My mind and time have been taken up with other writing projects during the past week—my dissertation, about which I won’t talk here, and my story/pamphlet for Bioversity, about which I will talk, at some later date. But I have to steal a few moments from eighteenth-century literature to do some musing on marjoram.
Every Wednesday night at the Academy, the RSFP kitchen cooks an entirely vegetarian meal with local, seasonal ingredients. Last night, the highlights of the meal were hazelnuts (chopped on a bitter green salad with beets) and marjoram.
Marjoram is often thought of as a meat herb because it can hold its own alongside the most flavorful lamb or venison. But last night’s main course was potato gnocchi with marjoram and chopped walnuts, pecorino and some wilted green (something chicoryish but not too bitter… plain old spinach?). It was a risky dish, because the piny astringency and almost medicinal zest of the marjoram could easily have overpowered the humble little gnocchi. That’s why I’d like to praise, along with the herb so evocative of wildness, the kitchen staff here. Not only did they create delicate gnocchi for almost fifty people, but they seasoned it delicately with one of the strongest herbs. The dish had to have been prepared with gentle fingers—to keep the gnocchi fluffy and to crush the leaves of marjoram without mincing out the flavor. The wine pairing was exquisite, too: a slightly effervescent, green-grassy crisp white from Lazio. Like a vinho verde, but even greener.
Thanks, guys!
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