A triumph: how to make bay laurel liqueur

“Spring” from a 15th century edition of the standard medieval text on maintaining good health and a godly lifestyle, “Tacuinum Sanitatis”

The other day when we all took that nice hike up into the hills above Narni together, I had brought along my backpack and a pair of secateurs to cut any little specimens I found that looked interesting, but also so I could collect a good number of bay laurel leaves.

In spring the fragrance of the bay increases as the sap rises and the leaves start generating more of the aromatic oils, and the plant world generally wakes up. In April the bay blossoms and if you live in an area with a lot of it, the sweet, spicy scent just hangs in the warm air everywhere.

Bay laurel, the little dry whole leaves you saw your mother put into soup and that seemed to have no flavour or benefit whatsoever, is in fact one of the loveliest and most fragrant and valued of all the wild herbs native to this area. The reason it didn’t seem to taste or smell like anything is by the time it’s picked, dried, boxed and shipped across the Atlantic it’s as lifeless as last year’s fallen leaves.

But fresh bay is heavenly. In the Before Time, much of the less arid lands of the Mediterranean basin were covered in whole forests of bay, and quite a lot of wild bay forest survives in the Umbrian hills today. The volatile oils in the leaves increase in the spring, and are activated by heat so when summer comes the hills are fragrant with it.

It grows wild everywhere here, and I often just pick a few leaves as I’m ambling along and crush them in my hands to enjoy the scent. In ancient times it was believed that the bay laurel tree held magical powers, warding off evil witchcraft and disease. An old lady in Santa Marinella told me that her mother told her (and who knows how far back beyond) that carrying a few bay leaves in your pocket would ward off all manner of bad things, from stubbed toes to pickpockets to Plague.

The fragrance is something like pine, and something like cinnamon, slightly spicy and rich, but very refreshing. It was known and prized for its culinary, medicinal and ritual value across the European and Asian continents since people have lived here.

Daphne and Apollo by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Bernini set out to prove wrong the assumption of his day that sculpture could not depict motion. At which task he succeeded beyond anyone’s imagination.

The Botanical name says a lot: “Laurus nobilis”. It is a major herbal player in Greek and Roman culture, history and mythology. In Greek mythology, the female nymph Daphne was transformed into a laurel tree by her father the river god Ladon to save her from the unwanted affections of the god Apollo. Hence, the bay laurel tree is often associated with Apollo. Bay laurel was therefore known to be used in rituals associated with the Oracle of Apollo at Delphi.

So prized was bay laurel that it was used to create the “Corona civica” - the civic crown for generals having a Triumph, charioteers, statesmen and other civic luminaries the city state wanted to honour.

Which is why we have the image of Julius Caesar wearing a “laureal wreath”. And where the expression “resting on your laurels” comes from, if you spent the rest of your life never doing anything else. In Italy to this day when you graduate from university or a professional programme, you are given a wreath of laurels to wear for the day. If you walk around Perugia’s medieval centre in the late spring and early summer you will often come across parties being held by their families in a restaurant for a laurel wreath-wearing young graduate.

If you can get a cutting, bay is easy to propagate and grow and does very well as an ornamental herbal shrub in a pot. It can even be pruned to be one of those topiary like things you see in the manuscript paintings. My Auntie Gill has one, and she lives in Cheshire, so it clearly doesn’t require the Italian climate.

One of the many things you can do with bay laurel is make an “amaro” - a herbal liqueur infusion to help you digest your dinner and enjoy the evening with friends.

Here’s mine:

Gather some bay, fresh, in the spring with a pair of secateurs.

Another thing to know about bay laurel is that it has very straight, strong but flexible stems. The big bay tree at my place in San Martino would always grow these very straight and tall and strong sticks that were ideal for building tomato and bean and squash trellises with. I think I’m going to try making paint brushes at some point, and will have to remember to use dried laurel stems for the handles.

Pick off and discard any that look a bit naff. Bay doesn’t get a lot of plant diseases, so a bit of leaf curl is not a big deal.

A four litre hinge-top jar. Clean.

Make a little simple sugar syrup - just a cup or so of sugar with a little water to dissolve. Don’t let it cook too long or start to caramelise.

Cheapest vodka you can buy. In Italy you can buy a special kind of 80 proof alcohol for making liqueur, but it’s absurdly expensive and a 4 Euro bottle of vodka will do equally well.

I did two lemons. Just the peel though. If you add the juice it interacts chemically with the bay and makes it bitter.

A few cloves and a couple of pods of cardamom, crushed.

Wash the leaves.

Put everything in the jar.

Stir.

Seal the lid and store for 3 months. Bottle. Drink.

People here very commonly make their own liqueurs (called “amaro” - meaning “bitter”) from local aromatics. So, now you know how to do an Italian thing.

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I’m working on the piece about The Situation, but it might be delayed a day or so. My computer needs repair so I have to hike down the computer store this afternoon. Meanwhile, if you enjoyed this post, I hope you let me know in the comments. I think we could all do with more of this sort of thing, yeah? If you would like to donate, please click here for my Hilary White Sacred Art page, attached to Paypal. Thanks again.

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