A story about mallows
If you’re a big fan of s’mores and bought a pack of marsh mallow seeds, you’re in for a big surprise. Try as you might, you’ll not be harvesting sugary white goo morsels in clusters on a branch. Let go of that visual. You’ll still be harvesting those in plastic bags for $1.39 at the market, but those sugary goo morsels have a history going back at least four millennia. Marsh mallows are historical.
So is the entire Malvaceae family which includes hibiscus, okra, molokhia, rose mallows, malva, cotton, hollyhocks, cacao and Althaea officinalis, known as marsh mallow. Our north African and Mideastern forebears were using mallows for food and medicine 4000 years ago.
A marshmallow root would have been boiled and then fried with onions and herbs for dinner. The young leaves, a prized edible for Romans, were consumed from the Mediterranean over to Southeast Asia, and this was way before Thomas Jefferson invented lettuce.
Egyptians during pharaoh times figured out a plant growing wild in the wetlands contained sweet sap which they used to make sweet, tasty treats for the gods and pharaohs (and cooks). English speakers eventually called the plant marsh mallow, the origin of our word marshmallow.
I personally don’t see our present-day consumable called marshmallow as food for gods or pharaohs. This marvel of culinary insight took form when 19th century candy makers in France cooked up a sweet confection which was a hit except for folks with diabetes. Somebody named it marshmallow, probably as homage to Egyptian culinary pioneers.
Savvy cooks use marsh mallow leaves in lieu of other greens in recipes. Molokhia, a mallow, is the most popular green on menus in Egypt. Its leaves are similar to those of malva, also called common mallow.
Malva and I were acquainted for years in northern California. It sprouts freely, sends down a long, strong taproot that snaps when tugged, thereby able to sprout new leaves another day. The roots are popular in soups and stews in parts of China, and it is a commonly harvested food plant in areas of Syria not contaminated by chemical weapons or blown up by war.
At the corner of my front deck is a five-year old rose mallow. Rising from a root base are a few sturdy stems, three of which are taller than me bearing flashy white flowers. There were dozens of the hibiscus-type flowers only a couple days ago with plenty buds left ready to bloom if somebody remembers to water.
Speaking of water, my uncle– a daring, well-read Texan– refused to go to west Texas because he was convinced the amount of water used over time to grow the acres and acres of cotton had so drained underground aquifers that the land might simply collapse. Cotton, the only inedible mallow, needs its water. In return, it produces bolls of fluffy fiber with which clever humans the world over have created the cleverest things… my shirt, for example.
Our need for cotton bolls was a factor in starting the Civil War. More than 80 countries grow cotton because it is for more than T-shirts. Cottonseed oil is used in skin care products. Clothes, curtains and, of course, duvets are made from cotton. We need lots of duvets, but they didn’t need to fight a war.
There are more wild cotton species in Mexico than anywhere else. I remember cotton fields in rural southern Arkansas. Cotton has been important to the economy of Arkansas. Okra, a mallow, is important to my mental and physical economy. I eat it pickled mostly, but it is my favorite mallow to eat.
In recent years, seed catalogs in this country have learned about colorful kinds of okra grown around the world, so we daring gardeners get new options for being daring.
Hibiscus flowers, another mallow, grew well in my mom’s carport. They had a connection. I appreciate tart and tasty hibiscus tea and the exotic flowers. Instead, I get plenty rose mallow flowers during summer, though I miss my mom’s hibiscus.
bravo!