"So that's what it's supposed to taste like!"

Have you ever tasted something fresh from a garden and had the revelation that you've been missing out on the real flavor of a food because the stuff from the grocery store just never made the grade? It's the "So that's what it's supposed to taste like!" moment.  Since we started this project I've been having moments like that more and more often.

So many of the commercial products we buy have been optimized for yield and shelf life while flavor fell by the wayside.  The moment of tasting something with all the flavor you've been missing can be overwhelming. 

Take bay leaf.  Not long ago I was discussing our farm plans with a chef, and told him we are going to be growing bay laurel.  He looked puzzled and explained that he always added a bay leaf or three to soups, but it was more a ritual than anything else because you really can't tell if it added anything to the flavor.  I explained that fresh bay leaf has to be used carefully: the aroma and taste is rich with cedar and citrus oil overtones.  Three fresh leaves added to a full pot of chicken noodle soup will overwhelm any other flavors.  We'll be taking him samples in a few weeks so he can find out for himself just how good bay can be.

I had another of those moments just a few days ago.  During one of our planning trips out to the property Amanda picked a bag of sassafras leaves.  The picture at the top of this post is part of them, freshly washed, but not yet sorted.

Sassafras leaf (shown freshly washed in the banner pic) when dried and ground, is filé gumbo: the ingredient that defines gumbo as a dish.  I grew up in Southeast Texas basically within walking distance of the Louisiana border.  The food culture there is deeply rooted in traditional Cajun.  I was under ten when I first learned to make gumbo.  I've always thought of filé as an earthy, slightly rich spice that adds base-notes to a dish, resembling oregano in its flavor profile.

A few days ago that all changed.  I sorted and dried the sassafras leaves.  The smell as they were drying was interesting, but nothing amazing.  Then I put them into the processor for grinding and the smell of the broken edges hit me.  The familiar earthy tones are still there, but sitting on top of the earth is a smell that can only be described as incredible.  There are hints of green tea, bergamot (think Earl Grey), honeysuckle, and sweet lemondrop candies. 

The gumbo is done.  I ran a simple, standard batch of turkey & sausage pretty much the same recipe I've been using for more than four decades.  I intentionally kept the spice level low so I could see what the fresh filé gumbo did. 

It is a game changer.  The depth of flavor, the complexity is something I've never experienced before.   I used half as much as I normally would, and the sassafras is a dominant flavor.

And more than that - filé is a thickener.  It is supposed to be added toward the end of the cooking so it can thicken the soup, in the same way that arrowroot thickens hot and sour soup.  With commercial powder, it normally takes at least an hour to truly see a change, with the full effect happening overnight.  This thickened in seconds, within a minute I was a little afraid I'd actually added too much.

I think this may be the best gumbo I've ever made.