The Ungarnished Truth

Before pesto reached the shores of America, every “fancy” dish in this country carried a sprig of parsley, and for all but a very few of us, that was the extent of our acquaintance with herbs. It was Paula Peck, author of the once-invaluable and now-quaint “The Art of Good Cooking,” who brought to my attention the notion that parsley could play a better, more varied role in cooking if you used it by the handful.
Several years later, pesto filed its immigration papers, gardening became a little more popular and cooking evolved to a more interesting state. But herbs remain underrated. We add some thyme to stews, we’ve learned that there’s no such thing as too much basil, parsley is recognized for its flavor and all but the genetically twisted appreciate cilantro. (A joke; some of my best friends think it tastes like soap.) But for the most part we are rather restrained in our use of the potent green things.

This is not a proposal to make rosemary salad or tarragon pesto; with some herbs, discretion is necessary. But other herbs can be thought of more like teeny vegetables. Since I recognized this, my repertory of recipes relying on herbs — relying on them, you see, not using them in supporting roles — has become about 10 times more exciting. Herbs may not be hefty in texture, and they may be stronger-tasting than your average vegetable, but many make terrific main ingredients.

Look no further than tabbouleh, possibly the only herb-centric dish mainstream enough to have been tried by many people in this country. (Pesto is not a dish.) The best tabbouleh is more parsley and mint than bulgur and tomato, and the herbs are what keep it light in texture and refreshing in flavor. Is it a curious sensation to chew on a mouthful consisting mainly of chopped herbs? Yes, but real tabbouleh — that’s what I’m talking about — is a revelation. (It’s not a revolution, though, so no recipe for it here; you can easily find one, I’m sure.)

Beyond that — and before you use herbs as a main ingredient — it helps to know which ones work on a grand scale and which ones don’t. Parsley, obviously, works in abundance: it’s clean-tasting, pleasantly grassy and almost never overwhelming. You can add literally a bunch (bunches!) of it to salad, soup, eggs, pasta, grains or beans. The same is largely true of basil, and you can use other mild herbs — chervil, chives, cilantro, dill, shiso — by at least the handful. (Mint is also useful but will easily take over a dish if you add too much of it. But all of these are great for making herb pastes, or pestos, alone or in combination. Use the same technique you use for basil pesto.)

I put most other herbs — epazote, lavender, marjoram and oregano, rosemary, sage, tarragon and thyme — in the category of strong herbs, which must be used more sparingly than mild herbs. You usually don’t want to use more than a tablespoon or so of strong herbs in a dish (though marjoram, oregano and sage can be used in fairly large quantities in specific instances), and sometimes you’ll want to use an herb even more sparingly. (Tarragon’s anise flavor is both wonderful and intense enough to throw off a dish’s balance — a teaspoon is usually plenty and, if it’s dried, less than that.) Strong herbs cannot serve as a main ingredient, but they can provide good backup for mild herbs.

That’s the windup; here’s the pitch: four recipes that contain copious amounts of herbs. (I didn’t include a recipe for herb salad: toss mild herbs with tender greens, olive oil and lemon juice, the end.) In each case — frittata, pasta, pilaf and soup — the herbs take center stage, with eggs, meat, dairy and grains playing supporting roles. For a change.