In summer I cheerfully throw handfuls of soft and tender herbs into my cooking, but in winter I seek out their woodier cousins, fragrant seeds and lingering, pungent spices. When it's freezing outside, there's something deeply comforting about filling the kitchen with their warming aromas. So this week and next I'm focusing on two of my favourite winter seasonings: today, it's boldly bracing, ear-nose-and-throat-clearing juniper; next week, I'm experimenting with subtly warming, carry-me-away-on-a-magic-carpet caraway.
Crush a juniper berry between your fingers and its clean, resinous smell perks up a dull brain as effectively as a two-shot espresso. And, of course, its piny sweetness has the clean, bright aroma of gin, to which it has lent its assertive punch since the 17th century. But juniper has a more distinguished history than providing an aromatic kick to that most traditional of liveners, the G&T. In the New Testament, Mary and Joseph, during their flight into Egypt, hid Jesus from Herod's soldiers in a thicket of juniper. Since earliest times, it has been associated with refuge and miracles. In the middle ages, boughs of prickly juniper were believed to offer protection from witches and serpents, while its pungent smoke has been used for the purification of everything from temples to barns, and to ward off the plague.
Not only that, but it was also ascribed many medicinal benefits, from killing germs to alleviating joint pain. Its edge of bitterness made it acommon treatment for digestive problems – as well as extolling its excellence as a remedy for poison and dropsy, Culpeper argued there was "scarce a better remedy for wind".
When it comes to using juniper in cooking, it's possible its excellent reputation as a digestive aid came from its ability to counterbalance the fattiness or richness of meat and the strong taste of game. It's great with pork, goose, venison, duck, pigeon and all game birds, in either a marinade or a slow-simmering sauce. Alternatively, crush a few berries with some salt and garlic, and use it as a rub before roasting or grilling. Alittle juniper hit adds depth to meaty pâtés and terrines, too.
It's also good with veg – juniper is one of the key ingredients in sauerkraut and adds an interesting note to creamy potato dishes (see today's gratin). It's even an unusual addition to some fruity puds – add a couple of crushed berries to a rich fruit cake or use it as an alternative to cinnamon in apple tart. But use a light touch: it's strong and a little goes a long way. However you use juniper, though, crush or grind it just before using, as its flavour dissipates very quickly.
Given how useful juniper is in the kitchen, you may want to try growing your own, if you have the space. You can grow this member of the cypress family as an evergreen, low-growing, spreading shrub or as a tree, but it isn't self-fertile, so you'll need a male and a female plant. It loves chalky soil and hates shade, so plant in open ground where it won't be crowded out. And be patient: the berries take two or three years to mature to purpley-black ripeness, which means you can get berries at different stages of maturity on the same branch.
If you do grow your own, you won't just be doing your kitchen a favour. Juniper, one of only three native British conifers, once flourished from the Highlands to the chalk downs of southern England, providing a habitat for more than 40 species of fungus and insects. But it has been in such steep decline for the past 50 years (it has suffered from changes in farming and land management, and from the overenthusiastic grazing of livestock, deer and rabbits) that it has been declared apriority species under the UK Biodiversity Action Plan. To buy, try habitataid.co.uk, half of whose profits from juniper sales go to habitat conservation. I'll drink to that.
Chicken with rosemary and juniper
A light and delicious dish. For a richer result, add a splash of cream at the end. Serve with boiled potatoes, rice or pasta. Serves four to six.
4 tbsp olive oil
1 onion, diced
6 small garlic cloves, bashed to break the skins but left unpeeled
1 bay leaf
1 sprig rosemary, plus extra to garnish
4 sprigs fresh thyme, plus extra for finishing
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 chicken, jointed, or about 1.5kg of chicken pieces
500ml white wine
300ml chicken stock
1 tbsp juniper berries, lightly crushed
In large, heavy-bottomed saucepan or casserole, heat half the oil over medium-low heat. Add the onion, garlic, bay leaf, rosemary and thyme; fry gently until the onions are soft and translucent – about 15 minutes. Remove the onion mix from the pan and set aside. When cool enough to handle, remove the garlic skins.
Season the chicken pieces. Pour the rest of the oil into the pan and raise the heat to medium-high. Brown the chicken on all sides and transfer to a plate.
Pour the wine into the pan and let it simmer for a few minutes, stirring to remove any tasty brown bits from the bottom of the pan. Add the stock, juniper and onion mix, bring to a boil and simmer for five minutes. Return the chicken to the pan, along with any juices, and simmer gently, partially covered, for 30 minutes. Remove the chicken from the pan and keep warm.
Bring the sauce to a boil and reduce to thicken slightly. Taste and season as necessary. Serve the chicken with the sauce spooned over the top and garnish with a little more thyme and rosemary.
Potato and celeriac gratin with juniper
A great side dish to serve with game or rich winter roasts. Serves six.
25g butter, softened
500g potatoes
400g celeriac (trimmed and peeled weight)
1 tsp juniper berries, roughly crushed
200ml double cream
200ml whole milk
2 garlic cloves, minced
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Heat the oven to 160C/325F/gas mark 3. Rub a gratin dish liberally with butter. Peel the spuds and celeriac, and slice thinly (a mandolin works best). Finely grind the juniper.
In a large bowl, whisk together thecream, milk, garlic and juniper, and season well. Toss the potato and celeriac slices in the creamy mixture, then layer in the gratin dish. Pour over any remaining cream mixture.
Bake for an hour and a quarter to an hour and a half, pressing down with a spatula every 15 minutes to compress the potatoes and stop them from drying out. It is ready when the top is golden and bubbling, and the spuds and celeriac are tender. Leave to cool for five minutes or so before serving.
Rabbit and bacon with juniper and chestnuts
A great, warming winter dish. It also works well with cubed venison. Serves six.
3-4 tbsp olive oil
200g smoked bacon, cut into 2cm strips, or lardons
2 wild rabbits, jointed
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 onions, diced
2 bay leaves
1 carrot, peeled and diced
1 celery stick, diced
1 tbsp juniper berries, lightly crushed
300ml red wine
700ml chicken or vegetable stock
250g cooked, peeled chestnuts
1 small bunch parsley, tough stalks removed, leaves finely chopped
Heat three tablespoons of oil in a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan or casserole over a medium heat and cook the bacon until it just takes on some colour. Transfer to a bowl.
Season the rabbit, raise the heat under the pan a bit and cook in batches until browned on all sides. Transfer to the bowl with the bacon.
Reduce the heat to low and add the onions and bay leaves – add the remaining oil, if necessary. Cook, stirring from time to time, until the onions are soft and translucent – about 15 minutes. Add the carrot, celery and juniper, and sweat for afurther five minutes. Pour in the wine, simmer for five minutes, then add the stock. Return the bacon and rabbit to the pan, along with any juices in the bowl. Give everything astir and add water, if necessary, to cover the meat. Season and cook at avery low simmer, partially covered (skim off any scum that rises to the top), until the rabbit is tender, about an hour and a half (older animals may take longer). Add the chestnuts and simmer for a further 10 minutes. Season to taste, stir in the parsley and serve with mash.
