Friday, November 20, 2015


Weeks ago, I began the process of closing up the balcony garden for the winter. We had one random night where temperatures flirted with dipping below freezing, so I frantically pulled all the plants inside for the evening. My schedule got the best of me that week, so they lived in the living room for about five days until J kindly reminded me that I was neglecting our kids and could I please do something about the plants? So I dutifully pulled and washed the basil and plopped the leaves into ice cube trays filled with olive oil to freeze over the winter, did the same for the mint (substituting water for olive oil), bid adieu to the failed oregano and lavender, and made a futile attempt to salvage some of the dill before admitting defeat. And then I turned to the two giant rosemary branches flourishing in their pot. I had looked up various methods of preserving the herb and decided that I'd try oven-drying the leaves - but at a later date, because it was getting late and we had dinner plans. So the rosemary went back to the balcony to enjoy a few more days of unseasonably warm weather (thanks, global warming!).

As weather is wont to do, it suddenly went from kind-of-autumn to it's-actually-fall to oh-crap-I-think-winter-is-coming - and I needed to deal with the rosemary once and for all. So I grabbed the pot and ripped off a piece of parchment and turned on the oven - and then took another look at the plant. It was full and vibrant and nowhere near ready to be preserved. I shook my head. There was no way I had room for any more plants inside the apartment, and I feared that J would have a conniption if I added one more pot to the kitchen windowsill.

But as Our Lady of 90's Fashion Cher Horowitz has so poignantly reminded us this week, "it does not say R.S.V.P. on the Statue of Liberty." So I hauled ass to the kitchen, redistributed the oils and vinegars, and squished in another plant. And you know what? The rosemary totally fits. She's right at home in between the giant succulent and tin of cooking spoons, as if she'd been there all along. The more the merrier, indeed.

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