of pasta and mountains of apples I’ve found, the herbs take a dip in this cool pool, washing away the soil and mist accumulated between the ground and the produce section at the store.
I live a charmed life compared to when I was a kid. Growing up, I’m not sure I ever really saw fresh parsley or cilantro in my local supermarket. Sometimes we got them to cook with, but they came in clam shells. My mom always grew certain herbs in our garden, like chives and rosemary, but I didn’t realize that they could be the backbone of my kitchen until I moved to California. Here, I found Super King, a no-nonsense supermarket where fresh fava beans, figs, and herbs at 99 cents for three bunches spilled over the produce bins and into my cart. Too good to be true. I thought herbs were in short supply and high demand. I thought herbs were a myth. I thought I couldn’t cook with herbs unless I was rich. Gone are the days of the $1.99 plastic shells sparsely filled with wilted leaves. Welcome to paradise.
Washing herbs is a skill I picked up early on in life. I loved helping my mom in the kitchen and was constantly begging for ways to contribute to dinner. More often than not, my job was breaking apart giant heads of Romaine lettuce from the Costco bundle and washing them under the running water, shaking them out 1-2-3 and cutting the stem end off. I’d separate the leaves one by one and roll them up in towels, the leaves all laying in a little line like a row of crops. I’d roll them up, up, up. Sometimes shake them again for good measure and leave them aside for a while. Extras remained rolled up in their cloth bundles and placed in the crisper drawer for next time. Then, before dinner, I would tear up the leaves into little pieces, toss them in a bowl and mom would add more slices of veggies and nuts, sometimes fruits and cheeses and toss them with dressing. When everyone sat to eat, it was clear I’d made the salad. Stabbing a fork into the bowl would always produce a monstrously sized scrap of leaves with dark green edges and water clinging. I’ve gotten better at washing lettuce; it’s one of my favorite jobs in the kitchen I work in and I spend a good long time doing it at home, too. Some things stick, I guess.
This week’s newsletter is a plea for you to start washing your herbs (and to start buying copious amounts of them if it suits your budget and your taste). Maybe you won’t wash them just as you walk in the door, or even the day after. But I have found that little green things scattering my countertops is an outright joyous occasion. The smell of all those freshly cut green leaves shaking off the soil that followed them from wherever they grew is almost better than the smell of garlic sizzling in olive oil. Almost. I start to taste the meals that these humble leaves will liven up: roast chicken, soups and stews, pastas, salads, the list goes on.
Until they’ve made their way into my dishes, they stand upright in little cups of water – a spectacular forest of greens on the bottom shelf of my fridge. It’s rare that I open up the door without glancing down at the field of green and letting the scent of cilantro wash over me.
So I offer you the practice of washing your herbs.
First, find your favorite herbs. There is no need to go outside of your comfort zone or spend more than you normally would; find an herb that fits into your life. Whenever I walk into the store I buy flat-leaf, Italian parsley, cilantro, thyme and basil. There is a rosemary bush nearby and mint growing in my yard, otherwise I would buy those too. I often like to choose one wildcard herb that will reawaken the tired dishes I’ve been leaning on. Sometimes that’s tarragon or chives or chervil or sage or fresh oregano that will take the place of my usual dried leaves. Anything goes, so long as its a little green thing. Or a purple ting––Thai basil is beautiful and exciting to eat, give it a try!
When you get home, separate the herbs out of their little bundles. Untie their wire bands or remove the rubber – leaving them all squished up together invites moisture that will ruin otherwise delicious flavors. While you’re doing this, let a big, big bowl or the basin of your clean sink fill with cool water. When the herbs are unwrapped, submerge them in the water and slosh them around gently with your fingertips: they are delicate, remember. Set a colander over a plat or another bowl and lift the greens out of the water into the colander to drain for a few moments while you collect yourself. There are two ways to go about the drying: you can go the classic route and lay them out flat on a towel, rolling it up and leaving it until later. You can propel into the future and use a salad spinner, or you can do as my grandma swears by and put them in pillow case and toss them in the dryer on the spin cycle. I opt usually for the first and for the second if I’m feeling antsy. It may work for my grandma, but something about throwing my fresh green herbs in a hot, spinning machine makes my insides twist up. How would you like being stuffed in a pillowcase and into the drum of a dryer?
On warm days, I like to lay the herbs across my cooling rack and set that outside in the sun to dry. No matter how you go about this, make sure to stop and smell the air around you in your kitchen: isn’t that enchanting?
Finally, take the now-dried herbs and gather them back into their bundle, only this time leave the wire tie or rubberband aside, and place them like a bouquet of flowers in a little cup. In the winter, I leave these out on the counter because they are beautiful, smell good and the air is cool enough not to wilt the beautifully cut edges of my parsley. In the warmer months, I tuck them onto the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, as far away from the lightbulb as possible so they don’t get burned whenever I open the door.
If you’ve made it this far, you might say to yourself: Gee, that was lovely, but what the hell am I going to do with 3 bunches of herbs before they spoil?
I’m glad you asked:
Salsa Verde –
This recipe is possibly the least recipe-like recipe you’ll ever come across. It basically entails choosing whatever herbs you have on hand, muddling them up with some vinegar and covering it in olive oil. I like to add slices of shallots if I have them for a classic French Sauce Vert or you can toss in anchovies or capers for the Italian version. It isn’t important that you have the exact herbs listed below– you can make a salsa verde with any number of herbs in nearly any quantity. All that is required of you is that you chop them up very small, place them in your mortar and pestle or your food processor or a bowl and mash them up nicely until your kitchen is filled with their perfume and you’ve become dizzy with the desire to spread this sauce all over every single thing you cook or maybe directly onto your tongue.
Ingredients:
shallot
white wine vinegar
parsley leaves, chopped
chervil, finely chopped
chives, finely chopped
basil, finely chopped
tarragon, finely chopped
extra virgin olive oil
salt
Preparation:
Begin by slicing or dicing up your shallot. I like to do little rings because I think they look pretty scattered across hunks of chicken, but you do whatever you like here. Put the cut shallot in a small bowl and pour the vinegar to cover (you don’t have to measure, but if you like to cook with measurements, shoot for about 2-3 tbsp).
You can leave the shallot and the vinegar to get to know each other while you move over to chopping up all the herbs you’ve chosen as finely as you can before grinding them up with your mortar and pestle or your food processor.
Begin adding salt to your vinegar and shallot mix until the bite of the vinegar is quieted, but you can still taste the flavor of it. Keep tasting as you add little bits of salt and trust yourself. You’re the only person who has to think it tastes good, so go with your gut.
Now stir the vinegar, shallot and salt into the herbs. Next, you’ll add olive oil to cover and stir. The general rule is to add 3 parts oil to 1 part vinegar, but I like it a little more vinegary than most. Do what suits you, continuing to grind or stir until you have a somewhat homogenous mixture.
Spoon this sauce over chicken, into bowls of rice or farro, across roasted, sautéed or grilled veggies. Stir it into a big bowl of cooked white beans or spread it on bread before building a sandwich. Eat it on eggs or on top of soups with sour cream.