By Patricia Winton
There's rosemary,
that's for remembrance.... Ophelia in Othello
I first encountered rosemary in a little red,
white, and blue metal container. It didn’t—and doesn’t still—sit on my mother’s
spice rack. When I opened my own kitchen, I began widening my culinary
horizons, and rosemary became an early experiment. I hate to admit it, but I
produced the worst meatballs ever to be consumed by humankind, and my
enthusiasm for rosemary cooled considerably…until I first came to Italy and
encountered it fresh.
I visited my friends John and Enzo in the
village of Riparbella, not far from the Etruscan town of Volterra. Enzo
prepared roast chicken by sticking slivers of garlic into the flesh, placing
more garlic, half a lemon, and a large sprig of rosemary in the body cavity,
and coating the skin with olive oil. He placed it in a large baking dish
surrounded by quartered potatoes. These were coated with more olive oil and
anointed with additional garlic and rosemary. My reaction to this dish was akin
to Julia Child’s introduction to sole
meuniĆ©re, her first meal in France. I’ve been a fan of fresh
rosemary since. Variations of this dish still dominate the Italian dining table
for Sunday lunch.
Rosemary, common throughout the
Mediterranean, has long been an integral part of the culinary scene on the
Italian peninsula. Archaeological evidence suggests that the Etruscans used
rosemary to flavor their fish and meat as early as 700-300 BC. The Italian word
rosemarino comes from the Latin ros marinus, meaning “dew of the
sea.” The Romans spread the plant to England during their occupation, although
it needs protection from the cold in that climate, and Italians took it with
them to the Americas when they emigrated there.
When I returned to the US after that first
experience here, I grew rosemary myself. It can survive outdoors in the
Washington, DC, area, where I lived, and rosemary graced my community garden
for ten years. When I left the garden, I transplanted it (with the owner’s
permission) to an area behind the building where I lived. It was an enormous
plant by this time, and I had to rent a car to transport it. It thrived that
summer, and when winter came, I gathered sprigs to hang in my kitchen, but I
always clipped a fresh bit for cooking. Imagine my horror the following spring
when I went out to gather rosemary to find the gardener had hacked it down.
More than ten years later, I still get an empty feeling when I think about it.
Here in Rome, I have rosemary in a pot on my
fifth-floor terrace. I still haven’t gotten the knack for growing it in a
container. Surprisingly, it doesn’t seem to like Rome’s summer sun, which is
intense. But come autumn and winter, it will thrive again just in time for all
those winter stews, roast chickens, and legs of lamb that I’ll enjoy.
This is my last essay on Novel Adventurers. Beginning today, I will be posting weekly on Italian Intrigues.
I did some duck with rosemary recently. Great herb. Fun post!
ReplyDeleteI've never tried duck with rosemary. I'll give it a go next time I have a duck.
DeleteI remember waking up the driveway to a house we were looking at ten or so years ago and brushing my hand through the sizable rosemary bush that stood in front. Rosemary from that bush later graced Thanksgiving and many other meals in that house that we made home. Thanks for the post!
ReplyDeleteRosemary has such a marvelous aroma. A friend with whom I exchange Christmas presents has sometimes put a couple of rosemary branches tied with a ribbon in the package she's mailed to me. It's such a treat to open such a box! I'm glad this evoked memories. That's what rosemary is all about.
DeleteThhanks for sharing
ReplyDelete