Notes on Nettles

Things that sting do not usually appear on the dinner menu – an ill-prepared dish can be painful enough. Yet when on a bucolic walk amidst England’s pleasant pastures green, do not run when you come across two of nature’s most delightful stinging organisms: bees and nettles. The former are not usually known to be a bother and the delicious nectar they produce, known as honey, more than compensates for the odd sting from an irate bee. Stinging nettles, however, have a more tarnished reputation. After an intimate encounter with the hairy stalk of a nettle bush, the fierce burning rash they leave behind is unpleasant enough to have enriched our vocabulary with such words as ‘nettlesome’. Indeed even Shakespeare used nettles to allude to danger in Henry IV. Is this weed of ill repute suffering from unwarranted hostility? Can nettles be elevated to their rightful position in the culinary order, in company with the honeybee as a stinging thing with wondrous health benefits and a delicious foodstuff?

Like the honeybee, nettles produce select parts suitable for cooking. One does not eat the bee itself. Similarly, the stinging stalk of the nettle is not eaten, at least in great quantities. This is not because of its sting, which is rendered impotent when cooked, but because of its rough, chewy, stalky texture. A bit of stalk, preferably the top bits close to the leaves, is acceptable, but the leaves themselves are what we are after. What, you ask, does nettle taste of? I cannot think of any analogy other than some combination of spinach and Swiss chard. Rich in iron, it has a characteristic bitterness with a green brambly quality – you almost taste the greenery above the forest floor. There is a roughness, a paysanne quality to the nettle. If eaten alone, it is best to simple steam or boil the leaves (being careful to use gloves when depositing them in the pot to avoid any risk of stings), draining, and then adding a small knob of butter, a pinch of salt, and a hint of nutmeg to cut its wild flavour. Nettles can also be roasted with a drizzling of olive oil and salt, much the way this is done with kale leaves.

More famously, nettles are found in soup. In Sweden, such a soup is a springtime delicacy. Many English recipes, I quite enjoy one from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall in the River Cottage Cookbook, involve blending the nettle soup into a green puree served chilled. This is a delightful late-summer soup, but unfortunately nettles are not so delicious in late summer, having already flowered and becoming unpalatably bitter. In the spring, when at their edible best, the weather can be erratic and a soup is an excellent way to tame those chillier days. I prefer a more rustic nettle soup, one that is chunky and brambly, much like the plant itself. In this soup recipe I leave things as ‘whole’ as possible. Crème fraiche is still a lovely accompaniment upon serving, adding a touch of elegance to a bold soup. Best of all, nettles are full of vitamins and minerals, as well as famous for their medicinal properties. Perhaps an ideal closure to the evening meal would be a tea with a ‘sting’ – dried nettle tea with a dollop of honey!

A Rustic Nettle Soup

This soup uses the classic French Mirepoix base of onions, carrots, and celery. A chicken or vegetable stock can be added for extra flavour if desired.

Olive oil
Carrots- 2 per person
Celery – 2 per person
Onion – 2 per person
Potatoes – cubed and quartered, 2-3 per person depending on the size (I like Valor potatoes in this soup)
Water or Stock – approx ½ litre per person
Nettles – 150g-200g per person, roughly chopped, the tough bits of stalk discarded (use caution and some impervious gloves when doing this)
Crème fraiche (optional)
Wild garlic, chopped (optional)
Bay leaf
Salt and Pepper to taste.

Chop the celery, carrots, and onions finely, but still leaving a bit of rustic roughness. Place this mixture in a large stockpot with some olive oil and sauté until the veg begin to give a bit.

Add the potatoes, water or stock and let this brew for a minute or two. Then place the chopped nettles into the swirling soup. Add salt as necessary, but add slowly and judiciously – an over-salted soup is unpalatable Let this percolate for about 20-30 minutes, allowing the potatoes to soften and the ingredients to have a soiree of full release.

When deemed finished, pour into bowls, add a dollop of crème fraiche and some chopped chives/wild garlic. Savour and let those vitamins work their way deep into your system. As with many soups, nettle soup is delicious with a glass of sherry – Fino will do just fine for such a rustic dish.