Two plants, one looked down upon as a weed by the rich but a lifeline for the destitute and the other, the vegetable equivalent of a Birkin bag, are ripe for the picking in spring.
Ubiquitous when in season and in recorded use as far back as the Bronze Age (circa 3000 BC – 1200 BC), nettles have often substituted for spinach and other leafy greens, providing a source of nutrition for starving peasants in times of famine. Ancient Roman troops either flailed themselves with stinging nettles to keep warm in cold climes or to stay awake and alert on night watches, whilst the Saxons used nettles along with hemp and flax as a source of textile fibres in lieu of cotton.
Locally, nettles hold a revered place in Maltese folk medicine, where a decoction of nettle is applied to affected fingers and toes suffering from chilblains or seqi. Beyond Malta, nettles are traditionally renowned for their ability to alleviate muscle and joint pains as well as help cleanse the bladder of unwanted toxins. In today’s world combating hair loss is a multi-million cosmetic industry. Our ancestors weren’t any less insecure or vain. In fact, nettle is one of the oldest recorded remedies used for treating and preventing hair loss. This is primarily due to the high amount of sulphur and silica in nettle, which improves hair health by strengthening the hair shaft. More recently, studies have shown that nettle root extract has the potential to inhibit the androgenic production of the hormone DHT, which can disrupt hair follicles. Apart from their medicinal use, nettles make an excellent soup, mellow pesto, verdant pasta, ravioli filling, or detoxifying tea. Wear gloves when pulling or cutting the nettle leaves off their stems and discard any flowers. Select the smaller, tender leaves.
The aristocrat of vegetables according to the Canadian Québécoise (the first colonists took crowns of asparagus along with them to plant in the new world) and favoured so much by the Sun King, Louis XIV that he instructed his celebrated gardener and agronomist, La Quintine, to ensure they were also available for consumption in December, the asparagus has always enjoyed an elite following. No doubt, the lecherous king was also enamoured of its presumed assistance in the bedchamber. Certainly, the ancient Greeks attributed aphrodisiacal (and sacred) properties to the priapic veg, which is generally the case when a fruit or vegetable’s shape resembles that of a genital organ. The ancient Romans were also partial to asparagus following its introduction to Rome by Caesar’s legions via the Middle East, the prized veg often making an entrance as a gustatio or as a vegetable accompanying fish. In the Middle Ages, it fell out of favour but was soon to be found served as a salad on the Baroque buffet sideboards of the well-to-do. Such was the designer appeal of this vegetable, an aghast Brillat-Savarin - the 18th-century gastronome and author of ‘The Physiology of Taste’- wrote that despite the prohibitive cost of Alsatian asparagus, (40 francs a bundle at a time when a workman earned approximately 2.50 francs a day), there was always someone who would purchase them.
Spraġġ Xewwieki, Mediterranean Asparagus is indigenous to Malta and grows along rubble walls, in rocky sheltered places, garrigue and maquis. Apart from March and April when emergent spears snap easily from the main growing shoot, the wild asparagus features spiky, prickly stems sprouting needle-like foliage, hence the Maltese name. It is a distant cousin of the onion and garlic, and its botanical name, ‘Asparagus aphyllous is a Greek derivation from the Persian asparag, meaning sprout or shoot.
Hippocrates prescribed Asparagus for diarrhoea and urinary complaints. Indeed, the plant is antispasmodic and diuretic in nature and curiously produces an unpleasant-smelling urine in some but not in others. Even weirder, not everyone has the chromosomal capability to detect ‘asparagus urine’ even if they produce it themselves. Waxing lyrical about the ‘celestial hues’ of asparagus, writer Marcel Proust chose to reframe the pong, writing that they transformed his “humble chamberpot into a bower of aromatic perfume.”
RECIPE: Nettle Pesto and Wild Asparagus Timbales
2024 feels like it has been spring all winter. Nevertheless, whilst some edible plants such as nettle, mallow, wild fennel, borage, and nasturtium have begun flowering earlier than usual, others such as asparagus and ‘qrempuċ tal-mogħoż’ (birdsfoot trefoil - a local legume – think small mangetout) have been late to yield their fruit due to the limited rainfall. Being based on Gozo, I like to forage in the picturesque and unspoilt valley of Binġemma in Nadur leading down to San Blas Bay and when in Malta, in and around Buskett.
Make this really easy, quick-to-prepare, no-bake recipe for ‘Nettle Pesto and Wild Asparagus Timbales’ and taste the Maltese countryside on your palate.
Nettles and almonds provide a dulcet, creamy pesto that contrasts with the saltiness and pungent sharpness of the capers, pecorino, and sundried tomatoes. The lemon tang accentuates the delicate flavour of asparagus.
INGREDIENTS (Makes four timbales):
Nettles – 100gr blanched and squeezed dry
Asparagus shoots – 50gr
Raw almonds – 20gr
Sunflower seeds – 1 heaped tablespoon
Garlic – 1 large bulb
Pecorino Romano (or nutritional yeast ) – 2 level tablespoons
Capers – 1 tablespoon
Sundried tomatoes - 4
Basmati rice – 250gr
Olive oil
Finely grated lemon rind – 1 tablespoon and more to garnish
Freshly ground pepper to taste
METHOD
Soak the freshly picked nettles in very hot water for about ten minutes and drain. Using a pestle and mortar or food processor, grind or blitz the almonds and sunflower seeds. Then add the garlic, nettles, grated lemon rind, enough olive oil to bind (not too much you don’t want the pesto too runny) freshly ground pepper, and Pecorino Romano cheese (you can substitute with nutritional yeast if vegan) and half the capers and sundried tomatoes.
In the meantime, boil the rice of your choice (I prefer Basmati rice's nutty aroma), drain it, and let it cool. Finely chop the tender asparagus shoots and gently sauté for two minutes in a little olive oil. This helps reduce their bitterness. Chop the rest of the capers and sundried tomatoes and mix thoroughly in a large bowl together with the asparagus, nettle pesto and rice. Scoop the rice into oiled moulds to shape and set. Now it is time to plate up. Decorate with a sprinkling of pecorino, more lemon rind and foraged flowers, and serve with a crisp salad.
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As featured in Served Magazine (Spring 2024)
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