“As for the garden of mint, the very smell of it alone recovers and refreshes our spirits, as the taste stirs up our appetite for meat”

—Pliny the Elder

When I was a young boy my family, like many at the time, moved from the city to the suburbs. I might as well have been on a different planet. All the houses looked the same and the trees were four feet tall. It was 1973.

Shortly thereafter my grandmother came to visit and planted a small sprig of mint in our backyard just as she had, I’m sure, in her own yard when she arrived in this country some decades earlier. When that mint hit the moist fertile ground of the subdivision that had previously been a pig farm, it seemed to grow immediately. By summer it was a small bush, and each year thereafter it conquered more and more of the backyard. It got to a point where a fair portion of the southwest corner of our backyard was encroached by mint. My sisters and I would actually mow it down when we cut the grass. I would take a running start and plow the mower into the mint, bogging down the motor and perfuming the air for houses around. It’s said that smell is your strongest memory sense, and this is most likely true because often when I catch a smell of mint it brings me back to that time.

Mint is one of the first herbs that I grew when I began my experiment of growing food in an urban setting. It’s easy for even the most amateur gardener to grow because you simply put it in the ground and leave it alone. What’s more difficult is keeping it at bay. It’s an invasive plant that will take over if not held back, and it will survive even the most adverse winters and driest summers. I recently came across this quote by an anonymous English gardener: “Plant a little mint, Madame, then step out of the way so you don’t get hurt!” An inflated statement maybe, but for anyone who has grown mint you know this is not too far off the mark.

Mint is one of those amazing ancient herbs that is said to have been a cure for many ailments, and the lore that surrounds it is almost mystical. Throughout history mint has been used to treat everything from mouth sores to bee stings, and ingested for upset stomachs, headaches, and even memory retention. The Romans believed that eating raw mint increased your intelligence and that the mere scent of it relieved people of headaches and bad tempers. Even today mint tea is said to aid digestion and alleviate symptoms of heartburn. When I was an apprentice, the chef would make mint tea for his cooks to drink when the kitchen was blistering hot. The tea, laden with honey, tasted good, but I still sweat a lot.

One of the more interesting things I recently learned about mint is that it supposedly repels rodents. Apparently their slimy little nostrils find the smell of garbage pleasant but the fragrant aroma of mint is a bit too much for them. I don’t know if this is true, but if it is we should plant a sprig of mint in every corner of the city.

Mint is indigenous to the biblical lands of the Eastern Mediterranean and was first introduced to England by the Romans. When the English came to this country as early settlers, they brought with them, among other things, mint. Though primarily popular with desserts and sauces for lamb, the use of mint in savory foods truly shines in the cuisines of the Middle and Near East.

Last summer I drove past our former suburban home, the street looked altered. The houses were painted different colors and some had additions built onto them; the trees were over thirty feet tall. Our house had a new driveway and garage, it was difficult to recognize. I got out of my car and walked down the sidewalk. The grass was freshly cut and it had just rained. The smell of wet grass was in the air, and I don’t know if I’m imagining it or not (probably so), but I swear I smelled mint.