Herb of the Month
Stinging Nettles (Urtica Dioica)
By Louise Dunlap
When the first springlike days hit, most of
us city folks head to the river, the urban parks, or maybe the countryside--to
walk, to reengage with the greening earth. This is when early, leafy
clumps of Stinging Nettles may catch the eye. These are plants I
learned as a child never to touch. Where the crinkled borders of
their leaves graze the flesh for the barest instant, an irritation
arises--somewhere between itch and burn--that can linger for a full
day. So how does this plant come to be the herb of the month?
By now I've learned there's much more to nettles
than the sting. They're a gourmet delicacy and a vital herbal ally.
They taste so good and have so many important properties that I
keep dried nettles on the shelf year-round. But finding, harvesting,
and serving the fresh ones that grow wild is a real thrill.
Nine of the world's 30 species of nettles grow
in the U.S., but the one you're most likely to find on the east
coast is Urtica dioica, the common stinging nettle, which
came to this continent as a weed with European settlers and their
livestock. I have found it in vacant urban lots, at streamsides
in farm country, and along the hiking trails that border the Potomac
River in suburban Washington D.C. Like dandelions--another hardy
and edible colonizer--nettles are among the first to show green
in early spring. At this point, they are low clumps of spinach-colored,
pointed leaves with sawtooth margins, always in pairs along a squarish
stem. Later--during summer--they'll grow to three or four feet tall
with greenish tassles of "flowers" festooning out from
the base of the upper leaf-pairs. (These are the female flowers;
the male ones grow near the top of the stem or on different plants
and are even less conspicuous.) Again like dandelions, the summer
growth is not considered edible. If you're thinking of gathering,
do it in the first two months of spring, before these flowers form.
If you look carefully, you can see that the
undersides of the leaves and the stem carry delicate pointy hairs.
These are filled with formic acid which causes the stinging when
they penetrate our skin. Expert gatherers claim that only accidental
or clumsy contact invites the sting. If you approach nettles mindfully,
assertively squeezing the little hairs into the firm stem, the acid
cannot do its thing. I have tried mindful harvesting with some success,
but I've also protected myself with surgical gloves and even plastic
bags for my hands or have taken long-handled scissors out to snip
the leafy green shoots into a bag. The riskiest part is washing
them and breaking the tougher stems off back home in your kitchen
when you're getting ready to cook them. If you do get "stung,"
you can try applying the juice of the crushed leaves and stems,
which is supposed to counteract the pain.
Why bother to harvest them, you ask? Well number
one, the adventure of it. There is fairy-tale heroism in turning
this demon plant into a friend. Number two, nettles are an absolutely
delicious green vegetable just crammed with minerals like calcium
(about 700 milligrams per ounce-nearly half our daily requirement).
Other nutrients are iron, magnesium, vitamins A, B, C, and even
D. The first time I tried nettles, after finding a clump outside
my back door back in the 70s, I was sure I had found my "soul"
food (as in "soulmate"). The taste of the plain greens
and tender stems, steamed, was hearty and deeply appealing. Since
then I've gotten attached to one of Susun Weed's recipes: steam
two cups of fresh nettles along with two cups of chopped collards,
kale, or cabbage and two cups of violet leaves (another very nourishing
early green potherb) and sprinkle with lemon and tamari. Also good
with garlic and warm olive oil. If you need a number three reason,
you will astound family and friends by serving this food. (I have
not seen it in even the most pretentious gourmet grocery.) Any teasing
they may offer (if they are like my extended family) will melt in
their mouths when they experience how truly delicious fresh nettles
are.
It always appeals to me to use healing herbs
as food. Susun Weed (Wise Woman Herbal) uses nettles either
as cooked greens or as an infusion (pour one quart of boiling water
over one ounce of dried herb and steep four hours for the highest
mineral content) to stimulate the kidneys and adrenals and for digestive
problems, to strengthen the respiratory system (and in tincture
form for relief of acute asthma). Nettle leaves, she says, can nourish
the skin and hair, stop bleeding, and help during pregnancy, lactation,
and menopause. In treating wounds, they are also styptic and antiseptic.
Perhaps most interesting, Weed uses nettles to help strengthen people
suffering from chronic conditions like allergies, repeated colds,
infertility, and inexplicable exhaustion--because she says it stimulates
change and energy in one's entire system.
Perhaps this is not far from a use of nettles
attributed to Native Americans and called (by Europeans) "urtication."
Apparently indigenous Americans treated aches and pains by lashing
the surrounding skin with nettle stalks. The stinging formed a counter-irritant.
Nettle is also used in many homeopathic remedies, and the fibers
of the plant can be woven into a fabric like linen or the now-fashionable
hemp.
I would like to know how many of my readers
go out foraging for nettles this spring. Do you agree with me about
their value? How well have you avoided the stings? And in case you
want some of the benefits without the risk, I can also recommend
the dried form of nettles available among the bulk spices at Harvest.
They are always delicious and nourishing by the handful in soup
stocks and in the following wonderful, calcium-rich condiment (also
thanks to Susun Weed). Toast one cup sesame seeds in a skillet,
stirring constantly, until they begin to brown and smell good. Then
grind them with 1/4 cup dried nettle leaves and a big pinch of salt
in either a blender or a mortar and pestle. Sprinkle onto grains,
vegetables, soups, or salads. You will find it disappears very
quickly.
Louise Dunlap teaches yoga and writing,
and is working on a book called Writing for Social Change.
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