A chunk of this post is for paid subscribers only, but unless something very unexpected happens to stop me, there will be another for everyone this Saturday involving slow cooked lamb and hopefully trifle too….
I find I have written a bit of a bay leaf appreciation piece so forgive me if they aren’t your thing. It only occurs to me to say this because it seems they have become quite a controversial ingredient. Perhaps by people desperately wanting to create clickbaity new content and conflict with it, but regardless of the whys it is still happening.
“Are bay leaves a scam?” I see this every few months. Someone on the socials has yet another pop. The most famous one was in The Awl and called The Vast Bay Leaf Conspiracy (sadly, I can’t currently find a safe link to this). It was referenced by everyone from The Daily Mail, who took it way too seriously, to Jonathan Nunn, who thankfully didn’t (I imagine a fair few of you know JN from Vittles and for selling tea at the lovely Postcard Teas, both I highly recommend you check out if not). The complaints crop up regularly, accusing bay of being a pointless addition to our food because of lack of flavour (see below), or perversely, because they taste horrible or because they are a choking hazard. Bay leaves are unpleasantly scratchy and bitter if you try to eat them. My dad found this out once, when he tried to chomp his way through a bouquet garni at a dinner party because he didn’t realise. But they are not for eating! Their purpose is to transfer flavour and aroma to the things you do eat.
And regarding lack of flavour - the leaves are probably old, or stored inappropriately, probably on a spice rack or a sunny shelf (NEVER leave your dried herbs and spices in a spice rack or worse, a sunny shelf) so they smell of nothing but dust and add nothing to your food but a stale whiff of disappointment. The arguments are all very tedious.
I love them, finding them useful in their versatility. I love a herb that is equally at home in savoury and sweet dishes, which is why today I give you both.
There is an argument that bay leaves improve on drying. I am afraid I usually use fresh as I pick whenever needed from the unruly tree which is taking over the bottom of my garden. I always forget to bring some in to dry. But I like the fresh lift of a fresh leaf and really only use dried if I need to crumble them up in marinades (eg., for making confit duck). They are glossy and fragrant with a unique aroma and flavour which is quite hard to pin down. I am sitting here sniffing at a freshly cut leaf I have bruised along its spine and get a hit of resinous pine, florally citrus (even more of this from the blossom - my tree is currently in flower) as well as Coca Cola, clove, allspice – very Angustora bitters but sweeter and mellower. It is a Mediterranean herb, but hardy here and inextricably linked with British cuisine. And I guess unsurprisingly considering all the aromas I list above, it is an essential component of Caribbean food for me too.
Not far from where I lived in Dominica, a whole industry exists, attached to the farming of bay leaves, mainly extracting a very pure aviation quality oil for exporting but also used locally, to make Bay Rum aftershave and other toiletries. Bay grows well in Dominica - it was apparently the first crop to recover well post Hurricane Maria in 2017 - and there is more than one variety, with the most prolific being larger leafed than we are used to with a stronger aroma, with hints of anise, but still recognisably bay. So I used them in the same way. In Dominica (and all over the Caribbean), outdoor grills and barbecues are often scented with allspice wood to which bay is often added. So I have come to associate the two and use them together in my cooking a lot. I can’t get allspice twigs here, but if I put branches of bay and allspice berries on my barbecue it is enough to trigger the memory of the real thing.
Pot Roast Chicken with Bay
I had a bit of a revelation with the pot roast chicken when I cooked this last week. I seared it as usual, but then accidentally left it breast side down in the cooker and found that actually the breast meat and skin fared much better that way – the skin became much less flabby and more parchment thin. Of course, you can always brown it afterwards again too, in a frying pan, under a grill or with an air fryer lid.
You can add potatoes and other vegetables to the pot too. In this instance, I prefer to cook them separately so not everything is infused with the same flavour as the chicken. I would serve this with new potatoes, steamed, smashed and smothered in butter and perhaps some steamed asparagus. If you haven’t before, steam your asparagus in the pressure cooker - zero minutes, fast release is usually enough.
Ingredients:
For the chicken:
1 chicken, untrussed (1.2-1.8kg)
1tbsp olive oil
2 bay leaves, cracked along the spine
2 garlic cloves, bruised
A piece of pared lemon zest
For the pot:
1 onion, sliced
4 bay leaves, cracked along the spine
6 garlic cloves, bruised
1 tsp allspice berries, lightly crushed
100ml white wine or vermouth
A squeeze of lemon juice
1 tsp red wine vinegar
1 tsp Dijon mustard
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Catherine is under pressure to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.