Mint, the Untamable

A couple of weeks ago, I picked some peppermint sprigs to add to new peas. To keep them fresh on such a hot August day, I stuck the rest in a glass of water. I used all but two of the sprigs in the peas and set them, still in their glass, behind the kitchen sink next to the window, where I could enjoy their dark-green leaves. Every few days I added water to the glass, but otherwise I paid it little attention.

This morning, when I filled the glass again, the sprigs were flowering. They’d grown a foot. And sprouted six inches of roots.

Mint plants are like people who wake up with chirrups and burbles, who whistle while they scrub pots and pans, who shake your hand till you wince. Too much of a good thing.

I once brought home a sprig of blue mint. I planted it by the golden sage in an out-of-the-way corner. Sage is a member of the mint family and I thought the mix of blues, greens and golds would be gorgeous. It was . . . for a time. Then the aristocratic mint got bored and wanted our main bed for its playground. Twelve years later, I’m still pulling up long blue branches that pierce the air with their mintiness, and I’m cursing myself for my naivete.

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I’ve found the only way to level the playing field with mint is to make it difficult for the plant to grow. Give mint what it wants--rich, moist, well-drained soil in partial shade--and you’re finished. What I’ve done is put mint in full sun in a few inches of gravely soil over a boulder! It prospers and sends out runners that I pinch off and bring indoors for a bouquet.

You probably don’t garden over boulders, but you can certainly create a shallow bed far far away from other plants. Just be aware that whatever you line the patch with--brick, sheet metal, even concrete--mint will break through it. I’ve known mint to grow through my mother-in-law’s garage wall. And don’t believe anyone who says you can safely confine it in a big pot or a long flue tile sunk in the ground. The roots head for Mother Earth through the drainage hole on the bottom, and they’re off and running. We’re talking survival here.

The surest way to contain mint is in a container. The bigger the better; a half-barrel is not too large. Just be sure that whatever’s immediately underneath it isn’t soil.

Another way to dampen mint’s ardor is to harvest often. Although the delicate whorls of purple, pink, or creamy flowers are also edible, the leaves will be more tender and flavorful if you keep the plant from flowering.

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Mint is as ardent about adding new members to the family tree as it is about reproducing itself. It cross-pollinates with glee. Although there are hundreds of mints in the world, only a handful are true mints, mints that you can reproduce from seed, and only a few of these are for cooking. Our old friend spearmint is the only familiar mint that breeds true.

Other true mints are less familiar, though no less appealing. Apple mint and pineapple mint have fuzzy pebbled leaves. Both hint at fruitiness, and pineapple is one of the loveliest of mints, marbled green, white and cream. The baby’s-tears leaves of Corsican mint don’t hint--their creme de menthe aroma is powerfully assertive. Field mint is spearmint-y, and its cultivar, Japanese mint, is an important source of menthol in Japan. The pungent flavor of horsemint turns up in many mint crosses--it’s a prolific parent. Water mint isn’t watery but biting, as is its cultivar, crispy curly mint.

The progeny of these true mints offer not only heavenly flavors for the kitchen but charming plants for the garden. For example, citrusy leaves of orange bergamot mint are edged in Chinese red. Blue balsam mint is purplish. So-called black stem peppermint actually has stems of chocolate-red.

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Speaking of chocolate, I was doubtful when I ordered chocolate mint, but it really does taste like the small, creamy blocks of chocolate known as Russian mints. Crinkled-leaf lemon bergamot mint is a delicious blend of lemon and mint. Ginger mint is spicy, grapefruit mint is indeed grapefruit-y.

And this merely scratches the surface of cross-pollinated mints. Curiosity about these blends can get the better of you, and suddenly you’re a collector.

Still, most cooks know only the mint that’s sold at the market. When it’s unlabeled, it’s either peppermint or spearmint. Both have deep-green oval leaves with pointed tips, pinked around the edges and etched with veins.

It’s peppermint if the leaves are on 1/4-inch-long stems; spearmint leaves hug the stalk. And once you’ve seen how rumpled spearmint’s leaves are next to smooth peppermint’s, you’ll always know which is which. Peppermint’s leaves are thin and peppery, spearmint’s deep and rich. Kentucky Colonel is considered the finest spearmint variety.

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Mint’s assertive qualities must also be tempered in the kitchen. Taste as you add leaves--it’s easy to miss the balance point, and suddenly you’ll taste mint before the food it’s meant to grace.

Mint is for all the year. Spring peas and carrots and roasts of lamb must have mint. Summer fruit cups must have mint. Autumn evenings want a sweet finish of something chocolate with mint. And when it’s miserable in winter, fresh mint tea makes everything better.

When I’m sipping it, I know that tea is the highest and best use of mint leaves. In my rare blue funks, I manage to get down to the peppermint patch and break off a couple of long sprigs.

Then I wobble back to the kitchen and put on the kettle. I pull some leaves off the stalks and tear a few into bits in my tea mug, the way you’re supposed to, to release the oils, but I always stuff the rest of the sprigs in whole. I pour in boiling water and put on a lid that doesn’t match (this is an important part of the ritual). After the tea steeps for a few minutes, I stir in brown sugar crystals and bring the mug to my desk. I close my eyes and sip. The bracing green-gold sweetness always comforts me.

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Tea is subtlest from fresh leaves, and I can always find a handful, even under snow. But if you have none fresh on hand, dried mint reconstitutes handsomely. To dry it, hang stalks in a cool, dark dry place for a week until the leaves are brittle. Strip leaves from the stalks as whole as possible and pack them in jars. Keep in a cool, dark, dry cupboard.

Returning to our rooted peppermint in the glass of water: If I didn’t have a mort of mint in the garden, I’d pot up the sprigs. Peppermint is fine for growing in a sunny window. Most other mints go dormant in winter and look raggedy, but the peppermints hold up in a container.

You can root market peppermint now or send for a plant. Grow it in a small pot until it fills out, then set it in a six- to eight-inch pot in your sunniest window. On fine days, put the dear out for a breath of fresh air. In summer, plant it, or keep it potted.

Well, maybe there can never be too much of a good thing.

Sources:

Fresh peppermint or spearmint from many markets.

Plants: The Sandy Mush Herb Nursery, 316 Surrett Cove Road, Leicester, N.C. 28748-9622, and Companion Plants, 7247 N. Coolville Ridge, Athens, Ohio 45701, have extensive mint collections, each offering cultivars the other doesn’t.

Water, Japanese field and horsemint are at Companion Plants; the rest of the mints mentioned are available from both.

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Fresh mint jelly is honey-colored and extraordinary. A hint of sweet basil -- mint’s cousin -- gives extra warmth and snap. Don’t rinse the leaves unless they’re gritty. I like the clean, bright taste of spearmint for this jelly, but any mint lends a lively, unique flavor.

Fresh mint jelly is honey-colored and extraordinary. A hint of sweet basil -- mint’s cousin -- gives extra warmth and snap. Don’t rinse the leaves unless they’re gritty. I like the clean, bright taste of spearmint for this jelly, but any mint lends a lively, unique flavor.

REAL MINT JELLY

2 cups packed mint leaves and stems, preferably spearmint

12 small sprigs basil

3 1/3 cups boiling water

1 (1 3/4-ounce) package powdered fruit pectin

4 cups sugar

3 perfect mint leaves

With pestle or back of wooden spoon, rub mint and basil in mortar or bowl until leaves are crushed and juices flow. Pour over boiling water, cover and cool.

Add mixture to food processor and whirl until finely pureed. Return to bowl and steep overnight. Strain, pressing every drop from leaves. Pass juice through damp cloth. Do not press or wring. Add water to make 3 cups juice.

Cover 3 (12-ounce) canning jars, rings and new lids with boiling water. Keep hot.

Combine mint tea and pectin in large kettle. Bring to boil over high heat, stirring constantly. Blend in sugar and stir until mixture comes to rolling boil that can’t be stirred down. Stop stirring and boil hard 2 minutes. Remove from heat and skim off foam.

Meanwhile, empty jars and place 1 leaf in each.

When jelly is ready, immediately pour into jars, leaving 1/4-inch head space. Wipe rims, set on lids and screw caps on tightly.

Set jars in kettle and cover with hot water by 1 inch. Cover, bring to boil and boil 5 minutes (add 1 minute for every 1,000 feet above sea level).

Lift out jars and set away from drafts to cool undisturbed overnight. Next morning, check seals. Center of each lid should not wobble when pressed. If it does, replace lid with new lid and boil jar as before. Store in cool, dry place. Makes 3 (12-ounce) jars.

Each 1-tablespoon serving contains about:

97 calories; 4 mg sodium; 0 cholesterol; 0 fat; 25 grams carbohydrates; 0 protein; 0.31 gram fiber.