China Bayles' Book of Days (29 page)

THE PERFECT MINT JULEP

Beyond the no-nutmeg dictum, there’s not much unanimity about how to make the perfect mint julep. The classic Kentucky version: dissolve one lump of sugar in a little water, and add two ounces of bourbon. Pour over shaved ice in a silver mug and stir. Push four sprigs of fresh mint down into the ice and add a short straw. On the other hand, there’s the “muddling” school, where the mint is crushed with a spoon in a spoonful of bourbon. And should the mint go in stems up or stems down? Must the ice be shaved, or does crushed ice do as well? Why is the straw short? Do you need a straw at all? What about that silver cup—wouldn’t it taste just as good in a glass?

And then there’s the recipe developed by an editor of the
Louisville Courier-Journal
, and quoted in Joe Nickell’s book,
The Kentucky Mint Julep
. It requires not just one but two glasses, but other than that, it’s simple:

Pour the bourbon into the first glass, and mix the mint, sugar and water in the second. Throw out the second and drink the first.

Read more about the mint, the bourbon, and the Great Horse Race:

The Kentucky Mint Julep
, by Joe Nickell

MAY 18

In some years, today is Hug Your Cat Day.

“I’ve always been curious about catnip,” Dottie said, watching the melee [cats tussling over a catnip mouse]. “What makes cats go crazy over it?”

“It’s genetic,” I replied. “Nearly all cats are attracted to the volatile oils in the bruised leaves—even the big cats, lions, tigers. But only about two-thirds have the gene that makes them go bananas.”

“Maybe I should grow some catnip,” she said. “Trouble is, the house cats will tear it up.”

“They will if you set out plants,” I said. “But they’ll probably ignore it if you grow it from seed.”

—HANGMAN’S ROOT: A CHINA BAYLES MYSTERY

Hangman’s Root
: About China’s Books Cats vs. Catnip, Round 1

When I settled down to write the third book in the China Bayles series, I already had a character in mind: Dottie Riddle, the Cat Lady of Pecan Springs, who corralled homeless cats in her backyard, thereby setting several nasty neighborhood plots in motion. (Dottie is based on someone I knew years ago: a wonderful woman who could never turn away a homeless kitty.) Where there are cats, there’s bound to be some catnip, so I chose that as the signature herb for the book.

It was a paragraph describing catnip in Michael Castleman’s book,
The Healing Herbs
, that gave me an important idea:

Colonists introduced catnip into North America... [They] believed catnip roots made even the kindest person mean. Hangmen used to consume the roots before executions to get in the right mood for their work.

As I thought about the implications of this, I suddenly knew the title of the book—
Hangman’s Root
—and my killer’s modus operandi. But more important, I began to understand that every herb has a story to tell, and that the plant’s story had the potential of shaping the mystery I wanted to write. It was an ah-ha moment, and from that time on, I began to use herbs in these mysteries in a new way: not just to add texture and interest to the narrative or even to give the mystery greater depth, but to help me find the real story, the story that’s hidden in the story of a particular plant.

Read more:

Hangman’s Root: A China Bayles Mystery
, by Susan Wittig Albert

The Healing Herbs: The Ultimate Guide to the Curative Power of Nature’s Medicines
, by Michael Castleman

MAY 19

The sight of a cat in this strange ecstasy over a bunch of Catnip always gives me a half-sense of fear; she becomes such a truly wild creature, such a miniature tiger.

—ALICE MORSE EARLE, OLD TIME GARDENS, 1901

Cats vs. Catnip, Round 2

Catnip (
Nepeta cataria
) is a perennial member of the mint family, cultivated for centuries for both culinary and medicinal use. In England, the fresh leaves were sprinkled on green salads and the dried herb, mixed with sage and thyme, was used as a seasoning rub for meats. Before China tea became available, people drank tea brewed from the catnip they grew in their gardens. Unlike stimulant teas, catnip tea has a calming effect and was used to induce sleep, quiet upset nerves, and soothe upset stomachs. It was also used to treat colds and flu, reduce fevers, and bring on menstruation—an all-round useful herb.

Now, we use catnip as an ornamental and bee plant, or grow it for our cats. The leaves contain a chemical called nepetalactone, which felines—the tiniest housecats and the largest lions—find irresistible. The chemical induces a harmless physiological reaction that seems to be psychosexual: that is, catnip has both a euphoric and an aphrodisiac effect. Susceptibility is genetic. Some cats just don’t get turned on, while others go . . . well, bananas. (Be especially careful if there are lions in the neighborhood.) When you grow catnip from seed, cats are oblivious to it; when you set transplants, you will inevitably bruise a leaf, releasing the volatile oil, and the cats will come running. Surround it with chicken wire and hope for the best.

CATNIP VS. MOSQUITOES

Researchers from the University of Iowa have reported that nepetalactone is ten times more effective at repelling mosquitoes than DEET, the synthetic chemical compound used in most insect repellents. You can make some for yourself.

CATNIP MOSQUITO REPELLENT

2 cups catnip, washed
2 cups almond oil

Bruise catnip and pack into a clean jar. Cover with oil, put a lid on the jar and set in a cool, dark place for two weeks. Shake jar lightly every day, and push herbs under the oil to avoid mold. Strain into a clean jar, seal and refrigerate for up to 8 months. To use, rub on exposed skin. (If your mosquitoes are especially ferocious, you can add other strong-smelling herbs, such as rosemary, pennyroyal, basil.)

May kittens never make big cats. May chicks never grow full size.

Many May bugs proclaim a warm summer.
—TRADITIONAL FARM LORE

MAY 20

About this time, the ancient Romans celebrated the Rosalia, or Festival of Roses, in honor of the goddess Flora.

Delia opened a box, took out a plastic bag, and opened it. “Have you ever smelled anything so sweet?” she asked with a smile, taking out a string of large black beads. “They’re rose beads. They’d make a lovely family heirloom.”

—“THE ROSEMARY CAPER,” IN AN UNTHYMELY DEATH

An Old-fashioned Treasure

In our grandmothers’ time, women were very fond of beautiful black beads made from fresh rose petals. They took a long time to make—two weeks or more—and involved a great deal of work. In her short story, “The Rosemary Caper,” China describes an easier way to make this old-fashioned herbal treasure, using a cast-iron pot or large skillet. The iron in the pot helps to blacken the beads. If you can find some rusty nails, add those.

ROSE BEADS

In a cast-iron cooking container, place a quart of fresh, finely minced red rose petals, a cup of water, a few drops of rose oil to enhance the scent, and rusty nails, if you have any. Simmer for one hour. Remove from heat, stir well with a wooden spoon, and let it stand overnight. The next day, repeat the simmering process, adding water if necessary, until the doughy mixture has turned very dark. Let it stand until it dries to a claylike consistency that can be easily molded. Wet your hands and roll into beads a little larger than a marble. (They will shrink about 50 percent as they dry.) Place on paper towels. When the beads are partly dry, thread a large needle with dental floss, string the beads, and hang them to dry, turning regularly so that they don’t stick to the floss. In a week, your rose beads are ready for their final stringing. Alternate them with smaller, pretty beads used as spacers. Add a clasp and store in an airtight container to preserve the scent. As you wear them against your skin, they will warm and give out a sweet fragrance.

A Bag to Smell Unto, or to Cause One to Sleep

Take drie Rose leaves, keep them close in a glass which will keep them sweet, then take powder of Mints, powder of cloves in a grosse powder. Put the same to the Rose leaves, then put all these together in a bag, and take that to bed with you, and it will cause you to sleepe, and it is good to smell unto at other times.

—RAM’S LITTLE DODOEN, 1606

Read more about old ways to use roses:

Rose Recipes from Olden Times
, by Eleanour Sinclair Rohde

MAY 21

Today, the Sun enters the sign of Gemini.

The third sign of the zodiac, the masculine sign Gemini (the Twins) is ruled by the quick and lively planet Mercury, the messenger of the gods. A mutable sign, fluid and changeable in its purposes, Gemini governs communications and intellectual matters. It is an air sign, suggesting that Gemini people are ingenious, quick-witted, and highly verbal. They may also be restless, easily bored and frustrated when things move slowly.

—RUBY WILCOX, “ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS”

Gemini Herbs

Mercury, patron of the art of medicine, was said to rule the respiratory and nervous systems; the ears and hearing; the tongue and speaking; the vocal cords, air passages, lungs, and thyroid, as well as the shoulders, arms, and hands. Plants ruled by Mercury under the sign of Gemini tend to have ferny or divided leaves. Some examples of Gemini herbs:

• Parsley contains high levels of chlorophyll and has been used since ancient times to sweeten the breath, as well as to improve digestion.

• Valerian is a nervine and a relaxant that helps to reduce tension and anxiety, relieve nervous stress, promote sleep, and ease tension-associated pain.

• Licorice has been universally used as a treatment for lung ailments and coughs. It contains glycyrrhetinic acid, a cough suppressant with antiallergenic, antibacterial, and antiviral properties.

• Dill is a nervine and a calmative. In Old Norse, its name means “to lull.”

• Other Gemini herbs: elecampane, fennel, flax, caraway. See also the herbs listed for Virgo and Aquarius, both of which are associated with the planet Mercury.

Read more about herbs and astrology:

Healing Herbs and Health Foods of the Zodiac
, by Ada Muir

There is no single herb without its corresponding star above that beats upon it and commands it to grow.

—MAIMONIDES, JEWISH PHILOSOPHER, 1135-1204

MAY 22

White coral bells upon a slender stalk,
lilies of the valley deck the garden walk.
Oh how I wish that I could hear them ring.
That can happen only when the fairies sing.
—TRADITIONAL

When the Brownies Sing

I learned this choral round in my Brownie troop, so of course we had our own special version of the last line: “That can happen only when the Brownies sing”—although a friend, years later, informed me that the “right” version belonged to the Campfire Girls.

Over the years, the fragrant spring-flowering lilies of the valley have inspired many poems and legends. In an English tale, St. Leonard went out into the Sussex countryside to battle a dragon, who turned out to be the devil in disguise. After a desperate battle, St. Leonard killed the dragon. Lilies of the valley sprang up from the saint’s blood, so that pilgrims to the site could trace the path of the battle. (You’ll also find this story in China’s mystery
Blood Root
, where lilies of the valley figure in the plot.)

Lily of the valley (
Convallaria majalis
) has long been a medicinal herb. An ointment made from the roots was used to treat burns and prevent scar tissue. More important, the plant had a significant reputation in the treatment of heart complaints, especially congestive heart failure. Modern herbalists recommend its careful use, although the herb’s powerful cardiac glycosides can be deadly in inexpert hands. In 1991, Ballantine recalled a cookbook because it suggested decorating a cake with lilies of the valley. (Corrected, the book won a James Beard award.)