I'm in a lemon verbena state of mind
as Billy Joel almost said
Somewhere around the time May and June touch knuckles, I’m lost to lemon verbena. My fingers are almost always tattooed with its scent, my knees bent for me to rub the leaves for the nth time that day. If you grow it, you’ll know what I mean; if you don’t, imagine that first childhood taste of sherbet lemons. It’s the only herb I tell anyone who comes to me for kitchen garden design or advice that they have to grow.
If it were toxic, I’d grow it just for that scent; happily it is extraordinarily good in the kitchen.
When it was new to me, I tried it with Moroccan mint (very good, even if you are - like me - sworn against herb teas); I made lemon verbena syrup (sugar dissolved in an equal weight of boiling water, a few generous sprigs of lemon verbena added and removed when the flavour is perfect) which I zorroed over ice cream, pancakes, into cocktails and all that. There is always a supply in the fridge from spring until autumn.
Over the years, I’ve found dozens of culinary homes for it; the more you use it, the more ways you find to. It goes especially well with sunshine, and with that in mind, here are two recipes - both adaptations from my book HERB/a cook’s companion - that perfectly suit this time of year. And here’s a third recipe, for an astonishing limoncello: follow the link to find out more about the conditions it likes to grow in too.
This is what I was up today with it.
Three lemon sorbet
This is fresher than Mae West after three gins. While you can do without one of the sources of lemon, they each sing the same note differently and it is this chorus I like best. Something like a pinot grigio is good here; dry, but not the full camel’s flipflop. The result is sharp, bright, with just the right amount of sweetness, and just slightly on the slushy side.
50 lemon verbena leaves
2 lemongrass stalks
Juice and zest of 2 lemons
350g sugar
600ml water
200ml dry white wine
Lightly bash the lemongrass stalks with a rolling pin so that they resemble a Bic pen you’ve trodden on. Dissolve the sugar in the water in a large pan over a medium heat, stirring occasionally, along with the lemongrass, until just at the boil. Remove from the heat and add the strips of lemon zest and lemon verbena leaves.
Allow to completely cool. Strain the herbs and zest out, and then add lemon juice and wine.
If you have an ice cream maker, use it in the usual way. If not, pour into a plastic tub and freeze. After around 4 hours, when the sorbet is half frozen, whisk or swizz in a blender until smooth and return to the freezer. Repeat if you have the patience of a saint.
Lavender, strawberry and rhubarb Eton Mess
Eton Mess is trifle for the lazy, a tumble of in-season fruit, half buried in an avalanche of meringue and cream, and stirred through just enough that you might - but only might - find a buried 50p. It is pretty hard to get wrong, just don’t make it too sweet. A little sourness is crucial - here supplied by the rhubarb. I make this often with gooseberry curd, elderflower cordial as the syrup, passion fruit pulp or whatever might be at its peak. Half a dozen lavender flowers, ideally with the buds just thinking about opening but don’t worry if not, works so well stirred into the mix.
Serves 6
240g strawberries, halved or quartered depending on size
400ml double cream
300g rhubarb, cut into 2cm pieces
20 lemon verbena leaves
30g sugar
4 meringues (shop bought or your own)
Whip the cream until it holds a floppy quiff.
Scatter the lemon verbena leaves in the bottom of an oven dish, shower in sugar and place the rhubarb on top. Pour in just enough water to form a lake under the rhubarb. Roast, uncovered at 130°C for around 40 minutes, flipping the rhubarb after 15 minutes if you remember: the rhubarb should be soft but retain its shape. All to cool.
Place the strawberries in a large bowl. Break the meringues into pieces and fold them into the cream; stir this into the strawberries until semi-incorporated. Add the rhubarb, only slightly combining, and spoon over the syrup that comes with it. Serve with a big spoon and see how much people come back for.
If you like the idea of growing lemon verbena, I have some 1 litre plants ready to go from the nursery here.
If you are a paid subscriber to The Imperfect Umbrella, don’t forget one of the benefits is that you can get the Otter Farm nursery membership (normal cost £25) which gives you 25% off plants and seeds - which means the real cost of being a paid subscriber here is that might save you a whole world of money on plants and seeds. It’s really simple to claim: once you are a paid subscriber here, follow the instructions here to get the 25% off.
The sorbet is like a mythological siren luring me to some small summer island with lots of sand and palm trees... I'm not sure I will ever leave that island...