Hi Everyone,
Last week Friday my palette was brutally assaulted by the taste of dried herbs in the food I was eating. It’s not the first time that it has happened and on each occasion I vowed to write something, educating about the use of dried herbs in cooking but never got around to it. However, the yam pie that won my eyes but wounded my taste buds left me hungry and angry. And we all know the saying: a hungry man is an angry man.
The flavour of dried herbs has little in common with fresh herbs. And here’s why.
Drying removes most of the water in an herb. Fresh herbs are made up mostly of water and when they are dried, more than 90 per cent of their water content is lost. Forever. The process of drying evaporates most of the flavour, the aroma chemicals in the herbs. It is for this reason that many dried herbs do not taste anything like the fresh version. Instead, they tend of have a generic dried-leaf aroma, often smelling dusty and musty whether they come as flakes or powders.
There are a few exceptions, mainly in the mint family, often referred to as the Mediterranean herbs. These herbs are able to do well in the drying process because in their fresh state, they are accustomed to hot, arid areas and conditions and have aromatics that persist in drying conditions. Those herbs are: oregano, thyme, rosemary and bay leaves.
The reason why we cook with herbs is that “we want to liberate the flavour chemicals from the tissues and convey them to our tastes and odour receptors” explains renowned kitchen scientist, Harold McGee. In other words, we cook with herbs because we want to flavour our foods with them so that they can engage our sense of taste and smell.
When cooking with dried herbs—well the ones that still have some flavour in them—they should be added at the beginning of the cooking process and not at the end of the cooking process. Here’s why. The dried herbs will need a long cooking time to release their flavour and for that flavour to develop and be incorporated with the other ingredients in the dish. Long cooking stews, braises and soups are best suited for using dried herbs. These cooking processes often require low and slow cooking and are ideal for the eventual release of the flavour from dried herbs. Think about it this way, you wouldn’t add dry dried peas or beans directly to the pot without soaking them right? And even when they are hydrated, notice that it takes a while for the peas or beans to cook? Well, that slow release to cook the peas and beans is the same slow release required for the dried herbs to yield their flavour. Simply tossing the dried herbs into a dish a few minutes before it is done does nothing for the flavour of the dish or anyone’s palette. There are certain dishes also that you really should not add dried herbs to, and mashed potatoes is one such dish; so too are scrambled eggs, fried salt fish, and, oh yeah, ground provision pies, like say, yam pie! Can you tell I am still ticked off about the yam pie? Just a little bit (laugh).
Don’t add dried herbs to quick-cooking sauces either because they will ruin it. Trust me. I’ve tasted it. Here’s what dried herbs used incorrectly do: they overpower the dish and cancel out any other flavour aid you might have in the dish. They shove the natural flavours of the ingredients almost into oblivion and assert themselves on your palette like a big, bad mc-guffy. I could use other captivating metaphors but I have to restrain myself because after all, this is a food column. You don’t taste or smell anything else but dried, dusty, musty herbs. The attack is immediate and unforgiving.
So here is what happened last week, the proverbial straw-breaking incident that resulted in this column.
I had been out doing errands and stopped off at this place to get something to take home to eat. I surveyed the buffet on offer and there it was, I had eyes for nothing else but the pan of yam pie. When it was my turn to order, I asked for two large scoops of the yam pie, not one but two. Hey, I was hungry. I raced home, dropped the bags, got myself a drink and a fork and sat down to eat. As soon as I lifted the lid of the food box I knew what was coming, the pungent aroma of the dried herbs hit me with the full blast of warmth that caressed my face. In a state of complete denial I dove in. I took a heaping forkful of the pie, closed my eyes (again in denial) and put the pie into my mouth. I think that my face then had an expression as some would say: only a mother could love. I swore under my breath. A mixture of anger and disappointment rose up in me like a caged animal desperate to be let loose. I managed a second forkful out of sheer desperation and hunger. I got up and rummaged through the fridge in search of something to eat.
