This Italian gardener cannot cook without fresh herbs

I grew up in an Italian family, where herbs grew a few steps from the kitchen door. When four generations of us gathered for Sunday dinners or holiday meals, fresh rosemary, sage, oregano and thyme flavored the roasted chickens, pot roast or homemade pasta sauce, and perfumed my grandmother’s house.

When I think of long-ago summer meals, I remember my great-grandmother’s spaghetti, simply dressed with Italian olive oil, sautéed garlic, fresh plum tomatoes and fresh basil leaves. Heaven on a platter.

Autumn brings memories of the woodsy tang of fresh rosemary in my grandmother’s beef stew, and the bouquet of sage, oregano, thyme and Italian parsley in her turkey stuffing.

Every Christmas dinner began with her homemade ravioli, whose creation could not begin without a trip to the herb garden. My proudest moment as a cook was the Christmas when my own ravioli drew second and third helpings from our family’s gourmands. The secret to my triumph was the sprigs of herbs I minced and blended with the filling’s secret ingredients. They were a secret because my grandmother never followed a recipe. I learned to make the family favorites by standing next to her at the old kitchen table, watching and scribbling notes while she created her culinary magic.

In every home I’ve lived in, I have grown my herbs, sometimes planted in a garden, sometimes in pots. This summer I did not plant a vegetable garden here in our new home in north Idaho. That will wait until next year, after Lee and I have spent a full season readying the soil and the raised beds. (Also, I’ve had more than enough opportunities for humiliation this summer just by writing about my adventures in weeding and flower gardening.) So this season my only edible plants are containers of herbs and three tomato plants in big pots on our patio. I’m so pleased with the tomatoes’ progress. Tiny yellow flowers dot each plant. If we have hot, sunny weather every day...until Christmastime, I’m sure we’ll have ripe tomatoes fat enough to slice for insalata caprese.

In containers, I’m growing oregano, English thyme, lemon thyme, sweet marjoram, tri-color sage, Genovese basil and three varieties of rosemary. In a separate garden, lavender, pineapple mint, purple-flowering sage, and catmint grow. Next year I will plant Italian flat-leafed parsley there, too. (We Italians sneer at the wimpy curly-leafed parsley – no flavor.)

Several gardener friends, veterans of the winters here, have warned that I cannot expect my rosemary plants to survive Idaho's cold months. But late autumn is the peak season for roast beef, roast chicken, roast turkey, and hearty stews. An Italian cook cannot create these dishes without fresh rosemary. I make dozens of tiny slits in a beef roast, and then insert thin slices of fresh garlic and spears of rosemary leaves into each slit. My turkey stuffing would be tasteless without fresh herbs. For roast chicken, I stuff the cavity with fat sprigs of rosemary, sage, Italian parsley, and oregano, and then add garlic, half an onion, a few celery leaves and part of a lemon. And how would my family know a stew is simmering if they didn’t have the fragrance of fresh rosemary to welcome then into the kitchen?

So I have a plan – and its beginning was uncharacteristically deliberate, rather than impetuous. I planted the rosemary – Tuscan Blue, Arp, and Roman Beauty – in a large container with wheels. Before the frost comes, I will roll my herbal Italian buddies to warmth and safety under the eaves, against the house. Buon appetito!