If Weeds Tasted Like Candy

Foeniculum vulgare
Cn: sweet fennel

Given my Italian & French background, I'm pretty much required to like fennel. Actually, last year while I was in the midst of teaching a garden lesson to an energetic herd of second graders, their 70 year-old and very Italian teacher inquired if the plant adjacent to me was fennel. Sure is, I told her a bit distracted. She urgently demanded I harvest her a piece, as she could hardly do so herself. Feeling a bit indifferent about the unruly plant in our East Oakland school garden, I snapped her off a stem. She immediately gnawed into the crispy piece, chewed vigorously, then bawled her eyes out. She proceeded to tell me she regularly ate fennel as a child growing up in Italy, and now the taste brought back childhood memories (I assumed they were good??). Shocked, I listened intently. She looked me in the eyes and told me that if I was Italian, I too had to like the weedy licoricey plant. I thought sure? I always was a backward child, choosing black licorice over red at the movie theater any day...

Sweet fennel, a weedy perennial herb from the Mediterranean flourishes in my neighborhood and has been used medicinally and culinarily in many parts of the world for some time. The bulbous stem, leaves & seeds are all edible, carrying an anise-like potency. Last Friday local permaculturist David Stockhausen and I traipsed around sunny Berkeley, harvesting handfuls of the wispy plant around the edges of Le Conte Elementary School.

Sweet fennel can grow up to 7 feet tall, and has very finely dissected foliage. Yellow flowers are in terminal compound umbels, with about 20-40 flowers in each umbel. HOWEVER, be very mindful when harvesting fennel, as is looks strikingly similar to poison hemlock, Conium maculatum--which is deadly poisonous! While resembling sweet fennel, poison hemlock has maroon splotches on its main stem, and is found in moist soil. When in doubt, crush some of the plant's leaves; a licorice or anise smell emerges from fennel, whereas a dead mouse smell (?) occurs with poison hemlock. BUT, be sure to wear gloves if you really do the smell test, because poison hemlock contains a toxin, coniine, which can absorb into your skin. I'd say harvest only if you're sure it's fennel--when in doubt, don't take a chance. You don't want to end up like Socrates, who died from the stuff!

With our hemlock-free fennel, David and I returned home joining friends busily cooking in the kitchen. Alexis had fennel cooking experience from her time in Italy, and so took the lead, using chopped fennel leaves in a fresh quiche. We munched on the fennel stem a bit, which can be eaten raw, sort of like an anisey celery....However, I soon found out that fennel grows vegetatively around February and March, meaning those are the months when the stem is most tender to eat. Unfortunately, by the time we'd gotten to our edible weed (mid May), the stem was a bit on the tough side--good thing the leaves are consistently sweet throughout the year!

Minutes later our fennel quiche was ready. Famished, we enjoyed every quiche crumb (I even forgot to snap a photo as the nine of us ravaged it so!). Sadly though, the fennel flavor seemed a bit lost, not as strong as intended. Next time, we're going to be sure to add plenty more leaves to get that licorice taste. I'm also interested in harvesting mountains (small mountains) of fennel seeds from around my neighborhood this Fall and baking with them. Fennel shortbread anyone? For me, this is an easy weed to enjoy--but perhaps that's just my Italian genes speaking.

South Berkeley Survival Food

Plantago lanceolata

Cn: narrow leaved plantain, buckhorn plantain, ribgrass

"This plantain ranks as a survival food rather than a vegetable one would choose freely...I am afraid I have nothing positive to say about its flavor," states Margit Roos-Collins, in The Flavors of Home. Wow, wish I would have read this before my wild edible plant compatriot Tyson and I nonchalantly decided to eat ribgrass last Thursday.

Strolling around sunny South Berkeley, Plantago lanceolata, or ribgrass, seemed to be everywhere. Tyson and I recalled that ribgrass tea was common, and therefore thought edibility would be possible too, so we began harvesting some younger leaves that looked appealing.

Ribgrass is an Eurasian perennial that grows in a basal rosette. Scapose inflorescences are in spikes while leaves are lanceolate to elliptic with pronounced parallel venation. It is a common Bay Area lawn weed, and I've noticed it's pretty ubiquitous around Berkeley.


Upon returning home and consulting some literature, we quickly realized ribgrass lacked rave reviews for edibility. Alternately, it seemed to be quite renown medicinally. Apparently it is used to treat bleeding and aids in tissue repair; the leaves are full of mucilage, tannin and silic acid which apparently aid digestion, diarrhrea, gastritic, ulcers, asthma, hay fever and a myriad of other ailments. Among about 100 other medicinal uses, tea made with the leaves is supposedly effective for combating asthma, bronchitits, coughing, and fever. Ribgrass contains vitamins A, B, C, and K, calcium, iron, silica, phosphorus, magnesium, selenium, sodium, zinc, potassium & sulfur. But alas, this is a blog about weed edibility and given our harvest, we decided to give it a go in the kitchen--curious as to just how unappealing the plant could really be in our mouths.

First we tried it raw. WOW. Yuck, I thought. Incredibly bitter, tasting to me mostly like the smell of cut grass. Tyson was eating some chocolate at the moment, and upon adding some ribgrass to his mouth quickly decided it was "not palatable even with chocolate in your mouth." Alex added in between bites "Leathery....Tough."

The decision to cook our harvest came easily. Tyson boldly decided that he didn't want to mask the ribgrass flavor, but to taste its true essence. In a fry pan with chopped leaves, he added olive oil, salt and pepper. He scoffed at my offer of soy sauce. A few minutes later we tried the creation and both couldn't stomach more than a piece the size of a dime. Tyson admitted he didn't want to be sick before class, and I had to agree, so we didn't indulge further. The aftertaste was so unappealingly bitter, I immediately got a stomach ache. (Although I'm not entirely opposed to attributing this ostensibly immediate effect to its unappealing cooked aroma.)

While Tyson and I were making gross faces at each other, Dandelion strolled into the kitchen, fresh from a sweaty jog. With a nod and a wink we offered him a bite. He loved it!! We were confused, but open to alternative opinions...

To complete the afternoon, we made some tea with a few leaves. Finally consensus! We all loved its "cleansing" taste. Thus so far, it seems like for Plantago lanceolata, tea is the way to go. Yet, I am receptive to ideas for future recipes--and I promise I would ingest a larger amount of the weed--as long as I have a barf bag handy.

So there it is folks. When the apocalypse comes to the Bay Area, and Berkeley Bowl is closed, look for Plantago lanceolata in nearby lawns and you may survive. But alas, I have to be very honest here and inquire as to what kind of life I would lead if ribgrass was all I subsisted on..

Nettling With Dock

Uritica dioica
Cn: Stinging Nettle
Rumex crispus
Cn: Curly Dock, Sour Dock, Yellow Dock

While I've gotten stung by Uritica dioica plenty of times, I'd never eaten it before yesterday. When chatting about weeds with some friends, we all decided the painful plant would a good choice for dinner. Liviu claimed he indulged in cream of stinging nettle soup growing up in Romania, and Alexis has a new stinging nettle fondness stemming from her recent farming internship at Spannocchia in Italy (http://www.spannocchia.org/internships/)--where, apparently in addition to creating elaborate artisanal dishes like stinging nettle ravioli, she stuck the plant down her friends' pants. How nice.

In any event, after deciding on Uritica dioica, however, I couldn't find it anywhere, and was embarrassed to realize most of it had already gone to seed. Eventually, I found a few small plants among moist soil in my backyard. Apparently stinging nettle is indicative of fertile soil, especially soils high in phosphorus.

Stinging nettle is a perennial plant native to Europe, Asia, Northern Africa and North America. It's used all over the world medicinally and for cooking. With a taste like spinach and loaded with things good for you, such as calcium, magnesium, iron, potassium, phosphorus, manganese, silica, iodine, silicon, sodium, sulfur, vitamin C, beta-carotene, B complex vitamins and lots of protein, I was excited to harvest it. But remember to wear gloves until it is blanched and the stingers deactivated.

Leaves are from 1-6 inches, opposite and have serrate margins. Leaf bases are cordate and leaf apexes are acuminate. If you are truly unsure about identification, grab the stem. Then you should know if you have stinging nettle or not.

In addition to the Utitica dioica, I decided some Rumex crispus, or curly dock, would be a good addition to our dinner, considering curly dock is conveniently used to alleviate stinging nettle pains by simply rubbing a leaf on your stinging skin.

Rumex crispus is a perennial from Europe and Western Asia. It begins out as a basal rosette before shooting towards the sky, upwards to about 3-5 feet. Leaves are 6-8 inches, alternate, lanceolate to elliptic, and have curled margins. A good source of vitamin A, iron, potassium and protein, the leaves contain oxalic acid, meaning it is super sour and you should avoid eating huge quantities. Apparently large quantities bind up calcium in the body.

Lucky for me, there is a house not far from mine that has an entire front lawn filled with Rumex crispus. As I approached the curly dock--which was very close to as tall as me--I noticed a man wearing a workout outfit watching me eye his weeds as he headed towards the house.

"Do you live here?" I asked. "No.... but I'm going inside," he replied trying to figure me out. "Well do you think I could pick some of the weeds in the front yard? I'm gonna eat them." The man stared down at me, seemingly waiting for more explanation. Of which there was none. Then finally proceeded, "Yeaa, go ahead...I'm pretty sure my friends aren't going to mind..." He smiled and trotted inside, and I squatted down, harvesting leaves in what seemed to be a curly dock jungle.

Dinnertime. First we blanched the few stinging nettles we had, picking the leaves off the stems afterward. Sad to say, the nettles cooked down to about 3 tablespoons of green mush. We tried some. Alexis thought it tasted earthy, like alfalfa. Liviu discerned keenly, "It is the taste of nothing." I agreed. Sounds a like a great addition to spinach, milk, onions and dill. Voila! Romanian Cream of Spinach Soup With a Pinch of Nothing.

Meanwhile, Alexis was busy rolling fresh pasta. Given we were all Rumex crispus eating virgins, we had no idea what we were dealing with, and so randomly chose a curly dock pasta sauce. Liviu de-midveined the curly dock leaves, and cooked them in a fry pan with olive oil and garlic. Ben tried some raw curly dock and stated bluntly that he thought it was horrible. Onwards. We added a some basil, arugula, and salt. Six of us stood over the concoction, eagerly awaiting a taste..

SOUR. Very sour. It tasted like someone shoved bermuda buttercup (Oxalis pes-caprae) down my throat. Hm....we all brainstormed how we could make it less sour. Alex suggested honey? Alexis suggested more basil and arugula? Ben and Liviu suggested we go with the sour and add lemon? Huh. We somehow decided pesto was the answer. Nuts and cheese: safe. To the pan we added walnuts, then we blended the cooked product with more arugula; it was beginning to look like a true pesto.

About 3 pounds of shredded parmesean later, the pasta was DELICIOUS. Sure, it was a little sour, but with enough cheese and wine, it hit the spot. Actually, I was sort of waiting to see if any of us would get sick given its sourness...but I've heard from everyone today (well except Ben--Ben, you alright?) and we're all still kickin'. So all in all, it was a tasty success. Strangely enough though, I think Ben and Liviu were right about the citrus. Lemon made it.

Nothing like the trust of true friends. As we sat down, I remember Dandelion nervously joking, "So, has anyone researched eating dock??" "Yes, yes," I said through a mouthful.

My Lucky Star?

Stellaria media
Cn: common chickweed, star chickweed

Stellaria media, known as chickweed or star chickweed, may be one of the more familiar edible weeds among the Bay Area populace. In fact, a few weeks ago when my dad and I were indulging at Gather (http://www.gatherrestaurant.com/) in Berkeley, our waiter lavishly described my dinner when serving it to me, completing his two minute long description with "...and finally topped with a fresh sprig of local chickweed." Ha! I eagerly exclaimed, "That's a weed!" In retrospect, I realize the waiter was probably offended by my blunt childlike observation. But alas, I was in fact quite joyed (and a little humored) by seeing that low-lying sprawler of shady ground being treated like a true glorified Slow Food green!

Stellaria media hails from Europe. A winter annual, S. media germinates in the fall and winter. Leaves are opposite, sessile, ovate and smooth, with margins entire. Leaves are small, about 1/2 to 1 inch long. Stems, pedicels and flower buds are hairy. Flowers have a radial perianth, composed of five deeply lobed white petals and five accompanying green sepals.

Chickweed leaves are said to taste pretty mild, similar to spinach. The seeds supposedly can be harvested, ground and made into a flour. Given I don't have four hundred years time to go harvest enough seeds for that task, I decided to stick with the leaves for now.

I found a nice patch of chickweed under my watering hose in front of my house, a very damp spot indeed. I harvested a few handfuls of the stuff, which, for a weed, is easy pretty effortless to remove from the soil. I decided to try the chickweed both raw and cooked. In a salad composed of red lettuce, tatsoi and arugula from our house garden, I added a handful of chickweed leaves. It seemed that the most labor intensive part of preparing chickweed is harvesting the leaves from the leggy stems. For my cooked chickweed, I added the leaves to red quinoa that was almost done cooking. Even though I added what seemed like a substantial amount of leaves, they soon cooked down so intensely that I had trouble even locating them in the quinoa! So, needless to say, cooking chickweed seems a little silly given the effort. However, the salad was amazing. Although, this was likely due to the stronger tasting greens and the homemade dressing of olive oil, honey, mustard & balsamic vinaigrette I splashed over it.

Ultimately, I enjoyed the chickweed, but the taste is so absolutely mild that it's easy to forget you're even eating it. If it wasn't so high in copper, iron, magnesium, manganese, silicon, zinc, calcium, phosphorus, potassium, Vitamin A, Vitamin C, riboflavin, niacin and thiamine, THEN maybe I'd instead be planning to feed this weed to the chickens we're soon hoping to get in our backyard rather than eating it myself. Supposedly chickens love it--hence its common name.

I think my housemate Dandelion (not a joke) summed up our whole Stellaria media experience: "Maybe if I had a bigger piece I could actually taste it."