Cucumber Salad with Purslane

[underused]

As a kid, Common Purslane (portulaca oleracea) was a weed in our garden and nothing more. It was a few years ago I learned it was edible--which is a woeful understatement. Purslane is practically a super-food.


One cup provides almost a quarter of the daily recommended amount of vitamins A and C, loads of omega-3s, and a long list of other beneficial components. According to this website, it's also antibacterial and a febrifuge (which is a fancy way of saying people use it to reduce fever). And guess what? If you're not already growing it, it's probably free within walking distance.

Purslane is an annual plant happy in bad soil (and thrilled to get its roots into the good stuff). It tends to show up anywhere from sidewalk cracks to cultivated beds. It's nearly impossible to kill (which means in our garden, it's the most reliable crop).

This succulent has crisp, juicy leaves and a tangy flavour. It also has a hint of richness in its aftertaste that reminds me of butter or marrow. To prepare, pick plants before they flower. Wash and separate the leaves from the main stem. Add raw leaves to salads or sandwiches, or do a quick search to find other ideas on how to add this lovely little plant to your summer menu. Purslane is happy in the fridge in a closed container for a day or two and holds up well in salad leftovers.

Cucumber Salad with Purslane (serves 4)

2 English cucumbers
1 sweet yellow or orange pepper
1 - 1 1/2 c purslane leaves
2 generous tbsp finely chopped fresh basil (damn, I love fresh basil)

1/2 c olive oil
1/4 c vinegar
1 tbsp sugar
1 tsp dijon mustard
salt and pepper to taste

Fine-slice cucumbers and pepper using a hand-held slicer or mandoline. In a bowl, combine cucumber, pepper, purslane leaves, and 1 tbsp of chopped basil.

In a food processer, blend olive oil, vinegar, sugar, mustard, the remaining basil, and salt and pepper to taste. (These amounts are estimated, so adjust as you go.) Add as much dressing as makes sense for you.

FINAL NOTE: Don't confuse this plant with Hairy-Stemmed Spurge. There are notable differences!

Comments

[full_metal_ox]

Which reminds me that there's a patch growing at the entryway to my apartment complex that's escaped the notice of the landscaping crew--better grab it while the opportunity presents itself.

(You can also use purslane in place of okra, to thicken gumbo.)

[underused]

I was reading about that today--so interesting. I had no idea purslane had pectin. How are we not all using/eating way more of this stuff?!

You do a lot of foraging, yes? How did you get into it?

[full_metal_ox]

How are we not all using/eating way more of this stuff?!

I rather suspect that part of it has to do with marketing: a plant that temperate-zone white suburbanites struggle to uproot from their front lawns is difficult to exalt (and overprice) as the next Exotic Miracle Food from Otherlandia (current examples include quinoa, açaí, goji berries, coconut, and pink Himalayan salt; even collards and kale have, within the last century or so, been favored by people of color, at least in the U.S.) Should purslane find a place in the rotation of trendy Food Saints, you can bet that a second rule of health-food marketing will apply: ideal Nature™ comes in a nice neat white supplement vial--that stuff growing in your petunia bed is polluted or otherwise compromised.

You do a lot of foraging, yes? How did you get into it?

I do a lot of research, but I don't actively forage as much as I'd like, owing to mobility issues and a recent move into a more developed neighborhood--my previous residence bordered a schoolyard where I could find wild chives, violets, redbuds, mulberries, lambs-quarters, and purslane, and one of my default groceries had a naturalized apple tree on the ront lawn.

As for how I got into it--it seems to have been an early and automatic calling; there are kids who are picky eaters, and then you have the sort who have to put everything in their mouths. I remember returning from kindergarten recess reeking of wild chives, picking snails off the fence, and helping myself to the pulp of a cracked sea urchin I found on the beach (Jacques Cousteau mentioned having eaten them in The Silent World.) Every kid gets certain oft-repeated and pre-recorded lectures, and mine was the story of the son of a colleague of my father's who'd eaten yew berries and had to have his stomach pumped; this became an at-least-annual ritual. I will say in my defense that I confined myself to things I'd previously seen described as edible in books or on TV.

(My "How do you know you won't like it if you've never tried it?" conversations with my parents tended to flow parent-to-child.)

[underused]

HA. Your first paragraph made me chuckle. "Exotic Miracle Food from Otherlandia" sums it up very nicely.

You sound like you were a fun kid. I was never a picky eater, but I wasn't independently adventurous either. My mom was pretty great about that kind of stuff, though. She and my dad made with dandelion wine and she grew all our vegetables. She's gone now, but I know she'd have been thrilled at my decision to eat the garden weeds. ☺