Tincture

I've recently developed a passing obsession with making herbal tinctures. Not only are tinctures fun, delicious, and easy to create, but they can also be quite beneficial to the health when used appropriately. A tincture differs from a cordial and an infusion--- specifically, it is the result of soaking an herb in distilled alcohol of at least 80 proof. A cordial, meanwhile, is often sweetened and uses weaker alcohol as a base, and an infusion requires heat to extract the plant's healthful compounds (such as tea). 

Portrait of Ibn Sina.

A page from Sina's Canon. 

Cordials and infusions have been used for thousands of years, but tinctures date back only to the discovery of distillation. The credit of this discovery is given to a Persian man named Ibn Sina , one of the most important thinkers and writers of the Islamic Golden Age (often called the "Father of Medicine"). In The Canon of Medicine, published in 1025, Sina wrote recipes for medicines that we would now call tinctures. It wasn't until the 15th century that distilling became a widespread practice, bringing tincture-making with it. For several hundred years, until the invention of pills, tinctures were the gold standard in oral medicine. Even into the early 20th century, this form of treatment was ubiquitous.

My favorite brand.

The uses of a particular tincture depend upon what herb or herbs were involved in its creation. There are thousands upon thousands of botanicals known or believed to have medicinal applications, and many of them can be prescribed in tincture form. One traditional concoction that I myself find especially helpful is Swedish Bitters, a powerful combination of 14 different herbs that help to stimulate the production of digestive enzymes. I take a couple of teaspoons before eating, or sometimes I add a little to hot ginger tea. I find it delicious, but my tolerance for the bitter taste is relatively high. Swedish Bitters includes: manna, angelica, zedoary, aloe, rhubarb, senna, myrrh, carline thistle, camphor, black snakeroot, valerian, cinnamon, cardamom, and saffron. The tinctures I have made so far were not chosen strategically in terms of their medicinal uses; rather, I was simply interested in how each might taste. For my edification and yours, however, I investigate their practical applications below.

My first effort was a rose petal tincture. One needs quite a bit of herb for this purpose, otherwise the results will be weak. The bottle used should be at least half full of herb before the alcohol is added. Vodka is best, being clear and relatively tasteless. The jar is then filled to the top with alcohol, corked, and set in a dark place for about 6 weeks. It is best to gently shake the bottle every so often to make sure all air bubbles become dislodged and the saturation is complete. Botanical.com gives a good overview of many different herbs and their uses. It says rose strengthens the liver and stomach, prevents cough and vomiting, and calms the nerves. It has also long been thought to treat heart conditions (because of or resulting in the connection with romance?), but this appears to be more of a treatment for the "emotional heart" than anything else. Not that symbolism isn't powerful in its own right, of course.

Victorian rose wallpaper.

The second tincture I bottled was an outgrowth of my obsession with galangal, which I purchased in bulk from Mountain Rose Herbs for the purpose of flavoring kombucha. If you have never tried this wonderful rhizome, you simply must. It is like ginger but... sharper and somehow more earthy. My galangal tincture turned out to be nothing short of mind-blowing--- I must admit that I've not used it medicinally at all, since it makes one doozy of an awesome cocktail! (Best ever low-ish carb tropical cocktail: 1 oz of galangal tincture + 4 oz all-natural coconut water, served very cold. Yow!) The health benefits of galangal, which is closely related to both ginger and turmeric, include: stimulating (aids in blood flow), powerful digestive, gas reliever, treatment for nausea/vomiting/fever, and helps with muscle recovery after a strenuous physical task. You also may be interested to know that the famous 12th-century nun Hildegard of Bingen, who was not only a composer and writer and artist but also a scientist/botanist/healer, extolled the virtues of galangal; she believed it to be a cure for pretty much every ailment.

Hildegard of Bingen stained glass window.

My most recent tincture is a preparation of wormwood, which I have not yet tasted. Wormwood is said to be the second most bitter herb known to man, though I have my doubts because the strong tea I make with it is not bitter to the point of intolerance. I often crave the bitter taste, which makes sense considering my weak digestion--- bitterness is said to stimulate digestive bile and the production of enzymes. Wormwood is said to be "excellent for all disorders of the stomach, creating an appetite, promoting digestion and preventing sickness after meals." It is the basis of absinthe, which, when taken medicinally, is supposed to tone the nerves and clear the mind. When taken in excess, however, it can produce giddiness, convulsions, and (some say) hallucinations.

L'Absinthe, 1901, Pablo Picasso. One of his many depictions of this subject. 

There are many more tinctures I'd love to experiment with, whether for medicinal purposes or for use in cocktails. Among them: turmeric, Tellicherry pepper, hibiscus, cardamom, anise, ginger, and chamomile. The extent of my obsession probably depends on availability of pretty bottles and supplies of particular herbs/spices. It isn't the cheapest of hobbies, but it is lots of fun and produces a useful product.

Rhizome

(With a recipe for turmeric sauce)

Bamboo rhizome

"In botany and dendrology, a rhizome (from Ancient Greek: rhízōma "mass of roots") is a modified subterranean stem of a plant that is usually found underground, often sending out roots and shoots from its nodes. Rhizomes are also called creeping rootstalks and rootstocks. Rhizomes develop from axillary buds and are diageotropic or grow perpendicular to the force of gravity. The rhizome also retains the ability to allow new shoots to grow upwards." --- From Wikipedia

I painted ginger.

I have always liked the word. The beginning reminds me of my sister's name, "Rhiannon." R with a silent H following just feels good on the tongue; sort of soft and velvety, but dry. Think about a root--- this part of any plant is crucial, yet usually goes unseen. I like to imagine the world of roots just below the surface, in the cool dark earth, inhabited by worms and bugs and other quiet crawling creatures. Roots in general are metaphorically powerful, and I use them often in my work. Rhizomes hold a particular fascination because, although they appear to be separate plants above ground, they come from one root underneath. Their structural connectedness has appealed to many, including a certain philosopher-duo whose ridiculously dense writings I attempted to choke down during grad school. Most of that came right back up again, unfortunately. But I think we can agree on this: rhizomes are neat. As I was researching them, I realized that many of these plants hold specific meanings or memories for me. A coincidence, yes, but one that brings a sense of satisfaction.

Turmeric sauce!

Ginger and turmeric, two edible rhizomes from the family zingiberaceae that originate in/near India, have long been my dear friends in the kitchen. I might even say they are my favorite spices, except saying that makes me think of all the other ones I couldn't live without. To me, the taste of ginger goes with everything. Both it and turmeric are extremely useful medicinally, being fabulous anti-inflammatories. Mom used to employ ginger poultices to ease the pain caused by her rheumatoid (another "RH"!) arthritis. I eat ginger in many guises: ginger tea, ginger kombucha, ginger pickles, raw ginger on salad, ginger nut sauce, ginger ice cream, ginger cocktails... I could go on. One of my favorite ways to use turmeric is in a very simple dipping sauce: mix three tablespoons turmeric powder with enough vinegar to make a gloppy consistency, and use it to dip raw or pickled vegetables (I love pickled beets with this). A little bitter, a lot sour, quite pungent, and oh so brightly colored! The list of health benefits attributed to these roots, especially turmeric, is extensive.

Did you know that rhubarb (RH!) is a rhizome? We always had it growing in front of the house back home in Wisconsin. It grew like a mutant, so fast and so tall that we could never use all of it. Rhiannon and I sometimes plucked the largest leaves to serve as umbrellas in the rain. It was that big! We enjoyed munching it plain, but occasionally Mom let us dip it in rice syrup for a special treat. Grandma always grew it, too, and made the best strawberry-rhubarb jam you ever tasted in your life.

Home... summertime. See the rhubarb growing in front?

Ferns and hops are rhizomes, too. If you look carefully, you can see the hops vines in the photo above; on the far right, climbing the poles. That also grew great guns. I don't know what it was in the soil--- things grew at home like they didn't anywhere else. If we had an upset stomach, Dad told us to drink hops tea. We didn't like it at the time! But it helps with nausea. I really wish I had some of those hops flowers now, because I want to try making hops kombucha. Ferns grew in the forest all over our 20-acre property. The fiddlehead variety were delicious to eat in early spring. I remember having them sauteed in goose fat. YUM.

From the "Flower Fairies" books.

Lilies of the valley and irises are rhizomatous. These flowers always make me think of Mom; she grew them in our front garden. Lilies of the valley were an especial favorite of hers. I remember Dad once bought her a bar of soap with this scent, and she saved it for a long time--- letting us sniff it, but not wash our hands with it. There was a beautiful drawing of flowers on the box. Do you know Cicely Mary Barker's Flower Fairy books? They were beloved in our house. I still can recall a few of those poems. Lily-of-the-Valley flower fairy was Mom, of course.

Two more I want to mention before I bring this to an end are "quack" grass and poplar trees. Quack grass is a true nuisance when you are trying to grow vegetables or tend a flower garden; it spreads like nobody's business! You weed one day, and the next--- there it is again. I think you might be able to observe its growth without the aid of time-lapse photography, it's that aggressive. When we used to help Mom weed the garden as kids, she taught us how to really get the quack grass out: you have to pull carefully so that the stiff ropey rhizomes don't just break off... you have to get down to the bottom of it and follow its trailing creepers all the way. Sometimes we were lazy weeders. "Did you make sure to pull the whole thing out?" Mom asked. "Yeah," we lied, knowing we'd just removed the visible portion. Poor Mom! But here's something wonderful about quack: rabbits love it. It was my job to feed the rabbits, and I liked to pick big juicy handfuls of quack for them during the summer. You have to be careful; that grass can cut like fresh paper if you handle it wrong. Imagine, this beautiful grass covered in rainbow dew... and hands after gathering it, cold and stained bright green.

Populus is a genus of tree that includes such species as aspen and poplar. Utah's Pando colony is a cluster of aspens all sharing one root structure and genetic makeup, thought to be some 80,000 years old. Myer has seen it; I would love to some day as well. Poplars hold a special place in my heart. I used to be friends with a particular one back home in Wisconsin, near our place on Spruce Road. I liked to go out all by myself, climb to the top of the tree, and wrap my arms around its trunk. Then I would put my ear tight against the smooth, white skin... and listen. The sound of the wind rushing through the leaves, as channeled from the trunk straight into my head, was one of my secret joys. I pictured falling water and imagined myself flying above the earth. I was always sad when it was time to leave. I wonder... when was the very last time I climbed that tree? I'm glad I didn't know it was the last.

A grove of white poplar trees.