Sea Blite Sea blite, Suaeda maritima, is a spreading, vining plant, with soft leaves the size and shape of spruce needles. This plant never grows more than one foot high, and usually doesn’t make it up to that point before sprawling over the sand and beach gravel, prostrate. Sea blite is what I refer to as a “beach nibble,” or a plant that is excellent when eaten raw, either alone or in a salad. Some cooks prefer their sea blite cooked, and for that, it should be rinsed and chopped. Steam, or boil in a small amount of water. Sea blite fully cooks in less than 10 minutes. Look for sea blite along and even below, the high-tide line.
The next plant has a long history with coastal residents. Goose tongue, Plantago juncoides, grows along and below the high-water mark. Old-time coastal residents called this stuff “shore greens,” because it is a fine cooking green, and grows along the seashore. Goosetongue has long, fluted leaves that look very much like a goose’s tongue, thus the common name. The seed stalks are similar to those of the common plantain that grows in every dooryard. But it is the fleshy, salt-tinged leaves that we use in cooking. Steaming or boiling until the leaves are well wilted turns this unassuming plant into a culinary treat. Drain the leaves, and serve with butter, salt and pepper and if you like, a dash of apple cider vinegar. I make annual pilgrimages to the sea in search of goosetongue to eat fresh, and to put up in my freezer for winter use. Here’s a note on picking goose tongue, which applies to other plants as well. Don’t pull the plant up by the roots. Instead, pinch, snip or break the leaves. This does not harm the plant, and in time it will send out new growth.
Look for orache, Atriplex patula, above the high-tide line, in the transition zone between land and sea. This eminently edible plant belongs in the goosefoot family, the same as some other fine, wildlings. Orache looks something like lamb’s quarters, with a few subtle differences. Orache leaves are halberd-shaped, looking like an arrowhead with deep serrations around the edges. The bottom of the leaves has a reddish tint, which becomes visible when ocean breezes cause the leaves to twist and tremble. Orache is a fine potherb, and when steamed or boiled in a slight amount of water, rivals the finest domestic greens. I often visit the shore just to pick a shopping bag full of orache. While orache is at its absolute best in late spring, it is edible all season long. Late in the year, just make sure to pick the tender tips and leave the thicker stems. As with other spinach-type potherbs, orache freezes well, keeping its quality up to a year in the freezer. June Berries
Maritime Peas I knew that beach peas, Lathyrs japonicus, used to grow on the top of the sand spit, and after having my fill of glasswort, I began my search for the familiar vines and opposite leaves that stand up, the back of each leaf coming close to touching its twin. Beach peas look something like domestic peas, and when picked at the peak of perfection, taste as sweet or sweeter. Unfortunately for me, I was a little too late and most of the peas had gone by. After the pods turn yellow and become hard, the peas are not good for much except as ammunition for a peashooter. Finding beach peas and other plants at their peak of perfection requires either perfect serendipity, or a knowledge of when the local plants are ripe. Sun, shade and other factors all contribute to the season for wild, edible plants. Even locales that are only a few miles apart can have somewhat different climates. This means that the most successful foragers often make several trips afield, checking on the progress of their favorite plants.
I knew the sand spit still held a plant that I had not yet found. So a walk along the high-tide mark was in order. A short distance later, I spied what I sought, a sprawling, dark-green plant knows as sea rocket. Sea rocket, Cakile edentula, belongs in the mustard family, as evidenced by its tiny, four-petaled flower. Even without seeing the insignificant flower, one taste would tell you that here was mustard. It is tangy, zippy, and even a wee bit hot. It reminds me of the hot mustard served in Oriental restaurants. And as you probably have guessed, it is a fine beach nibble. I sat down again, and made a glutton of myself. I stuck a few sprigs of this sprawling, smooth plant in my pocket, for later use.
I had chosen a day with temperatures slowly climbing in the low 90s for my beach walk. The sun by now was high in the sky, so I decided to do some bushwhacking from the beach to the interior of the island, where I hoped to find one more edible plant. I climbed the bank, grabbing on to stones, trees and roots for support. Finally reaching a shady, cooler plateau, I took my bearings and headed west. I knew where I was, of course, but even if I hadn’t, it’s pretty difficult to get lost for too long on a 941-acre island. Soon, I spied a light in the forest, an opening in the thick canopy. I kept walking and arrived at the edge of a field. I had stood here many times in the past, trying to imagine what life must have been like for the people who farmed here so many years ago. A large, flat rock covers the old well, and a bunch of stone rubble marks the old foundation. All around, were ancient apple trees, more evidence of a once-thriving homestead. I headed for a path that I knew existed, although it was pretty much obscured by raspberry bushes and grasses. The path ended up on a gravel road. A rock wall made of carefully-placed boulders, put there by a master fence builder, edges this road. The air became warmer and a bit close, but I continued my walk toward a large field at the center of the island. There, I knew I would find northern bay, Myrica pensylvanica. This is a shrub with smooth, glassy leaves. The leaves are rather stiff, and highly aromatic. Early colonists used the “berries,” really nutlets, to make candles. But I didn’t care about making candles. Instead, I needed some bay leaves as seasoning for stews, soups and sauces. I finally arrived at the big field and before even seeing it, detected the aroma of northern bay in the air. I took some photos and snapped off a few branchlets to put in my bag and take home and dry. This effort produced an intense aroma, making me kind of giddy in a pleasant sort of way. Don’t confuse northern bay with the imported bay leaves sold in stores. The two have little in common. In fact, while imported bay leaves are of a middling worth in imparting flavor, they do not hold a candle (pun intended) to bay leaves. Northern bay seldom occurs more than one mile from the sea. However, some bay fanciers plant this hardy shrub far inland, with good success. The plants are even offered for sale in many catalogues. After picking the bay leaves, dry them in a basket or on a screen, making sure they are cool and dry. Then, store in a jar with a good, tight cap. When using, don’t grind or crumble the leaves, since they are too tough for eating and must be removed before the food is served. You can find any and all of the above-named plants growing along the seashore most anywhere in Maine. Some places have other plants that I didn’t mention here, and other places may lack a few of what I have noted. I’ll leave it up to you to take a stroll along your favorite section of shore and see for yourself. And hopefully, foraging for seaside edibles will become an annual tradition. |
