Some herbs earn their place in the garden because they are beautiful. Others are valued for their flavor, fragrance or usefulness. A select few bring all those qualities together—and carry centuries of human history in their leaves, stems and roots.
Sorrel, sweet woodruff and angelica are three such plants.
One supplied the old kitchen with a bright, lemon-like flavor. One perfumed spring wine and woodland celebrations. The third became associated with monasteries, protection, confectionery and the mysterious medicinal gardens of medieval Europe.
Together, they remind us that an herb garden can be more than a collection of useful plants. It can also be a living library.
Sorrel: The Lemon Leaf of the Old Kitchen
Common sorrel, Rumex acetosa, is a hardy perennial belonging to the same botanical family as docks and buckwheat. Its long, arrow-shaped leaves contain oxalic acid, which gives them their unmistakable tartness.
Before lemons became widely available in northern Europe, sorrel gave cooks something precious: acidity.
The young leaves enlivened soups, sauces, salads, egg dishes and fish. Sorrel could bring freshness to a heavy medieval pottage or sharpen a rich sauce long before citrus fruit became an everyday kitchen ingredient.
Kew Gardens notes that common sorrel was once cultivated as a European vegetable. It was also eaten historically as a source of fresh greens and associated with the prevention of scurvy. Today, it survives as both a garden herb and a rediscovered wild food. Kew Science: Rumex acetosa
Sorrel’s history is not limited to food. Its acidic sap was once used to help remove stains from fabric. Here was a plant that could serve the kitchen, the household and the old physic garden.
In today’s garden, sorrel is easy to overlook. It does not possess the perfume of lavender or the stately flowers of angelica. Its gift is immediacy. Pick a tender leaf, taste it and you understand instantly why generations of cooks kept it close to the kitchen door.
Use young leaves sparingly in salads or cook them into soups and sauces. Because sorrel contains appreciable oxalic acid, it should be enjoyed in moderation—particularly by anyone who has been advised to restrict oxalates.
Sweet Woodruff: The Fragrance of May
Sweet woodruff, Galium odoratum, is a very different presence.
It creeps quietly through shady ground, forming carpets of fresh green leaves arranged in neat whorls around slender stems. Small white flowers appear in spring, giving the plant the look of a woodland constellation.
Its secret is fragrance.
Fresh sweet woodruff has relatively little scent. As the plant wilts or dries, it develops an aroma often compared with new-mown hay, vanilla and warm woodland leaves. This fragrance comes largely from coumarin.
Sweet woodruff became closely associated with springtime drinks, particularly German Maibowle, or May wine. The traditional preparation used woodruff to perfume white wine or punch and became part of the celebration of May and returning spring. The Missouri Botanical Garden also records its familiar use in May wine. Missouri Botanical Garden: Galium odoratum
The plant was also used historically in sachets, garlands, mattresses and household strewing. Its dried foliage helped sweeten enclosed rooms and stored linens. That history lives within some of its old common names, including sweet-scented bedstraw.
In the garden, sweet woodruff is one of our most useful plants for luminous shade. It works beneath trees, along shaded paths and at the edge of a woodland garden. Its European history is ancient, but its usefulness remains thoroughly modern.
Sweet woodruff should nevertheless be treated with respect. Coumarin is biologically active, and concentrated or excessive consumption is inappropriate. Traditional May wine was lightly flavored—not made into a strong herbal extraction. Anyone taking anticoagulant medication, managing liver disease, or facing pregnancy-related restrictions should seek qualified medical guidance before consuming it.
Angelica: The Guardian of the Physic Garden
Angelica, Angelica archangelica, does not creep or hide.
It rises.
With imposing stems, broad architectural leaves and great globes of greenish-white flowers, angelica can reach six feet or more. It gives an herb garden height, drama and an almost monastic dignity.
Its botanical and common names reflect the reverence once attached to it. According to tradition, angelica was revealed as a protective plant through an angelic vision. It consequently became associated with protection from disease, evil and misfortune.
During periods of plague, angelica roots and preparations were carried, chewed or incorporated into remedies. These beliefs should be understood as history and folklore—not evidence that angelica prevents infectious disease. Nevertheless, they reveal the extraordinary confidence earlier generations placed in the plant.
Angelica was also genuinely useful. Its aromatic roots, seeds, leaves and stems became ingredients in medicines, bitters, cordials and liqueurs. The stems were candied, producing the translucent green confection once commonly used to decorate cakes and trifles.
Kew records angelica’s long cultivation as a medicine, flavoring and vegetable. It also notes that much of the angelica grown for confectionery has historically come from France, particularly around Niort. Kew Science: Angelica archangelica
Angelica brings another kind of history to the garden: the history of the apothecary, monastery and stillroom.
It also demands careful identification. Angelica belongs to the carrot family, which includes dangerously poisonous plants such as water hemlock and poison hemlock. No wild member of this family should ever be harvested without expert identification. Angelica sap may also increase the skin’s sensitivity to sunlight, so gloves are sensible when cutting or handling substantial quantities.
A Living Herbal History
These three plants tell three different stories.
Sorrel represents the practical kitchen garden—the place where flavor, nutrition and household usefulness met.
Sweet woodruff evokes the shaded woodland, the May bowl and the fragrant customs that welcomed the arrival of spring.
Angelica belongs to the towering physic garden, where medicine, faith, folklore, food and ceremony grew side by side.
None should be treated as a miracle cure. Their historical reputations must not be confused with modern medical evidence. Yet dismissing their stories would also be a mistake.
These plants mattered because people lived with them. They cultivated them, cooked with them, preserved them, celebrated with them and passed their knowledge from one generation to the next.
Planting them today allows us to do something quietly important: keep that conversation alive.
Until next time...
I am...
Phil Wilson...
and Here’s to sharing our herbal life-style with you!