Nettles

There’s a low bank at the top edge of my local park where the nettles grow. Obviously, nettles grow all over the place but this is my patch. It’s where the dog walkers and the runners give me strange looks as I pick out the best of the fresh growing tips. Marigolds on my hands and my brow slightly furrowed. 

I find nettle picking very comforting; it really is the freest of the free foods. It’s everywhere and yet it’s not really loved the way it ought to be. No one is going to tell me off for stripping a bank of nettles, no one is going to try and flog me bags of nettles at £15 a kilo. 

Nettles run through our childhoods in a pretty unique way: they’re some of your earliest memories, of tears, of learning to look for dock leaves nearby, and of trying to soothe the sting from your unfortunately exposed thigh. Later on, they’re a foil for demonstrations of our bravery as we grab their leaves, betting that we can grip hard enough to avoid being stung. 

The flavour of nettles is characteristic of what we’d call green leaf volatiles (GLVs) - a punchy, almost peppery greeness. We know it from tearing salad leaves, spinach and celery; it’s the common thread that binds the greens we eat. It is in fact the plants’ response to damage - a mixture of aldehydes, esters and 6-carbon alcohols that signal to the world the plants’ injury. Were we petty enough, we might take a small satisfaction in that we’re enjoying the tears of a plant that has provoked so many. 

The closest analogue to GLVs in wine is probably stalkiness from whole bunch fermentation in red wines. While it doesn’t present quite the same intensity of green it’s certainly in the same arena. I often find whole bunch wines express a light herbaceous perfume, like broken green twigs or the scent of a hedgerow coming into flower. 

A less obvious greenishness is the phenolic edge that a slightly harder pressing or a short while on skins contributes to white wines. It acts like a twist of lemon in a cocktail or a dash of vinegar to a sauce, providing an almost imperceptible correction to a richness and a touch of lift to palate weight. 

So how does this help us with nettles? Well, nettles, while best known in soups are much more interesting as a flavouring. They make a great stuffing for rolled joints of meat - lamb in particular. The lanolin and rosemary animalic edge to its fat is well in tune with the iron edged grassiness of the nettles. Handily our nettle-stuffed and rolled shoulder of lamb will absolutely sing with the clay bolstered herbs and dusty red fruit of the better end of Corbieres. Their traditional whole bunch sandwiching of Carignan and Grenache adds a welcome Languedocienne warmth to the table. 

Another great use for nettles is combined with ricotta in a tortellini filling; its deep vegetal bite and slight tang is set off wonderfully by the supine creaminess of the soft cheese. Working on the assumption that there’s a buttery sauce as well, we’re firmly in the land of Northern Italian whites. Cortese or Arneis would be great here: delicate but fresh and with enough character to reflect the character of the nettles. If we’re celebrating, a bottle of Pieropan’s La Rocca or another top Soave would add a definite element of luxury to what’s basically cheesy park fence pasta, and who wouldn’t want that. 

Beyaz Peynir and Nettle Borek

Those who know me will be well aware of my love for Turkey and her foods. Borek is the classic Turkic layered yufka pastry. Probably born on a steppe somewhere, it has since spread far and wide; at its root a simple cheese and green leaf (parsley and spinach are traditional) pastry parcel cooked on a hot stone over an open fire by nomadic herders. Given its origins with foraged greens, I feel that making it with nettles is very much in the spirit of its birth. 

One packet of yufka pastry (your local Turkish shop should be able to sort you out here), however filo pastry will work just as well. 

Big handful of nettles, washed (make sure they’re very well washed), blanched and chopped.

A tin of beyaz peynir, the soft white almost feta like Turkish (tins of Bulgarian white cheese are the same stuff) cheese. 

Quite a lot of melted butter. 

Salt and pepper

Mix your cheese and chopped nettles then season (cautiously). You’re aiming for a balance of the two, not too heavy on the cheese but not so little that it feels like mostly nettle.  

Lay your yufka sheets out into a long row and brush well with melted butter, and lay down a line of the nettle and cheese filling.

Carefully roll up the yufka until you have a long stick of filled pastry. Give it another butter brushing, then roll your borek into a spiral, give a last light celebratory butter brushing and bake for 25-30 minutes, until it’s golden brown.