After audio-booking Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food some months back, I've unsurprisingly been plotting to start a garden of the edible variety. There was much talk of this without any action, as it goes. Earlier this month I found the happy option of fresh basil plant for just a dollar more than the suffocated leaves that usually go bad within the week, likely well after I've remembered to buy pine nuts for a pesto. The plant wrappings seemed to imply that the plant was not long for the world, only that my basil would be fresh upon cutting, eventually leaving a naked stalk to be thrown out and replaced by yet another three dollar plant. Rebel that I am, I replanted the little fellow after finding it replenishing itself merrily with kitchen window sunlight and forgetful dribbles of water. Here's the little guy now:
He's kept his handsome figure but has been sprouting from the bottom ever since he got a fresh load of nutrients from below. Being my first plant in the garden, modest yet enduring, I felt a little guilty bringing home the monster bouquet of basil I impulsively bought while grocery shopping.
Having read that basil flowers can detract from the bright flavors of its leaves, I turned back to the internets to see if I should cut these pretty little things off. Turns out, they're more of an indicator of when to throw an arugula feast. In fact, they pack some edible heat themselves with a kick of spice not unlike radishes (TIL: radishes are spicy-ish). I plan on mutilating the plant tonight for a salad and will report back with flower munching results.
Once I transferred the new additions, the intimidation level dropped. Unleashed, the basil looked like it was plucked from a sprawling Victorian garden with its leafy tentacles reaching outwards instead of upwards. The arugula seeds filled the vacant pots with specks and promises. Here I've provided a group mugshot for later comparison.
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