Peter Davies and Mark Scherzer are the owners of Turkana Farms in Germantown, NY. This week Peter writes: At last, rain. If only in helpful little increments. The ground at last feels soft underfoot, and the pastures are rapidly greening. What a difference rain water, as opposed to well water, makes. Our vegetable garden in the past few days has made a quantum leap. Our leeks in particular are burgeoning and are already larger and more developed than they were at the end of last year’s very cool and rainy season. I had always assumed leeks liked cool, wet weather but apparently they also like it hot. To me leeks are more than a vegetable, far more. My first memory of leeks is not eating them but wearing them. In Wales, boys pin a leek to their lapels and the girls pin daffodils to their bodices in observance of St. David’s Day, which falls on March 1. St David is, of course, the patron saint of Wales.
Fortunately, most leeks in early spring are not unwieldy, about the size of a scallion. So decked out in short pants (long pants in those days being the privilege of boys over eighteen), knee socks, white shirt, striped tie, and an Eaton jacket with a cap to go with it (the standard school uniform then), I dutifully trekked in my broughams off to school proudly adorned with a leek. Proudly, because I had been taught that as the rose was the symbol of England, the thistle of Scotland, and the shamrock of Ireland, so the leek was the symbol of Wales. A symbolism dutifully recognized in Queen Elizabeth’s damask coronation robe, adorned with roses, thistles, shamrocks, and, yes, leeks I had been fascinated to learn in class that the significance of the leek descended from a seventh century battle between the Welsh and the invading Saxons, the Seis as the Welsh disdainfully still call them. Because the warriors on both sides were so physically similar and likewise their armor and trappings, there was a need to do something so that Welsh warriors recognized each other in the heat of battle. A leek stuck in the helmet was the solution.
The leek has an even more ancient history. In Jean Bottero’s The Oldest Cuisine in the World: Cooking in Mesopotamia, it is recounted that leeks appear in numerous surviving recipes found on three cuneiform tablets discovered at Yale’s Babylonian Institute. Mashed leeks and garlic appear in all kinds of broths, whether Garden Turnip Broth, Leg of Mutton broth, or something called Halazzu in Broth, to name a few . It is hard to associate leeks with what is now called Iraq, which seems such a dust bowl, but then it was, of course, still the Fertile Crescent. The leeks used in these Mesopotamian broth recipes were probably Middle Eastern leeks, which have narrower leaves than the European variety and distinct, sometimes subdivided bulbs similar to the bulb of garlic. The Egyptians, as is evidenced in their tomb paintings, took the leek into cultivation and bred improved varieties with thicker stems. The Greeks and Romans were both partial to leeks, especially Nero who ate huge quantities in the belief they would improve his singing voice. In Rome, onions and garlic were considered coarse, hence food for the poor, while leeks were considered superior and for the elite. As the Roman satirist Juvenal poetically said: 'Tis dangerous here to violate an onion, or to stain The sanctity of leeks with tooth profane; Oh, Holy nation! sacro-sancte abodes! Where every garden propagates its gods. As Juvenal suggests, the leek was considered sacred in ancient times. Swearing by a leek was apparently equivalent to swearing by one of the gods.
It surprises me that leeks are not a major vegetable in this country. But no wonder, given the humungous, coarse, California-grown varieties available in most American supermarkets. Actually, the leek can be eaten at all stages of its growth and is far more delicate tasting and tender if picked young. And this is the stage at which our leeks are now. We started them from seed in the greenhouse in March, then moved them out to the garden into 8-inch deep trenches in late April. The trenches are to facilitate blanching. As the leek grows the trenches are progressively filled with soil thus creating the long white stem prized for cooking. The time involved in trenching and the four to five months or so required for growth are the main reasons leeks are more expensive than other vegetables in the onion family. While uncooked leeks are strong tasting and not appealing in texture, cooking them, whether, braising, steaming, or boiling, transforms them into a smooth tasting, delicate, comfort food. The Romans were right—leeks are one classy onion. But probably Nero was wrong. I have noticed no improvement in Mark’s singing voice. —Peter DaviesFor the complete archive of past AgriCulture blogs, click here.
