A Dilly of a Week

"Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye pay tithe of mint and dill and cummin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith."

-Matthew 23:23


Back in the day of the Pharisees - a Jewish sect that was just one of about four bitterly feuding Jewish groups  - Jews still tithed ten percent of everything that they grew to the kohenim, the priestly class. This was how the priests sustained themselves; some of the offerings were burnt on the altar, and some of them were preserved for the priests to eat. Dill - often mistranslated as anise, in this passage - was a common household herb, as were mint and cumin. From what I've read, Jesus here is chastising the Pharisees (who at this time were a fairly corrupt sect) for arguing that the people's obligation to tithe extended even to the cheapest, most easily acquired things. It's not enough that you brought seven perfect lambs from your flock; your failure to bring three agarot (the penny to the shekel's dollar) worth of dill would bring chastisement from the priests.

Of course, reports of the Pharisees' corruption come almost entirely from writings of a young sect seeking to supplant the Jews as the area's dominant religion, so... (I wrote, then revised, the phrase "Christ-worshipers". For some reason, it looks slightly offensive to me - does anyone have any instincts on this matter?) Within the Jewish people, at least, the Pharisees eventually emerged victorious from the sectarian conflict. Pharisaic Judiasm eventually evolved into Rabbinic Judaism, based on the idea that the entire Jewish community should study the Torah, rather than just a limited caste of people. Modern Jewish thinking descends entirely from that philosophy.

The name dill itself comes from the Norse word dilla, meaning soothing, and references - depending on who you read - either dill's soporific properties (dill tea was a traditional insomnia cure) or its carminative (anti-flatulence) properties. Dill is another spice that spread across the world, appearing in Asian, Mediterranean and European cooking. (I've even found a reference to it in Georgian cooking, and I've asked my dad if he's ever come across it.)


Dill is another plant that does double duty as a spice and a herb. Early in the season, the spice - dill seed - is harvested; later on, the herb - dill weed - yes, I'm serious, that's what it's called - is clipped off the plant for its herbal value. (You can also extract dill oil from any of the above parts, plus the stems and branches.) Like most such plants, the spice and the herb have quite different tastes, although in this case, supposedly, they're closer than most. (I'll follow up on that in a future post.)

Actually, I'm wondering how many herbs there are out there than don't have any value as a spice, as well. I guess that makes sense, though - a plant that has flavorful oils is likely to have them in many different areas, not just concentrated in the leaves.

Dill is supposedly a good plant to keep in a rose garden - it attracts a particular kind of bug that is one of the aphids' chief predators. It's easy to grow, and incredibly mineral-dense - one tablespoon of dill seed contains a hundred milligrams of calcium (about a third of a cup of milk.) It's fairly hearty, and tolerates having its leaves snipped off, slowly, dinner after dinner.


I don't ever use a little bit of dill - if I'm putting dill in something, I'm going all out. I like to do dill-encrusted steaks, and last week I made a fried fish recipe which used almost as much dill in the breading as breadcrumbs. And, in the last few hours, as I've learned what I can about dill, I've figured out why I do this, and why I'm an idiot for doing it.

Dill, like wasabi, is fairly fragile. It loses its flavor quickly if it is heated or dried. It doesn't seem to be quite as bad as wasabi - which loses its flavor if looked at by one not of the purest heart - but it needs to be treated with a fairly gentle touch. The broiler, it might be suggested, is probably not that touch, and the same can be said about frying oil. So the reason that I've gotten used to throwing huge amounts of dill in any dill-based dish I cook, is because I'm killing the flavor of most of it. Dill should properly be used in a cold dish, in a sauce applied post-cooking, or in a way which allows the oils to be captured rather than simply evaporating. (Tea would, one assumes, be a good example of this. I would imagine that you can infuse butter or olive oil with dill, as well.) Dill's most famous use - the dill pickle - is an example of this. (Pickles take weeks to make. Still, I really wanted to pickle when I was doing salt... maybe I'll try again this week.)


So I've got a "week" to learn how to use a soft touch on dill - how to coax its flavor out without simply dumping half a bottle of it on whatever I'm cooking. I've never used it at all as a spice, so that'll be new; I'll see what I can do with it, and see what things want the spice as opposed to the herb. And, hopefully, I'll put up some pickles that I'll be able to enjoy by the end of the summer.

Join me tomorrow, when I'll talk about the tilapia with dill I made last week. Which didn't really taste that much like dill. And now I know why.

We'll talk.