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..