All About Thyme: March 2025
Finding More Greenspace in Your Life
March's Special Days: A Potpourri of Celebrations
Herb of the Year for 2025. Chamomile (Matricaria chamomilla). Selected by the International Herb Association
Flower of the Month for March: Daffodil
March is National Women's History Month
March feature: The Notorious Potato
Week 1
March 4. Mardi Gras. Imagine the parties—and the food!
March 7. The birthday of American horticulturist Luther Burbank, born 1849. He developed many new varieties of fruits, vegetables, flowers—and the Shasta daisy.
Week 2
March 14. National Pi Day, of course.
March 15. Ides of March (beware!)
March 16. On this day in 1915, absinthe (an infamous liqueur made from the herbs wormwood, anise, and fennel) was banned in France.
Week 3
March 17. St. Patrick’s Day. The luck o’ the Irish to you! Also, we’ll open the discussion of our third Guerrilla Readers book, Prequel: An American Fight Against Fascism, by Rachel Maddow. You’re welcome to join us.
March 20. The Spring Equinox, 4:01 AM, CDT
March 23. Today is the birthday (1857) of Fannie Farmer, author of the Fannie Farmer Cook Book.
Week 4
March 25. Waffles of the world, frolic! Today is International Waffle Day.
March 29. The end of Ramadan is celebrated with Eid al-Fitr.
The Notorious Potato
Throughout history, the potato (Solanum tuberosum) has had its ups and downs.
In its native Peru, the potato has been a valuable food staple for nearly 8,000 years, and some 4,000 different varieties can still be found there. The Quechua vocabulary included over a thousand words to describe the cultivation and use of potatoes, and “the time it takes to cook a potato” was an important measure of time. (I wonder—were they boiling a waxy fingerling or a hefty russet? The answer could make all the difference.) The potato wasn’t just food; it was medicine and magic, believed to ensure fertility and even predict the weather.
But when the Spaniards took the potato home with them in the 1570s, it was a different story. Europeans were deeply suspicious of this strange new tuber. Lumpy and bumpy and lacking visible seeds, it seemed unnatural—almost unholy. Some believed it caused leprosy. Others saw it as fit only for livestock or the desperate poor. In France, it was outlawed for human consumption in 1748. The final nail in the coffin? The Swiss botanist Gaspard Bauhin placed the potato in the Solanaceae family in 1596—the same sinister botanical clan as deadly nightshade, henbane, and tobacco. These ill-famed plants were known for their poisons, narcotic effects, and (cue spooky music) use in witchcraft. Clearly, the potato was not to be trusted.
But the potato’s prospects brightened in 1710 when William Salmon, a British writer who styled himself “Doctor of Physick,” claimed that the cooked tubers stopped “fluxes of the bowel” and could cure tuberculosis and rabies. (An impressive résumé for a humble spud.) He also repeated a long-held belief about plants that reproduced themselves below ground: the potato would “increase seed and provoke lust, causing fruitfulness in both sexes.” This tantalizing claim stuck. In the 18th century, potatoes were often served at weddings to ensure a fruitful union. It’s hard to say how effective this was—but at least the guests were well-fed. Salmon’s claim about the sexy potato joined other folk-medicine beliefs: a peeled potato in the pocket could cure a toothache, a dried potato hung around the neck would cure rheumatism, and potato juice rubbed on warts would make them disappear.
Meanwhile, across the Channel, Frederick the Great of Prussia took an entirely different approach to the potato problem. Seeing its potential to feed his people, he issued Potato Orders in 1756, forcing farmers to grow them. When the public resisted, he got creative: he declared the potato a royal crop and had it planted in guarded fields. Naturally, this made people believe it was a rare delicacy worth stealing. The ploy worked, and Prussia became one of the first places where the potato took root.
It was in Ireland, however, that the potato became most deeply planted. By 1800, it had become the country’s primary food source, fueling rapid population growth. But dependence on a single crop proved disastrous when blight struck in the 1840s, leading to the Great Famine, the deaths of over a million people, and mass emigration. In England, where the upper classes had long avoided the potato as a food associated with the “common” poor of Ireland, its reputation remained compromised.
In America, however, the potato thrived—especially after Thomas Jefferson developed a taste for pomme frites while in France in the 1780s. When he became president, he had them served at White House dinners, introducing America to the elegant, tasteful French fry. (Whether he dipped them in ketchup remains a mystery.)
We mustn’t forget the potato chip, of course. As the story goes, it was invented by George Crum in 1853, when an irate diner at a New York resort complained that his fried potatoes weren’t crispy enough. Crum, in a fit of culinary spite, sliced them paper-thin, fried them to a crackling crisp, and sent them back. The diner loved them, and the potato chip was born. If only all kitchen tantrums led to such happy accidents!
And then, there’s the modern marvel (or abomination, depending on your viewpoint): instant mashed potatoes. One has to wonder what Jefferson would have thought. With his refined palate, he might have been horrified. Or perhaps, like the rest of us, he would have kept a box in the pantry for emergencies.
Your March To-Do List
Celebrate National Women's History Month by discovering who Fannie Farmer was and why she is important. Hint: How would you like to follow a recipe that calls for a piece of butter the size of a duck's egg?
When I lived in New Orleans I loved beignets and chicory coffee au lait at the Cafe du Monde. Can’t be there for Mardi Gras this year, but beignets aren’t hard. And if you don’t know about chicory coffee—hey, it’s time you found out.
On Pi Day, apple is so . . . well, done. How about some seal flipper pie? Or clam pie, or shoofly pie or—wait for it—pickle pie. No math quizzes on this Gastro Obscura post, just a buffet of fascinating culinary oddities.
On the Ides of March, find out what all the fuss is about. Here are some traditional ways to defend yourself—with herbs.
Hang a bunch of dill over a child's bed to protect against evil fairies.
If you're concerned about dishonesty, plots, or secrets, place a bouquet of borage leaves or blossoms on the table and start asking questions. Borage is said to encourage people to tell the truth. Maybe we should adopt it as our national herb?
Wear angelica to protect yourself against evil spirits (but be aware that it may also keep you from seeing potential opportunities). Brew a borage tea and sprinkle a few drops in the corners of your house.
Find out what Luther Burbank did to create the Shasta daisy. (You knew, of course, that the daisy is an herb) For more on Burbank and his plant breeding business, read Jane Smith's interesting, informative biography, The Garden of Invention: Luther Burbank and the Business of Breeding Plants.
Chicory coffee is one thing, yes. But you can't celebrate St. Patrick's Day without a stout cup (or three) of authentically Irish coffee. For not-your-average-cup-of-Joe, check this recipe. And don’t forget the shamrock—an interesting example of how an innocent green plant has taken on national political significance.
Ernest Hemingway called his legendary absinthe-and-champagne cocktail “Death in the Afternoon.” But it turns out that absinthe’s very bad rap was the product of a smear campaign by the wine industry, which feared competition from the intoxicating liqueur. Read this fascinating corrective to find out how innocent wormwood got its devilish reputation—and why it’s made a comeback.
That’s it for our March All About Thyme. I’ll be here again tomorrow to introduce Rachel Maddow’s Prequel, our third Guerrilla Readers book. Next Monday, I’ll be back with the March issue of LifeScapes. And the week after that, we’ll open the discussion of Prequel. There’s always something in the works at Thyme, Place & Story. Thank you for reading—comments on this post are open to everyone, and I’d love to hear from you!
Who knew all of that fascinating history of our beloved spud! That little tuber has been through so much over the ages, and I love it. One of my favorite recipes is one that is similar to my mom's potato soup we ate as Mom, Daddy, & I watched Perry Mason on Saturday evenings. I don't have her recipe, but I found one for Cream of Potato-Leek Soup that reminds me of those nights before I was old enough to date. It's a comfort food for me on cold nights.
It's incredibly reassuring to read your post of traditional holidays and the histories of food and drink over the ages today. It's the long view of human history that promises we'll survive this month of March with all its omens and portents. Here's to the luck of the Irish, to the power of women in history and in our present times!