Happiness is a mouthful of homemade cough drops. Trust me.
Ok, so Covid is a thing that pretty much everyone has these days, present company included. In the early days, fever and achy pains kept me mostly horizontal, and herbal remedies in the form of tinctures were easiest to relieve Covid symptoms. But then I decided to give making my own cough drops a try, both for a little sugar and just to see what happens.
Spoiler alert: they aren’t easy, but I will absolutely make them again. They can be customized with herbal tinctures to treat the symptoms you are experiencing, and the herb blend I used – bee balm, lemon balm, and blue spruce – relieved my Covid symptoms naturally.
Herbal Cough Drops
Ingredients
1 cup sugar (see Recipe Notes)
½ cup honey
½ cup herbal tea (I used peppermint that I grew, brewed strong)
½ to ¾ teaspoon peppermint or lemon extract
1 to 2 droppers of herbal tincture (see Recipe Notes)
You’ll need: powdered sugar (or candy molds) and a candy thermometer
Method
You don’t need candy molds to make these. Place several inches of powder sugar into a 9” x 13” glass pan and use your fingertip to create indentations. These will hold the melted sugar mixture.
Place sugar, honey, and tea in a heavy, high-sided saucepan and stir until the sugar is dissolved. Over medium to medium-high heat, continue to cook until the sugar reaches 300 degrees. This can take 15 to 25 minutes, but keep an eye on it. Overflowed sugar is catastrophically messy, and burnt sugar is terrible.
Once your sugar has reached the temperature, stir in the extract and herbal tinctures of your choice, then transfer the mixture to a Pyrex measuring cup for easy pouring.
Pour sugar into the powdered sugar dents (or candy molds if using) and allow it to cool. Toss cough drops in powdered sugar and store them in an airtight container.
Sift the powdered sugar to remove stray candy bits and feel free to re-use.
Recipe Notes
*Honey can be a difficult flavor, and it burns easily. You can replace some or all of the honey with sugar, or you can use all honey. Just keep an eye on the mixture as it cooks — if it doesn’t reach 300 degrees before scorching, the cough drops will still be great (if a little chewy).
*Good herbal tinctures to use for cold and flu relief are:
A long soak – the first stage of bitter orange marmalade.
In the alley behind KWeeks’s house there are three Poncirus trifoliata trees. Known more commonly as bitter orange, hardy orange, or sticky orange, it grows well even in cold climates, hardy to -10F.
Which means that these trees, neglected and largely left untended, are perfect for Baltimore, itself often neglected.
I had an entire blog idea in my head for this, but I completely forgot it before I wrote it down. It was a good one, though, genius level, in fact. You’ll just have to take my word for it.
So instead I will share an article I read this week in The Guardian, an article that gives me hope for the future (which is challenging to come by. Hope for the future, not articles from The Guardian.).
Evanston, Illinois, one of the most segregated places in the U.S., has become the first in this country (the world?) to begin the formal process of reparations for slavery.
You should really read the whole article and the story of Robin Rue Simmons and what inspired this transformative, reparative act, but in a nutshell, the city is providing grants to BIPOC people who wish to buy a home (along with support for renovating it) and making plans to build a new school in Ward Five, a historically-Black neighborhood that has never had a school.
They are funding these grants and the school with taxes from the cannabis industry, attempting to re-distribute wealth from a predominantly white-owned business sector that has, again, historically incarcerated Black folks for the very thing that white people are making money off of now (growing and selling weed).
When I read this, I fired off emails to Brandon Scott, Baltimore’s presumptive Democratic mayor, and Larry Hogan, our Republican governor with a history of hating Baltimore. I suggested they work together to legalize recreational cannabis and to put this type of restorative justice in place for the state of Maryland.
Rather than pay developers to tear down entire city blocks and then gentrify the shit out of them so that Black folks can no longer afford to live in their own neighborhoods, let’s lift up those same folks and get them started building generational wealth.
Let’s build/remodel/equip world-class schools and community centers in those same neighborhoods to educate our kids for free – fulfilling the promise of public schools (access to a high-quality, free education).
And let’s open up the cannabis industry in Maryland to BIPOC instead of reserving it for white wealth. This should, of course, come with commuted jail sentences (and an expunged record) for all people currently in jail for cannabis offenses. Full stop.
I have only gotten a form letter back from Hogan and the same from Brandon Scott (his at least said his staff will review my email; Hogan’s basically said, “Thanks for writing.”).
In the meantime, I shook the hell out of those bitter orange trees until the walnut-sized, fuzzy fruits dropped to the ground (mind the two-inch-long spiky thorns as you grab the tree). Their juice is mouth-puckeringly tart, and each tiny fruit has about 146 million seeds. On top of all that, some part of them when you squeeze them for juice is sticky – so sticky that I had to put my cutting board and good knives through the dishwasher to clean them off.
But the effort was worth it. This bitter orange marmalade takes two days to make and rewards the long-suffering with a bright, clean, tart/bitter/sweet spread. I imagine that it will be incredible on a cream scone with a generous slathering of clotted cream or extra-rich butter (cream cheese in a pinch).
I have five pints of this and will hoard it like it’s the last jam on earth, but I can see it making its way into a Victoria sandwich over the winter. If you have a bitter orange in your neighborhood, I highly suggest you shake the tree when it begins to lose its leaves and cover your head for the bitter oranges you shake loose.
Bitter Orange Marmalade
This recipe makes five pints total; I used half-pint jars because I never quite make it through an entire pint of any kind of jam. Know going in that the residue from these oranges is very, very annoyingly sticky. It will all be fine.
Ingredients
1 1/4 pound bitter oranges, well-washed
4 1/4 cups water
1 1/4 pounds sugar
Method
This bitter orange marmalade takes two days to make, and the first day is the soak.
Juice all of the oranges, and then strain the juice into a large jar with a lid. It’s okay if some of the pulp gets into the juice, but your don’t want the seeds in there.
Remove some of the pith – the white part inside the bitter orange – from the orange peel, but don’t be too precious about it. The pith is what helps the marmalade set.
Slice the peel into thin strips and place in the jar with the juice. Add water, stir, then let sit on the counter for 24 hours.
The next day, dump the juice, peels, and water into a large pot, cover, and bring to a low boil for about an hour and a half (or until the peels become translucent and soft). Your house will smell like bitters – antiseptic and pungent – so be warned but don’t worry. This goes away.
Add sugar and stir to dissolve. Bring the mixture back to a low boil, and simmer, uncovered, for about 40 minutes or until the marmalade sets.
Pro-tip: to test the set of the bitter orange marmalade, chill a small plate in the freezer, then spoon some hot marmalade onto the plate. Let cool for a few minutes, then run your finger through the marmalade. If it runs quickly back together, keep cooking. If the marmalade sea remains parted, it’s ready to can.
You can put this in a jar and keep it in the ‘fridge if you’ll eat it all in two weeks or so. Otherwise, plan to can in a water bath. SO EASY.
Bring a large pot of water to boil. Once the water is boiling, sterilize clean canning jars (with fresh lids) but dipping into the water and allowing them to boil for a few minutes. Dip the fresh lids in the water (and any ladles or funnels you’ll use to can. Success = properly sterilized jars).
When the bitter orange marmalade is ready, ladle into prepared jars (a funnel helps), leaving about 1/4 – 1/2″ at the top. Screw lids on loosely. If you don’t have one of those bright green canning baskets that make it easy to put jars in boiling water, sink a dish towel into the bottom of the boiling water so the jars don’t rattle as they boil.
Place jars in boiling water, making sure the water covers the lids by at least 1″.
Boil for 10-15 minutes (longer at higher altitudes), then carefully remove jars and place on a towel on the counter. Leave them completely alone for 24 hours.
You will know you have successfully processed your marmalade when you hear the satisfying “pop” of the center lid being sucked down. If you don’t hear it after 24 hours, press in the center of the lid. If there is some give, then it did not seal. You can attempt to re-process in a clean jar with a fresh lid, or you can put in the ‘fridge and eat the jam in yogurt, on oatmeal, with scones – anywhere you want some interesting, citrus-y goodness.
I have been in the past, and still am, if I am being honest (which I always try to be), a cynical person to varying degrees. I have referred to myself as an optimistic pessimist – things could get better, but they probably won’t.
But then here comes COVID and the asinine people who refuse to wear a mask because ‘MURICA, and all things Black Lives Matter and the repeated and unanswered request that rights extend to all of the people in the U.S., not just the white ones, and I can feel the pendulum silently swinging to the pessimistic side of things.
It’s unnerving and upsetting to see how childish and ridiculous the U.S. is.
And yet.
There remains some reassuring and incontrovertible evidence that A) the universe doesn’t really give a rat’s ass about us humans, but B) if we can get even just a little bit quiet and attend to the world around us, that same universe is actually lousy with the things we actually need.
Case in point: referring the to aforementioned anxiety, I have very specific symptoms that range from gastrointestinal malfunction (will leave it at that) to pulsating tinnitus, anger, depression, and fainting. During the pandemic, I have done my level best to practice yoga (daily in July, but that’s new) and walk outside every day. I recognized early on that as attractive as lying around binge-watching trashy television appears on said trashy television, the reality of it is a noxious stew of flab, perseverating, and self-flagellation that feeds the beast of anxiety.
So outside I go, hiking, foraging, WEARING A FUCKING MASK.
And here’s where the universe pops in. When I am experiencing some specific symptom of anxiety, for the last three months, the medicinal herb to address it has popped up in my path.
Headaches, cramps, fatigue, nausea, dizziness, shortness of breath: each time I have walked out into the world and felt one of these (COVID negative, don’t panic), I have within minutes of walking stumbled upon the natural treatment for that symptom.
This past week I was on a solo camping trip in western Maryland, and I had the great good fortune to go hiking on the Appalachian Trail. I was born in D.C., lived in Maryland for 25 years (plus these past five), and I have never once stepped on the AT.
And I almost didn’t again. I woke up on the day of the planned hike short of breath with ringing ears – two bellwethers of an impending anxiety attack. Rather than cancel the hike, I imagined the worst that could happen, made plans to address that in my head, and laced up my boots (this is my technique for dealing with anxiety. Ignoring it doesn’t work, and sometimes taking medication is not a good option).
I walked along the sunny path and headed towards the first incline, reminding myself that I could always stop and turn around, when I spotted it: prunella vulgaris. Self-heal.
I have been looking for this common medicinal plant for a month, with no success. Self-heal (also called (heal-all or allheal) is in the mint family (without the yummy smell or taste – look for a square stem and know that all plants in the mint family are edible). It is the most-studied medicinal herb ever; some cultures refer to it as “Heart of the Earth.”
It’s antiviral, good for the belly, and tonifying for the whole system.
If you are grieving and sad and struggling and anxious and feel a deep and thorough exhaustion and uncertainty, self-heal is the plant ally to reach for.
So to have this plant appear in front of me seemed momentous. The world is on fire, aching with wounds both superficial and deep. The fortuitous appearance of self-heal at the beginning of my day’s journey was a reminder that we have, often right in front of us, the tools we need to heal ourselves and our communities.
It is vital to remember, though, that like other healing solutions, self-heal is not the pill that erases the symptoms. It takes time and careful attention to work, something that our myriad problems deserve.
I did not gather any self-heal to make a tincture. At my first glance, there was not a profusion of it, and I think that it’s a no-no on the AT to harvest plants. On the way down I saw much more, but by that time the medicine of knowing that plant stepped itself in front of me was enough. So I leave you with this video from She is of the Woods. This woman has SEEN SOME THINGS, and I love her for it. Here is her intro to this “plant ally”; follow her on YouTube to see how to make an oxymel, or follow my link to the dandelion oxymel here.
Presenting the Tipsy Forager. Props to KWeeks for the name.
So you may have noticed very little (any?) food content here on this blog lately, a so-called food blog that has been o’er taken by poems and links from other people and merely passable iPhone pictures of the woods and the water.
Sometimes it’s all I can do these days to put my feet on the floor before I begin to feel ALL OF THE FEELINGS. It’s my watery Pisces nature, friends. I cannot shut it out, and sometimes feelings just get in the way of other things.
But I have been writing and painting and (sort of) working on a website re-design and teaching myself how to draw and either going for a long walk or doing yoga (and sometimes both) every day.
I have also been in the kitchen doing a variety of things. First, creating recipes for the incredible human behind Full Moon Acupuncture for her seasonal Renewal that will launch sometime in September. I will post individual recipes in the fall, in support of her work and to just share what is going to be a delicious group of ten dinners and five lunches (plus some bonus sauces/dressings). But recipe development is not always the most exciting blog topic.
I have been making cookies out of the freezer – big, glorious, crunchy/chewy chocolate chip cookies that I eat (at least) three at a time. These are lifesavers, especially since I am dedicated to staying out of stores and only pick up groceries through PeaPod once every ten days or so.
And because I am technically still writing and illustrating a book on foraging that may or may not be a go in 2021, I am wandering fields and forests and gathering food. Sunday’s expedition was to Cromwell Valley Park, for a bonanza of blue spruce tips.
Blue spruce tips are exactly what they sound like: the vibrantly green new growth that occurs at the very end of pine branches in the spring. Each pine has its own specific flavor, some of which are a bit too resinous and astringent for eating straight out of hand. Blue spruce tips, especially when young, have a bright citrus-y flavor with endnotes of pine – it is astringent and perhaps not a taste that everyone will love but still milder than many others.
Medicinally, blue spruce tips are high in vitamin C, potassium, and magnesium. They are used for coughs and sore throats and help to transport oxygen to the cells (which speeds healing).
For my little foraging haul, I made a cough syrup that won’t be ready until October, and a big batch of blue spruce tip simple syrup. I have a few ideas of how I will use it, but our first stop is cocktails.
Kudos to KWeeks for his adroit naming of this. I never know how cocktails will hit my system – some days I can have three and feel nothing; others I have one and feel a little loopy. It just took one of these for me, so the name is apt.
The Tipsy Forager
This cocktail is light, with a fragrant, botanical taste and bouquet that comes from the gin and the simple syrup. To taste more of the blue spruce simple syrup, use a cleaner, less complicated gin. I used Bluecoat because it’s what I had, and the resulting cocktail was dangerous. Refreshing and not too heavy, perfect for warmer weather.
Ingredients
2 ounces of your favorite gin
.5 ounce (or more, to taste) spruce tip simple syrup (see Recipe Notes)
Seltzer
Lemon for garnish
Method
Pack a rocks glass with artisanal ice of your choice (just kidding. Plain old cubes are fine. Let’s not get precious.). Add gin and blue spruce simple syrup and stir to get very cold. Top with seltzer and garnish with lemon.
Recipe Notes
To make blue spruce tip simple syrup, dissolve one cup of sugar in one cup of water. Add one and a half packed cups of blue spruce tips (more’s the better), cover, and remove from heat. Let blue spruce tips steep overnight, then strain and add 1 1/2 teaspoons of lemon juice. Makes almost two cups of blue spruce tip simple syrup.
How strange and unusual this spring has been, not only for the coronavirus, but also for the weather which is one day bluest skies and sunny sunshine and the next blowing snow flurries and plant pots off decks with gusty winds bringing cold down from the still-frozen north?
Can we talk about how this weather is both a mirror and a portent of my state of mind and its wild fluctuations? And how a vata-person such as myself is blown about in this swirling cacophony of informationweatherfearanxietyunknowing?
And what can I do with myself to feel grounded and connected and not so wildly out-of-control when bread baking is not an option (gluten-free bread baking being more frustration than reward)?
Simple.
Go directly to the earth.
Pick sunny dandelion flowers, the diente de leon.
Gently remove ants and other detritus, then pack into a clean, comforting, always-constant Mason jar.
Add about 1/3 cup of raw honey.
Add 2/3 cups apple cider vinegar (or to cover).
Label, shake gently, then tuck into a dark cabinet for six weeks, shaking every now and again.
Eventually, strain the flowers out and put into a dark glass bottle (I will have plenty of dark glass bottles when this is all over, seeing as how I am gulping down CBD by the barrel, just to remain steady).
This delicious, sour-sweet syrupy golden loveliness is an oxymel. The name comes from the Latin oxmeli, meaning “acid” and “honey.” Using dandelions, the benefits of an oxymel include helping with digestion and removing sluggishness from the body. Dandelion contains vitamins A and C, plus choline, which stimulates the liver, the yin organ of spring.
A sluggish liver is normal in spring, after cold, dry winter months, and a dandelion oxymel can help wake it up.
Add to tea, use in cocktails, or make a bitter greens spring salad (think arugula, sliced apples, and chickpeas, dressed with plenty of olive oil and dandelion oxymel to taste).
My new strategy in all weathers: proceed directly to the earth and use what is being offered.
What’s your strategy? How are you making it through?
