At the farmers market Thursday, I bought a small bunch of parsley at one vendor, and then…a larger bunch at another vendor when I saw she had it, too. I couldn’t help myself. Until I saw those neatly gathered green bunches, I didn’t know how much I’d I missed it. It’s my favorite herb, and, still, it hadn’t been in the house for weeks.
Sure, basil is a lush, rich star of an herb, and Mario Batali once referred to marjoram as “the sexiest herb,” but, parsley…
The burst of extra flavor it brought to each of the fried meatballs Mom would give us when we were kids just before she slipped the rest into her Sunday sauce to simmer. Or, along with the perfect hint of lemon, lifting the already marvelous combination of bread crumb, egg, and grated cheese in broth, that is the Italian egg drop soup stracciosa, to marvelous-plus.
Yesterday I snipped a few leaves from one of the bunches we’d bought as it sat on the counter in a glass of water and added them to a cheese sandwich to take to work. At lunchtime, I smiled when I took a bite. Oh, parsley.