A Herb Is A Doing Leaf 🌿

A piece I wrote for Desmond & Dempsey's The Sunday Paper

Food For Thought.

As a lover of all food, I refuse to single out one that I quote unquote hate. How could I hate something that a) nourishes my body and keeps me alive and/or b) is totally delicious (these may or may not be the same thing). But it’s 10.23pm on a Friday night, I’m two – very strong – vodka martinis deep, I’ve just emerged from a long discussion about the utterly terrifying state of the world, and I've decided that tarragon is a herb I could definitely live without.

In any case, I've made an otherwise chef's kiss meal. Crispy nuggets of sausage meat are nestled in perfectly cooked pieces of conchiglie pasta, scattered with torn parsley and stirred through with crunchy, coarse pesto. One that – owing to my occasional “try-anything-once” attitude – is mostly made from tarragon and is currently making me feel a little nauseous. To be frank.

Yet, I love herbs for this exact reason. Their intensity. Their polarity. Their nuance. If I asked you what a lemon tasted like you’d say sour, bitter. If I asked you what a chilli tasted like you’d say spicy. Fish is salt. Honey is sweet. But with a herb, you can’t definitively profile it in a word. It leaves a different taste in each mouth..

To some coriander is soap; to me it's an unforgivably hot day in India and Sri Lanka, quenched by salty and sour salads, the coriander so robust, so whole, it serves as a lettuce in and of itself. To others, dill is aniseed; to me it’s the soft fronds of a sea-soaked afternoon; of fresh fish cooked in nothing on top of heady wood fire and potatoes doused in butter. Some feel the furry softness of wild oregano and discard it; I think of the unruly bushes growing outside my shed in Cornwall, freshly picked every meal and torn into whipped ricotta or thrown on top of garden risotto.

Chives hold that smooth allium flavour, perhaps disliked by onion or leek protestors are loved by me, and stirred into low and slow creamy scrambled eggs, the yolks brighter than orange juice and those perfect snips a green light to taste. Sage might be the dreaded smell of over-cooked roasts or saccharine pasta dishes; to me it’s the balance of it colliding with chilli oil as an egg gets fried and leaves crisp up then become crystallised in its trembling whites.

Which brings me to now. I can smell anchovies. And mustard. And vinegar. A tart dressing. But what overwhelms my senses is the sweetness of the tarragon, which my pasta is drowned in. It's medicinal. Earthy. A fragrance I haven't yet grown into.

Perhaps one day I’ll come to love that smell. After many years have passed, that whiff of tarragon might remind me of a time in my life when I was loved and safe and warm and beautiful and had so much more to experience (and drunk?). When the flat upstairs held loud and not-technically-legal not-so-post-pandemic parties and played the same song on repeat. When I had the luxury of drinking alone and cooking dinner at 9pm while watching re-runs of Sex And The City in pyjamas that I'd not taken off all day.

A herb is a ‘doing’ leaf. It forces you to unearth its palate. To question what's in front of you. To activate your senses. To grow into its complexity. For now, tarragon is off the list. Then again, I used to say that about parsley. 

This piece originally appeared in Desmond & Dempsey’s The Sunday Paper. Which you should get. It’s free. And it’s got some amazing features and recipes in there – including one for Green Eggs And Ham by my friend Bre. Thank you Molly, Sam and Annabel for including me 💚

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Recipes-not-recipes™️

Things on toast is the ultimate recipe-not-recipe. It requires few ingredients but IMO produces maximum satisfaction. Tomatoes on toast is the ultimate signal of summer. When it’s hot and sunny, you don’t want to spend your time in the kitchen; you want to be enjoying your food in the sun. This is super easy and low energy, but also delicious and if you’re having this for breakfast or lunch, you can use the rest of the tomatoes for a fresh salad later in the evening.

Slice up one heritage, beef or just a really nice normal tomato (like… not everyone has the time or desire to seek out the fancy ones) into fairly thick rounds. Place in a bowl and add the zest of 1/2 lemon, a big squeeze of lemon juice, about 2-3 tbsp of good extra v, a big pinch of salt and a few grinds of pepper and chopped chives, then mix well. Let it marinate and sit in the fridge for about an hour (if you’re impatient, you can just mix and eat – but letting it rest will make the tomatoes sweeter and cold tomatoes on hot toast is chef’s kiss). When read, lightly toast some bread, drizzle a small amount of olive oil – or if you’ve made it, herb oil – on top, then place a few tomato slices on top, making sure to drizzle the juices and include all of those bits of lemon zest, salt and chives. Top with crumbled feta (or ricotta salata is great here too), another drizzle of the tomato dressing and extra chives on top. Eat with the windows open listening to this playlist.

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Since I Asked.

If Tor Harrison were a dish, I think she might be tomatoes on toast. Fresh, sun-soaked and effortless. Tor is one of those people who just can’t help being beautiful. One look at Tor (see below) and you’ll get what I mean. I’d be annoyed if she wasn’t so kind and generous. You might have seen Tor’s amazing photography through any number of amazing Cornish brands – namely her own skincare company, Bashō. And of late, she’s been caught in front of the lens too, modelling for Marazul or busy making for Francli in a new Toast video. To me, Tor is the person who I call for a sunrise swim and a long chat with coffee in the Helford; someone who loves the ritual of cooking and savours food moments just as much as I do. I’m heading down south today, so it’s the perfect time to ask Tor about her favourite food memories.

The dish that reminds you of living away from home?

It has to be spaghetti alle vongole (with clams) it’s such a simple dish but totally transports me back to Italy with this incredible alchemy of a handful of ingredients. Silky strands of pasta are coated in a garlic, white wine infused, salty, briny, juicy sauce of dribbling deliciousness. With a touch of chilli and parsley it’s The Adriatic in a bowl. 

A food memory that you replay in your head?

So hard to choose but seeing as we’re in the short but oh so special broad bean season, how about the one where I took my first bite into a Polpo-inspired starter of soft broad beans, whipped ricotta and golden toast all dripping with olive oil, zingy lemon and fresh mint. Late spring has never tasted so good.

What’s a dish you make to show someone you love them?

Scrambled eggs on toast. It’s such a profoundly simple and comforting dish, with the perfect harmony of soft oozing, buttery eggs and a golden crunch of toast. Made with patience and love every time because the simple things (read: eggs) shouldn’t be overlooked (read: overcooked) Preferably served with hot coffee in bed.  

The one kitchen tool you couldn’t live without?

It’s not one exactly but it’s my ever growing collection of wooden spoons. Each one with their own charm and character and perfectly suited to different needs. There’s the slightly stubby short one that’s stirred a thousand bowls of porridge. The one that was hand carved by a lover that has worn to the shape of my hand. The big satisfying paddle I grab when I’m about to make a cake… I could write an ode to spoons. 

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Leftovers.

• Perhaps it’s my age, but this piece on the pleasure of eating early really hit the spot.

• I’m counting down the days until Towpath Cafe is open. In the meantime, I’ll be making this asparagus recipe from Laura & Lori.

• Summer is a zesty marinade and fresh fish on the barbecue.

• There is nothing more soothing than watching The Pasta Man pour 30 orange egg yolks into flour.

• Back on the Alex Delaney fan club train, feat this rice noodle salad

• The pools of oil in this scallop and tomato fregola dish are what really get me.