Bay Leaves
Understanding One of the Most Basic of All Flavorings
Cooks are frequently told to use imported European bay leaves — not the California ones. As Julia Child et al. gently advised in Mastering the Art of French Cooking, “American bay is stronger and a bit different in taste than European bay. We suggest you buy imported leaves.” In appearance, the dried leaves of one kind can’t be mistaken for the other. The California leaf is longer and has turned a deep green that is quite distinct from the light, dull gray green of the European. The aroma of American Umbellularia californica is powerful; European Laurus nobilis is, by comparison, subtle and submissive.
By Edward Behr
A jar full of dried European bay has little scent, but a freshly dried batch of California bay I once had smelled rudely of bay plus particularly rank arugula and bold nutmeg. A few weeks later it subsided to nutmeg alone, distinct enough to recall eggnog. Rubbing the leaves opens the microscopic oil glands and releases much more odor, the simple way to judge quality. Rubbed California leaves give off a camphor-and-paint smell irritating to the nose, and their taste is awful. In the mouth, a leaf produces a menthol-like sting. Both kinds are peppery, but there they diverge. One spice wholesaler calls the substitution of California for European bay leaves “preposterous,” denouncing the California species as “paintlike, chemical.” Strange to think of cooking with it. To me, it’s unimaginable as a substitute for European.
A tip of the dried leaf of European bay tastes piney and has a gratifying perfume. It is both bitter and pleasantly aromatic. Besides its obvious components of nutmeg and pepper, it has been called pungent, balsamic, spicy, oily-resinous, and — perhaps reaching — been compared to vanilla, delicate lemon, and clove. It’s also known as sweet bay, and its ambiguous qualities can be interpreted as either savory or sweet.
Straddling the distinction, tomatoes are clearly enhanced by bay. Most savory uses are similarly familiar. In sweet combinations, bay’s bitterness is probably best suited to wild fruit or the concentrated taste of dried fruit. Bitterness is often a component of wildness, and in any case strong flavors balance bitterness. A leaf added to dried figs cooked in wine is excellent. (Soak a dozen figs — or prunes — overnight in a half cup of white wine; then gently simmer liquid, fruit, two tablespoons of honey, and a small bay leaf for about twenty minutes in a covered pan.) With more delicate sweets, an unpleasant bitterness shows baldly. Further, pears cooked in red wine with bay and spices tend to have a medicinal taste resulting from the simultaneous bitter, herbal, and sweet.
Bay’s bitterness is more lasting than its aroma—use freshly dried leaves. I’ve never been able to decide whether small leaves are truly sweeter, as some people believe. Dried bay, unlike most herbs, is close to the fresh. Yet fresh leaves from the plants in my window I used to grow in my window were sweeter than any dried, sweet in the sense that cinnamon and clove are sweet. And they had a grassy freshness. Patience Gray writes about bay in Honey from a Weed: “In the Salento it grows wild in the shelter of ravines. It was by transplanting one of these into the garden that the conviction dawned that it should be used fresh not dried.” Besides her more conventional uses, she adds fresh leaves to wild-peach jam and bitter-orange marmalade. Fresh leaves are better whenever there is a choice.
By its nature, bay is essentially a support to other seasonings, notably in a bouquet of herbs added to stocks, braises, and sauces. Despite this near-universal potential, you wouldn’t want to meet a bay leaf everywhere. Unusually, bay stands almost on its own with potatoes, with the help of garlic. (For instance, add six or eight whole cloves of garlic and as many bay leaves to a pan of potatoes to be cooked by browning them in fat in the oven.) In moderation, bay seasons a béchamel sauce, depending on what it’s for; the common alternative is nutmeg. Another particular use is in the brine for pickling cuts of pork or corned beef. The flavor of powdered bay is short-lived, but it’s handy for blending into mixtures for meat loaf, meatballs, pâtés.
The European bay leaves sold today in the United States come not from Europe but from near the Mediterranean coast of Turkey. Herbs and spices turn impotent with age, so it’s important to buy them from a store with high turnover, if possible one that specializes in them and understands quality. Otherwise, don’t buy ephemeral items like powdered bay. Store herbs and spices in closed containers and away from light and heat. ●
