Blog
Bay Watch
The wind is moaning down the chimney, and I can feel an icy draught flowing across the kitchen floor. This is only to be expected living in a Victorian house, especially one that faces north onto another road. Something that helps keep out the cold is a warm nourishing meal. Now is the time for simple winter recipes from my grandmother’s cookery book, the Good Housekeeping Cookery Compendium: broths, soups, roasts, stews and casseroles. Today I am making a beef casserole, nothing fancy, just braising steak with carrots, a parsnip, leeks, a couple of onions, water, and a tin of chopped tomatoes added to the seasoned and browned meat. I ignore the instruction to add one bay leaf for flavour and instead add a scatter of dark green aromatic leaves plucked from the potted tree growing by my kitchen door. I adore the warm spicy flavour it infuses to any slow-cooked meal I make.
Adding bay leaves to a casserole evokes comforting memories of childhood. My mother, as I mentioned in a previous article, did not enjoy cooking. But the food she produced was always comforting and filling. As the beef casserole slowly cooks on a low setting it fills the kitchen with warmth and a delicious aroma that brings back fond memories of family meals. For a moment I feel the same excitement I had when taking a dry leaf from the Schwartz spice jar with its mushroom brown plastic top, when I was ten, all those years ago. When mother added a bay leaf to the casserole it wasn’t just for flavour, it was a ritual. Finding the stiff, lanceolate leaf, darker than the meat or vegetables, was a friendly quest between me and my siblings. There was no prize for finding it, but in our house the person who got the bay leaf from the casserole was said to have good luck, and we all sort of believed it.
Our playful rivalry over finding the lucky bay leaf is supported by ancient precedent. The culinary bay tree has been associated with myth and legend since antiquity. In ancient times, the bay was a symbol of victory, honour, and prophetic visions. Its Latin name, Laurus nobilis, hints at an importance above that of a mere cooking herb. Laurus means praise and nobilis famous. The Ancient Greek legend tells us how Apollo, the god of light, poetry and more, fell madly in love with Daphne, a beautiful, virginal nymph who was the daughter of a river god. To escape his unwanted advances, she prayed to the gods to protect her from him, and she was transformed into a laurel tree. Apollo, still infatuated with her, then made the laurel tree sacred to himself. In Greece, Laurus nobilis is still called δάφνη (daphne), in honour of the mythical nymph. The evergreen leaves of the bay laurel came to symbolise glory, victory and wisdom to both Greeks and Romans. Branches of bay were used to make wreathes to crown emperors, generals, scholars, poets, and athletes. Bay laurels were introduced to Britain during the Middle Ages, where they were used as a strewing herb and for cooking and medicine. Nicholas Culpeper in his ‘Complete Herbal’ of 1653 recommends planting a bay for protection against evil, witches, and lightning. And today it remains associated with luck, health, and the granting of wishes.
It is not surprising that bay trees feature so prominently in Greco-Roman culture when you learn they are native to the eastern Mediterranean and have become established throughout southern Europe. In these regions they can grow into large shrubs or medium sized trees, sometimes reaching six to eighteen metres tall. In the garden it makes a smaller, attractive evergreen bush that can be easily trimmed and shaped. It also grows well in pots, too. You can probably recognise a bay tree quite easily, such is their popularity in British gardens, but did you know that every bay laurel plant is either male or female? The small insect-pollinated flowers are pale yellow-green and borne in pairs beside a leaf. Only female plants will produce the distinctive small, shiny, black berries that each contain one seed. These berries are eaten by birds who then disperse the seeds.
Bay trees are relicts of a time when the climate in the Mediterranean region was warmer and more humid. Back then, much of the Mediterranean basin was covered by extensive laurel forests. As the Mediterranean climate began cooling and drying during the Pliocene epoch (approximately 5.3 to 2.6 million years ago) the laurel forests began retreating to ice free areas. It is possible to walk in these forests without time travel. Remnant laurel forests of closely related species such as Laurus novocanariensis still exist in the Macaronesian islands (the four volcanic archipelagos in the North Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of North Africa and Europe) where they are now restricted to deep soils in the cloud belt (between 500 and 1,500 metres).
As we approach Christmas, evergreen plants become a feature of our homes. Christmas trees, which otherwise pass unnoticed, suddenly become glamourous as we festoon them with tinsel and lights. And outside swanky West End hotels, restaurants, and designer boutiques, paired lollipop standard bay trees join in the festivities, dressed in red velvet ribbons, gold baubles and warm white lights. I can’t think of a nicer plant gift for a Christmas present than a pair of half standard lollipop bay trees hand decorated for the yuletide season. They would certainly make a fantastic festive welcome either side of the front door. And the lucky recipient won’t have to look far for some fresh bay leaves to tuck into the cavity of their Christmas turkey before roasting!
Further reading:
Culinary uses of bay leaves – Click here
Memories of family cooking.
The laurel forests of Tenerife – Click here
