Foodie Fridays: Ode to the Bay Leaf

Did I men­tion that I’m a good cook? I wish I knew how to under­line that good right there, maybe even high­light it with a stylishly-bold dou­ble under­line. You have to under­stand the nuff­ness is a mat­ter of not being able to do much but scram­ble eggs and make Milo/Oval­tine/Bourn­vita/Bush tea prior to 4 years ago. So this good cook is a mir­a­cle!

My moti­va­tion in explor­ing my dor­mant culi­nary side—a hus­band. And some may say, so you starved before there was a man? Well, no. I grew up with large fam­i­lies on either side—big cousins, every­one your aun­tie and uncle—no dif­fer­ence between the teacher/neighbor/mother– or father-on-duty who had all rights to the lash. As Bee­nie sang, ‘mem­o­ries don’t leave like peo­ple do.’

When­ever I found myself in a kitchen, it was always to con­tem­plate stealing/taking/procuring, whichever sounds bet­ter some­thing from a pot that was already pre­pared. I was too far down the grand­chil­dren train to be tasked with much except stay­ing out of the way.

So we come to this Ode.

Bay Leaf is not my favorite herb. Thyme or Rose­mary or Basil gets those hon­ors, but they are more roman­tic notions. The first because if I was any kind of woman, I would want to be a ver­sion of my momma turn­ing a pot, and she loves her thyme, the sec­ond because I have read one too many cook­books (yes some peo­ple read Ency­clo­pe­dias I read cook­books) and the last the fact that sweet basil is my most favorite of bush teas, so the trans­fer­ence of ener­gies here is easy.

So, why am I wax­ing poetic about Bay Leaf? Well it is the one that makes itself the most avail­able in my well-stocked herb kitchen, and it is the one that is most vig­i­lant among my mem­o­ries. So pow­er­ful was the image of Bay Leaf as herbal-condiment that it found its way into the fol­low­ing sec­tion of some future, future work:

I watched him as he removed the fra­grant bay leaf that broke the sur­face, wiped it clean of all traces of the por­ridge inside his mouth and replaced it on the side of the saucer used to con­tain the heat of china. After which, there came deep-bellied spoon­fuls toward my mouth, heaped with coag­u­lated milk, grain, almond essence and chinks of cin­na­mon bark. (Copy­right © Tynisha C Leon)

Now, I feel the need to con­fess. I have dreams about hav­ing a herb gar­den. Full on, pot­ted dreams where my herbs grow because I am the one tend­ing, and because there is a win­dow in the kitchen through which the sun smiles. Never mind my lack of gar­den­ing skills or a kitchen win­dow. There are also dreams of milk baths scat­tered with Bay Leafs in lieu of rose petals, an image I imag­ine, which will even­tu­ally find its own in another future, future, future work.

Cur­rently, I am sim­ply a dry herb-hoarder. I have every dry herb known to man and woman, sev­eral of which like mar­jo­ram and saf­fron gets lit­tle love as I have no clue what to do with them. Don’t worry, I am mon­i­tor­ing their shelf life and have plans for 2011. But oh the Bay Leaf, which I use in my Jerk every­thing (chicken, pork, fish), my stew every­thing (chicken, oxtail, lamb) my cook-up or pelau, and as indi­cated above in my porridge.

I love the strength in Bay Leaf. How it refuses to break down or dis­in­te­grate. I love how I can over­due and still not end up with some­thing bit­ter or off.

Bay Leaf is sim­ple good­ness, and while it may not have a point to prove, it wins the bat­tle every time with­out much ado.

What’s your favorite herb?

ABOUT THE WRITER

Hi there, I’m Tynisha C. Leon, writer, West Indian, mango-lover, founder and Editor-in-chief of DASHEEN mag­a­zine — the online des­ti­na­tion where cul­ture feeds imag­i­na­tion. Join the cul­ture chat on Face­book and Twit­ter! If you’d like to con­tribute, drop me a line here, I’d love to read/see your unique views! Bless up!