By Tom Harte
"Watching watercress grow is rather boring," volunteered the rather Dickensian-looking agent at the railway station in the medieval town of Alresford in Britain's picturesque Hampshire region, the cradle of cricket, when I asked for a ticket to ride the steam train that in its heyday transported tons of the local watercress crop all the way to Covent Garden.
Technically, I suppose, he is right, but as I discovered on a recent visit to Alresford (the United Kingdom's capital of watercress, the quintessential British salad green and backbone of the sandwich which epitomizes English afternoon tea) watercress grows in the most idyllic of places: alongside rivers and streams which give rise to springs which provide the flowing water which is essential to the plant's growth. It is scenery that is decidedly not boring.
Moreover, I also discovered that although watching watercress grow is admittedly not always exciting, eating it almost always is.
The people of Alresford have long known this. That's why every year they put on a watercress festival complete with a watercress soup contest in which competitors bring flasks of their homemade versions in hopes of winning a golden ladle, a watercress king and queen who travel about in a horse-drawn cart handing out samples of the season's first crop, and the World Watercress Eating Championships. The reigning champ is Glen Walsh, who managed to down two bags of watercress in a mere 32 seconds back in 2013, a record which, according to Guinness, has held up ever since.
Though watercress has been an English tradition at high tea and even in school lunches for years and years, the truth is, relatively speaking, the Brits are newcomers to the plant. The ancients loved it, too.
For example, Artaxerxes, the fifth King of Persia, was gorging himself on the plant nearly 500 years before the birth of Christ. In fact, the ancient Persians often made a complete meal out of watercress. The Greek god Zeus supposedly ate it before battling Cronos. Perhaps that's why the Greek general Xenophon insisted his soldiers eat the plant. Legend has it that Hippocrates built his first hospital near a stream so he could insure an ample supply of the stuff for his patients.
Clearly, the ancients were interested in watercress mostly for its health benefits. The Romans actually thought it could cure baldness. Historically it has been used as a so-called blood cleanser and a sharpener of the intellect. In ancient Crete it was believed to be an aphrodisiac. These days it's even touted as a hangover cure.
The evidence for these claims, of course, is hardly conclusive, though it turns out that watercress is, indeed, something of a super food. It contains more vitamin C than oranges, more calcium than milk, and more iron than spinach. Brimming with 15 crucial vitamins and minerals, it is, in fact, the most nutrient-rich of vegetables, surpassing carrots, broccoli and tomatoes by a wide margin.
But watercress truly shines as a cooking ingredient. You can toss it into a salad, puree it into soup, make pesto out of it, stir fry it, throw it into an omelet, and class up a BLT by substituting it for the lettuce. And, of course, it makes a beautiful garnish. The pungent and peppery plant (its scientific name comes from the Latin for "nose twister") makes for a good "bite" no matter how you use it.
This recipe adapted from one provided by Great Britain's Watercress Alliance shows off just one of the many uses of watercress.
Cut chicken into bite-sized pieces and saute in 1 tablespoon of oil over medium heat until cooked through and golden. Add pumpkin seeds and cook until lightly toasted, about 2 minutes longer. Add onions and blueberries, mix well, and remove from heat. Combine remaining 2 tablespoons oil, lime zest and juice, Dijon mustard, and honey. Arrange watercress in a bowl and toss with dressing. Add chicken mixture and serve.
Tom Harte's book, "Stirring Words," is available at local bookstores. A Harte Appetite airs Tuesday at 7:31 a.m. and 5:18 p.m. on KRCU, 90.9 FM. Contact Tom at semissourian.com or at the Southeast Missourian, P.O. Box 699, Cape Girardeau, Mo., 63702-0699.
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