Lemongrass
Medicinal potential, properties, and practical applications of this lemon-scented medicinal herb.
These hot and rainy days have been a boon to my potted lemongrass. Following the harsh frost that struck Atlanta this winter, my previous plant perished. Typically, I bring the pot indoors during winter, but I forgot to do so before leaving for a field expedition to Egypt. To replace my lost lemongrass, I simply bought some long lemongrass stalks at a local market this spring. I stuck them in the soil in a pot and placed it outside to soak up the sun and rain. Those few stalks have thrived, resulting in an ample supply of lemongrass for my herbal teas and soup stocks.
Lemongrass is a special plant to me. In its aroma, I find myself transported back to the flooded forests of the Amazon, where an indigenous healer once treated me with this plant. Here’s an excerpt from my book, The Plant Hunter, which recounts this moment:
This wasn’t the only culinary adventure I shared with Patricia. I spent a rainy afternoon on the steps of the lodge under the cover of the palm thatched walkway chatting away with her and other local village kids. To pass the time, they were eating some snacks—but not the type of snacks you would envision kids eating. They had found a nest of ants that featured large abdomens, which they would pluck up between their fingers and squeeze, forcing a creamy semisolid liquid to emerge. They would suck out the liquid, toss the rest of the ant body, and pick up the next one.
Patricia gestured to me to join them in sharing their happy bounty and so I did, curious about this jungle snack. The taste wasn’t bad—almost acidic in nature, with a citrus twist (likely due to the formic acid used as a poison defense by the ants). And so I, too, passed the time waiting out the rainstorm while munching on ants. It gave me the opportunity to learn more about the children’s daily lives as they talked and laughed together. Later that afternoon, though, I soon came to regret my decision to join in on the local fare. Don Antonio found me leaning over a wooden railing in the open hammock shelter of the lodge in a fit of painful projectile vomiting. The ant snack had not agreed with my stomach.
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