If there's a set of fresh ingredients that consistently punch way above their weight, and to the most delightful effect, it's herbs. The soft, leafy ones I chop by the fistful into green sauces and stuffings, or scatter loosely into salads and dressings. The more intense, stalky ones I use with a little more restraint, but with just as much enthusiasm. This week, I begin a three-week ode to some of my favourites by starting with my very favourite, bay.
There are few days when I don't use bay leaves one way or another – tucking them into the cavity of a bird or fish before roasting; stirring them into a slow-simmered stew; orsautéing them with onions and other chopped veg as a base for a soup. I love their pungent, sweet and spicy aroma, which is at once vibrant and comforting. In fact, whenever I pass a bay tree at home in the garden – or anywhere else, come to that – I usually grab a leaf or two, whether or not I need one, for aquick twist-and-sniff pick-me-up. All of which may explain why our youngest daughter Louisa's middle name is Bay – as she gets older, she may be grateful that my favourite herb wasn't savory or borage.
Bay trees are native to the eastern Mediterranean, but they have spread throughout southern Europe and grow quite well even in less balmy northern climates such as ours.
Bay's Latin name, Laurus nobilis, hints at a significance that spreads wider than the kitchen. Laurus means praise and nobilis famous. Ancient legend says that Apollo, god of light, prophecy and poetry, fell in love with Daphne, a mountain nymph, and was determined to have her. She prayed to the gods to protect her from him and they turned her into a bay tree. Undeterred, Apollo remained devoted, and from then on he wore a wreath from the tree around his head. The glossy leaves came to symbolise glory and wisdom and both Greeks and Romans used them to make wreathes with which to crown emperors, scholars, warriors, athletes and poets (hence poet laureate). Yes, the laurel wreath is, in fact, made from delicious, irresistible, heady bay.
When bay trees arrived in Britain at some point in the middle ages, we scattered their leaves on our floors as one of the strewing herbs and cooked with them certainly, butwe also imbued them with all kinds of magical properties. In his Complete Herbal of 1653, Nicholas Culpeper wrote that bay, "resisteth witchcraft very potently, as also all the evils old Saturn can do to the body of man… neither witch nor devil, thunder norlightning, will hurt a man in the place where a bay-tree is."
And if that doesn't tempt you to grow bay, as a sort ofherbal insurance policy, I don't know what will. In the right sunny, sheltered spot, itcan grow into a majestic tree of up toabout 9m, butit also makes a smaller, very attractive evergreen bush in the herb or flowerbed. It grows well in pots, too – just let the soil dry out between watering. You can dry or freeze the leaves, but they are never as good as fresh, so just pick them as you need them. In winter, asmall bay plant in a pot in a sunny part of the kitchen will thrive, and remove the need for trudging out into the garden on gloomy days.
And once you have a bay in the kitchen, the number of things you can do with its leaves are almost infinite. It's essential to bouquet garni and pickling spices, and just afew leaves will infuse a meaty terrine with their spicy flavour. Add a leaf or two to the milk when you're making a béchamel sauce, even toss them into the boiling water for spuds. Add them to marinades for all kinds of meats and, of course, scatter them in slow-cooked stews. They add an extra dimension of flavour to recipes including pulses, tomatoes or rice, and I love to cook them with fish. When I fry mackerel fillets, I always throw in some garlic and bay, because where the bay has contact with the fish skin and gets slightly charred, you get an amazing new flavour. This comes out, too, when you thread bay on to skewers between cubes of lamb and vegetables for cooking on a barbecue – or just strew some dampened leaves over the hot coals to imbue your food with its delicious smoke. Bay even works in sweet recipes, such as rice puddings and today's burnt cream.
Bay-infused burnt cream
Infusing custard with bay leaves makes the most of their slightly clove-y sweetness. It's delicious on its own, or with little bowls of strawberries or raspberries lightly dusted with icing sugar. Serves six.
500ml whole milk
500ml double cream
8 fresh bay leaves, ideally young and glossy
Finely grated zest of 1 orange
3 eggs
6 egg yolks
150g caster sugar, plus a tablespoon or so extra for sprinkling on top
Pour the milk and cream into a pan along with the bay and orange zest. Bring to a bare simmer – just until bubbles appear around the edge of the pan. Turn off the heat, cover and leave to infuse for 30 minutes. Strain through a fine sieve into a bowl.
Heat the oven to 170C/325F/gas mark 3. In a mixing bowl, whisk the eggs, egg yolks and sugar. Stir in the infused cream. Strain the custard through a fine sieve into a large jug. Arrange six ramekins in a roasting tray – they shouldn't touch each other. Pour the custard into the ramekins so that it almost reaches the top. Put the tray in the oven and carefully pour hot water from the kettle into the tray to come about halfway up the sides of the dishes. Bake for 30-40 minutes, until the custards are just set – they should still wobble a bit in the middle. Remove the tray from the oven, lift the ramekins from the tray and leave to cool before refrigerating for at least three hours or overnight.
Just before serving, preheat the grill as high as it will go. Sprinkle afine layer of sugar on top of each ramekin – a teaspoon on each shoulddo – and pop them under thegrill until the sugar caramelises and turns a deep golden brown. Becareful not to let it blacken and burn. Alternatively, caramelise themwith a blowtorch.
Mackerel with new potatoes and bay leaves
A great one-oven-tray dinner. Servesthree to six.
1kg new potatoes, scrubbed, the bigger ones halved
2 red onions, halved and sliced
12 bay leaves
6 garlic cloves, unpeeled but bashed to break the skins
2 lemons, halved and thickly sliced
3-4 tbsp olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
30g butter
6 mackerel fillets
Lemon wedges, to serve
Heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Scatter the potatoes in a roasting tin with the onions, bay leaves, garlic, lemon slices and olive oil. Season well, toss everything to combine, then dot the top with the butter. Roast in the oven until the potatoes are browning and tender, rattling the tin once or twice – about 30-40 minutes.
Carefully take the tin out of the oven. Season the mackerel fillets and lay them skin-side up on top of the potatoes. Return to the oven and roast for a further six to 10 minutes, depending on the thickness of the fillets, until the mackerel is just opaque. Serve with some lemon wedges and a green salad.
Puy lentil salad
Simmering the vegetables with the bouquet garni and frying the vegetables with a bay leaf helps give this salad a great depth of flavour. Add ahandful or two of rocket and somehalved cherry tomatoes, too, ifyou like. Serves six.
250g Puy lentils
1 bouquet garni comprising 2 bay leaves, 3 sprigs of thyme and 4parsley stalks, all tied together with kitchen string
4 tbsp olive oil
200g bacon lardons, smoked orunsmoked
4 shallots, peeled and finely chopped
1 celery stick, finely diced
1 carrot, finely diced
1 bay leaf, slightly torn
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 tbsp cider or white-wine vinegar
2 tsp Dijon mustard
Pinch of sugar
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 big handful parsley leaves, roughly chopped
200g soft goat's cheese
Cook the lentils according to the packet instructions, though adding the bouquet garni to the pot.
While the lentils are cooking, warm a tablespoon of oil in a frying pan over a medium heat and cook the lardons until lightly browned. Tip into a bowl, return the pan to the heat and add the shallots, celery, carrot and bay leaf. Sauté over a medium-low heat, stirring from time to time, until the vegetables are soft, then add the garlic, fry for a minute, then tip the lot into the lardons bowl. Discard the bay leaf.
In a small bowl, whisk together the vinegar, mustard, sugar and a pinch of salt, then slowly whisk in the rest of the oil until you have an emulsion.
Drain the lentils, discard the bouquet garni, and add to the lardons bowl. Pour over the dressing, add the parsley and a few grinds of black pepper and toss. Serve warm or cold, with the goat's cheese broken into chunks and scattered on top.
