Lauren

Herbal medicine to me is individualized medicine. Medicine formulated specifically for you, medicine that sees you, all of you–all that’s whole, all that’s fractured–, that meets you, all of you, right where you are.

It’s why I tend to prefer the herbal approach to the pharmaceutical one. One pill formulated for the treatment of one symptom, or one set of symptoms, could never be effective for everyone; just as one diet, one exercise routine, one spiritual practice, one way of working, one way of loving will never be.

This isn’t to say that the pharmaceutical route is never the right one (sometimes it clearly is), it’s just to point to the truth that though we’re all pieced together by the same types of molecules, we’re all also deeply and tenderly individual, each endowed with our own particular strengths, our own unique tendencies toward balance, toward wellness, toward light.

All said, it’s funny that my introduction to Western herbalism, to nourishing herbal infusions, came from an herbalist who insistently pushes a sort of one-size-fits-all approach.

You may have heard of her. A dog-eared copy of her book Healing Wise might’ve found its way into your life: peeking out of your hippie friend’s macramé purse or on the shelf of your local food co-op or, more realistically these days, popping up on your instagram feed from that #greenwitch account you follow.

It’s an incredibly approachable introduction to herbalism and an empowering one–no matter what your experience or lack thereof with plants, you start to feel like, hey, this isn’t so hard, hey, maybe I can do this, too. (Pretty incredible! And the reason why I recommend this book in the library of this blog [and IRL, quite often, too].)

As you learn more about her approach, you quickly learn she really loves herbal infusions. She recommends drinking two liters of infusion daily, rotating through nettle, oatstraw, red clover, comfrey and linden each week. And you learn that she recommends this practice to everyone…period. And when I say everyone, period, I mean e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e, period.

If you’ve ever listened to one of her podcasts, you know what I’m talking about. Listeners call in for advice on treating various ailments–from chronic illness to heart dis-ease to eczema–and 10 times out of 10 her first question to them is whether or not they’re drinking nourishing herbal infusions.

No digging into how the ailment is manifesting for them, or whether they tend toward dryness or dampness, or if they even happen to enjoy the taste of nettles (because not everyone does!). No details, no nuance. Just one set of rules for all sorts of folk to follow.

Sound familiar?

#Nodisrespect, nourishing herbal infusions have been a major blessing in my life. But here’s the thing: they’re not for everyone. Or, even, not all of them are for everyone. This herbalist’s emphasis on this one healing practice often ends up mirroring the approach to medicine she is countering, which is too bad.

Because what’s been revealed to me, as I go deeper, is that the strength, the beauty of plant medicine lies in detail, in nuance, in an individualized approach. It’s why seeing an herbalist for the first time can be such a transformative experience. For perhaps the first time ever you’re given medicine that meets you where you are, as you are; medicine made specifically for You, with a capital Y.

This Fall, during a session with herbalist jim mcdonald, I was introduced to violet medicine. At the time, I was drinking nettle infusion daily. I’d been complaining about this stuck feeling in my sinuses, which tended to feel bone-dry and achy most days. “Have you thought about swapping nettle out for something else?”

I’d learned that nettle was drying, but I somehow hadn’t managed to link the two. Because here’s the other thing about one-size-fits-all ethoi: they are damn easy to believe in, whole-hog, because black-and-white is a heck of a lot easier to navigate than slippery grey.

I was drinking nettle because of its nutritive properties, to support myself during my recovery from a tick-borne illness. It didn’t cross my mind that there may be another herb with similar properties better suited to me, with my tendency toward dryness. That’s when jim introduced me to violet leaf.

Viola odorata, or violet, is one of those plants most of us haven’t ever really thought of as medicine. Chances are you can identify one, with its namesake-colored, circular petals and heart-shaped leaves. Maybe you’ve seen them in your aunt’s garden or sprinkled on top of a salad mix at a farmer’s market. It’s one of those plants–like rose–that hasn’t really received the same sort of wellness publicity that others have (looking at you turmeric).

Its leaves are nutritive, cooling, moistening, gently cleansing. The dried leaves look similar to oatstraw; they taste and smell like a milder version of nettle, tangy-sweet.

Violet leaf infusion is nourishing, high in minerals, especially magnesium and calcium. It’s cooling, easing frayed nerves, lubricating a nervous system that’s been running hot, that’s over-tired, burned-out. It’s moving, with an affinity toward the lympathic system, clearing stagnation, easing swollen, achy glands, an affinity toward breast tissues, helping to dissolve malignant and benign lumps. It’s moistening, salve for those with dry constitutions, those with a tendency toward eczema, constipation, sore throat, sore sinuses.

I’ve come to see it as a medicine for learning to be gentle with oneself, to self-soothe, to keep one’s cool.

I share this method of making violet leaf infusion with the hope that it offers one more option to you, as you find the right rituals and practices that see you, all of you, that meet you right where you are.

Violet Leaf Infusion

1 ounce violet leaf, dried

Place violet leaf in sealable glass jar.
Fill jar with boiling water. Let steep over night, or at least for 4 hours.
Strain liquid from jar. Compost violet leaves. Refrigerate and drink within 48 hours.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about nostalgic food, what it means when we eat something that’s linked to a cultural experience, a specific place or person.

There’s this study that was conducted more than 10 years ago that I often turn back to. In essence, it tested the nutritive value of nostalgia, of pleasure in food, in eating.

A group of Swedish women and a group of Thai women were given two meals (one, traditionally Swedish, the other traditionally Thai) with the same nutritional content of iron and then tested to see how much iron they’d absorbed from each meal.

This study was conducted when the idea that “a calorie is a calorie” was huge (which I suppose, in some circles, still is), and I imagine that their findings were, at the time, a revelation. The Swedish women absorbed only half the amount of iron from the Thai meal as the Thai women and vice versa.

But it didn’t end there. Both meals were placed in a blender and each group was given a blended version of their traditional meal. Once again, absorption rates were far lower than when they’d eaten the meal as they remembered it and when it was, most likely, beautiful (because can we all just admit that blended is not nearly as beautiful as un-blended [which is why all sorts of berries and bee pollen are added to the tops of smoothie bowls, yeah?]).

This study is still fascinating to me for 2 main reasons.

#1: Nostalgic foods, comfort foods do more than just nourish our weary souls; they increase the absorption of nutrients that nourish us in a very tangible way.

#2. The lattice-crust, the edible wildflower, heck, even the parsley garnish. These little touches that make our meal more beautiful also make our meal more nutritious. Turns out there’s a deeper calling to make our food beautiful than impressing our dinner guests or instagram followers. (That being said, I know this dish isn’t *technically* the most beautiful [it is essentially a meat-pie, after all], but the pine-nuts and sage-leaves and pretty pattern do help).

Which brings me to kibbeh, specifically kibbeh bil sanieh which is essentially meat and pine nuts in a meat and bulgur shell. Kibbeh is an incredibly nostalgic food for me. Growing up with an Iraqi grandmother she always seemed to have a pie plate of it in her fridge, which we often ate cold and with a side of torshi.

I don’t have my grandma’s recipe for kibbeh, sadly, but this version comes pretty close. For those w/o deeper ties to middle eastern culture, perhaps you’ve tried other kinds of kibbeh — football shaped and fried seems to be the most ubiquitous –braise those in tomato sauce and you’ve got a traditional Iraqi preparation, though one I don’t ever remember my grandma making.

I’ve been wanting to recreate her version of kibbeh for a while now, as for me, it’s a perfect Summer food, when you want to reserve turning on your oven on for fruit pies and the like. You can make it at the beginning of the week and you can keep it in the fridge and bring it along on picnics for days after (I’d say at least 3), or you can even freeze half of it for those Summer nights when a dinner-game-plan has fallen by the wayside.

Kibbeh Bil Sanieh

For the baharat (adapted slightly from Ottolenghi’s Jerusalem):

Ingredients:

1 teaspoon coriander seeds
1 small cinnamon stick, cut into shards
1/2 teaspoon cloves
2 teaspoons cumin seeds
2 teaspoons cardamom puds
1/2 whole nutmeg grated

Directions:

Grind everything together in a mortar and pestle or spice grinder. Store in sealed glass jar.

For the dough:

Ingredients:

1 and 1/2 cup bulgur wheat, soaked overnight and drained thoroughly the next day
700g ground grass-fed beef
2 large yellow onions, cubed
2 tablespoons baharat
1 teaspoon Celtic sea salt
handful of sage leaves

For the filling:

Ingredients:

knob ghee
1 large yellow onion, minced superfine
1/2 cup beef bone broth
500g ground grass-fed beef
1 tablespoon baharat
sprinkle Celtic sea salt
1/2 cup pine-nuts

Directions:

Make the dough first, as it should chill for at least 2 hours in the fridge. Add cubed onions to a food processor and process until the onions start releasing their juices. Add beef, baharat, salt and bulgur to processor and process until everything comes together in a pale-colored, paste-like dough. Cover and chill in the fridge.
On medium heat, toast the pine nuts until golden brown.
While pine nuts are toasting, heat big skillet on medium-heat and melt ghee. Add onion and pinch salt and let cook for a few minutes.
Add beef, salt, bone broth and baharat and cook until everything is browned.
Turn off heat and mix in pine-nuts, reserving a few for the topping.
Set aside meat mixture and let cool.
Start the crust: separate your dough into two even halves. Use a little bowl of cold water to dip your hands while molding the bottom crust (it will make it easier to shape the crust).
Add filling.
For the top crust: Grab little pieces of dough and mold into a ball. Press the ball flat between your palms and place it atop the meat filling. You’ll work like this for the top; almost like patchwork, patching the little flat pieces together until they completely cover the filling.
Score your kibbeh — here is a lovely illustration.
Press your thumb into the center of the pie down to the pan. Add a little olive oil to a bowl and use a brush to make an oil-wash on the top of your kibbeh. I made a pattern w/ pine-nuts and sage leaves on mine; get creative, go wild!
Bake in oven at 180C for 30-40 minutes, or until kibbeh is browned and crust is cooked through.
Serve w/ fattoush, torshi and cooked greens.

The Soaked Bean

Seeking Nourishment, Finding Traditions

Violet Leaf Infusion + an Individualized Approach to Healing

Meat Monday: Kibbeh Bil Sanieh + Nostalgic Food