IN PRAISE OF THE LAUREL (OR "BAY") LEAF

My mother’s maiden name was Deslauriers (of the laurel trees). As it turns out, this is a good name.  Why? For one thing the laurel's botanical label, laurus nobilis  immediately signals aristocracy. That’s why Napoleon chose, as his crown, not what ordinary kings wore, but laurel leaves made of gold. Napoleon was in good company.  Caesar had earlier worn a a laurel crown (made from the actual plant, not gold).

Why use leaves of a particular tree as signs of power and authority?  It goes back to the Greeks and the god of reason and light, Apollo. No matter how much he prized reason and light, Apollo remained a lustful kind of guy. He fell for Daphne who, this even happens to gods, did not reciprocate.  She fled into the woods. To ensure her safety, Daphne’s father turned her into a laurel tree. Frustrated and broken hearted, Apollo fashioned a wreath from laurel leaves, a permanent reminder of his lost love.

Before emperors took up the wreath, it was associated with victors in ancient Greece. The original Olympic games awarded victory wreaths made of olive leaves (laurel’s perennial competitor).  

There were, though, other religious festivals/games. At the Pythian games, devoted to Apollo, laurel was the victory symbol of choice.

The Athens Olympics of 1896 sort of split the difference. Winners received an olive branch and a silver, yes silver, medal.  Second place finishers got a laurel branch with their bronze, yes bronze, medal. Gold medals were first awarded at the 1904 St. Louis olympics.

At the 2016 Rio games, laurel triumphed decisively. The medals feature laurel, not olive, leaves.  Olive branches have not disappeared. They more and more took over one of the symbolisms formerly associated with laurel: peace (what happens after competition is over).

Given the illustrious history of laurus nobilis, it’s not surprising that we honor people by referring to them as “laureates;” we describe someone who, having once achieved distinction, but is now coasting, as “resting on his laurels;”  and we mark educational accomplishment with a “baccalaureate” degree.”

Then, there's food. No respectable kitchen would fail to include bay ("laurel") leaves. The leaves' multiple compounds impart special flavors, flavors best released in long simmering soups and stews.
They do this without  leaving an overly dominant imprint that would ruin the overall taste. Bay leaves are essential for a proper bouquet garni.

Given its pervasiveness and history, it’s not surprising that excessive claims have been associated with laurus nobilis.  It has been praised for contributing to heart health, good breathing, digestion and the reduction of stress.  One fan even suggests rubbing pre-soaked leaves directly onto the scalp.

Such exaggerations, not surprisingly, occasion a backlash.  We live in a fast food world. We prize speed and immediate gratification. By those standards, the laurel leaf falls short. As we saw, it’s best use is in long-cooking dishes.  Short-term cooking of the bay leaf releases a flavor that’s something like Vicks Vaporub. One contrarian dismisses the leaf entirely: "What does a bay leaf taste like? Nothing. What does a bay leaf smell like? Nothing. What does a bay leaf look like? A leaf. How does a bay leaf behave? It behaves like a leaf would, if you took a leaf from a tree outside of your apartment building and put it into your soup."

Still, the noble leaf survives and thrives.  Hopefully, it’s because, despite associations with Apollo, with Olympians and Nobel laureates, its real strength lies in its ordinary use in the kitchen. After all, few of us are like Apollo, Napoleon and Caesar. Few of us will become Nobel laureates. All of us, though, can savor a well

cooked meal.

The laurel is the emblem of slow cooking, slow eating, savoring complexity, “mindful” eating, as we would say today. If the noble bay leaf is ever dismissed, the culture of fast food will have triumphed and my Deslauriers ancestors will be turning over in their graves (especially my grandfather who was a wonderful cook).