Eating Weeds: Dandelion Flowers

Mention weeds, and the first plant most of us think of is dandelion. It is essentially the poster child when it comes to weeds and one of the few weeds that entire books have been written about. Its notoriety partly comes from being so ubiquitous and recognizable, but it also comes from its utility. It has a long history of being used medicinally and culinarily, and, surprising to some I’m sure, is still grown agriculturally today.

Dandelion is an attractive and useful plant whose main offense is being so accomplished and proficient at staying alive, reproducing, and moving itself around. The principal thing it gets accused of is invading our lawns. With its brightly colored flowers on tall stalks and its globe of feathery seeds, it makes itself obvious, unlike other lawn invaders that tend to blend in more. Once it makes itself at home, it refuses to leave, adding to the frustration. Consider the vats of herbicide that have been applied to turf grass in an attempt to wipe out dandelions. The fact that they hang around, taunting those who care about that sort of thing, helps explain why they are so hated.

common dandelion (Taraxacum officinale)

As Ken Thompson writes in The Book of Weeds, dandelions are “too familiar to need describing,” and since there is already so much written about them, I don’t feel the need to write much myself. Below, instead, are a few excerpts from a handful of books that discuss them.

“It seems many of us possess a conscious will not to believe anything good about this remarkable harbinger of spring which, by its ubiquity and persistance, make it the most recognized and most hated of all ‘weeds.'” — The Dandelion Celebration by Peter Gail

“Dandelion heads consist entirely of overlapping ray florets. … Each floret has its own male and female organs, the (female) style surmounting the (male) stamens. Stamens are unnecessary, however, for the plant to produce seed; much, if not most dandelion seed reproduction occurs asexually (apomixis), without pollen fertilization or any genetic involvement of male cells. But insect pollination (each floret produces abundant nectar in its tubular base) and self-pollination, plus vegetative reproduction via sprouting of new plants from roots and root fragments, also occurs – so this plant has all reproductive fronts covered, surely an important reason for its wide abundance and distribution.” — The Book of Field and Roadside by John Eastman

“Wild violets are too limp and their flowers to insipidly small, too prone to damp, dark corners, as if lacking upright amour propre; in contrast, dandelions are too lush and healthy, their vigorous, indestructible roots, gaudy flowers, and too-plentiful seed heads all too easily spawned with their easygoing means of reproduction by parachute-like seeds, landing where they will, suggesting something of human sexual profligacy.” — Weeds by Nina Edwards

Charles Voysey “The Furrow” (© Victoria and Albert Museum, London

“Dandelions demonstrate evolution in action on suburban lawns. Over several seasons of mowing, the only dandelions that can flower are short-stemmed plants that duck the blade. Mowing thus becomes a selective factor, and in time most of the yard’s surviving dandelion flowers hug the ground.” — The Book of Field and Roadside by John Eastman

“When you stop seeing them as villains, many weeds can be considered as useful plants and certainly have been in the past. Dandelions produce fresh, green leaves nearly all year round. They make a nice addition to a salad, although most people find them too bitter to eat in any quantity. … Dandelion roots are edible too, and have been used in the past as a coffee substitute. If you can find some nice fat burdock roots to go with them, you could even make your own old-fashioned dandelion and burdock drink.” — The Alternative Kitchen Garden by Emma Cooper

“Early medieval Arabian physicians recognized the medicinal properties of dandelion, recorded in Egyptian tombs and described by Theophrastus. Its diuretic effects are mirrored in the common names of pissabed and the French pissenlit; it is recommended for the liver, kidneys, and gallbladder, and even for the treatment of diabetes. In India it is also a traditional remedy for snakebites and its milky sap is said to cure surface tumors and warts, and even unsightly moles and freckles.” — Weeds by Nina Edwards

I ate dandelion flowers blended up with eggs and cooked like scrambled eggs. Its a simple recipe that I adapted from instructions found in the The Dandelion Celebration by Peter Gail. The flowers taste more or less the way they smell. They have a bitterness to them that is akin to their leaves but isn’t nearly as strong. I have eaten dandelion leaves several times and I like them, so the bitterness doesn’t really bother me. If I were to make this again I would use a higher egg to dandelion flower ratio, because even though I enjoyed the flavor, it was a little strong.

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Eating Weeds: Clovers

If you ever spent time hunting for four-leaf clovers in the lawn as a kid, in all likelihood you were seeking out the leaves of Trifolium repens or one of its close relatives. Commonly known as white clover, the seeds of T. repens once came standard in turfgrass seed mixes and was a welcome component of a healthy lawn thanks to its ability to fix atmospheric nitrogen and provide free fertilizer. But around the middle of the 20th century, when synthetic fertilizers and herbicides became all the rage, clover’s reputation shifted from acceptable to disreputable. Elizabeth Kolbert, in an article in The New Yorker about American lawns, recounts the introduction of the broadleaf herbicide 2,4-D: “Regrettably, 2,4-D killed not only dandelions but also plants that were beneficial to lawns, like nitrogen-fixing clover. To cover up this loss, any plant that the chemical eradicated was redefined as an enemy.”

white clover (Trifolium repens) in turf grass

This particular enemy originated in Europe but can now be found around the globe. It has been introduced both intentionally and accidentally. Commonly cultivated as a forage crop for livestock, its seeds can be found hitchhiking to new locations in hay and manure. Clover honey is highly favored, and so clover fields are maintained for honey production as well. Its usefulness, however, doesn’t protect it from being designated as a weed. In Weeds of North America, white clover is accused of being “a serious weed in lawns, waste areas, and abandoned fields.”

White clover is a low-growing, perennial plant that spreads vegetatively as well as by seed. It sends out horizontal shoots called stolons that form roots at various points along their length, creating a dense groundcover. Its compound leaves are made up of three, oval leaflets, and its flower heads are globe-shaped and composed of up to 100 white to (sometimes) pink florets. Rich in nectar, the flowers of white clover draw in throngs of bees which assist in pollination. Closely related and similar looking strawberry clover, Trifolium fragiferum, is distinguished by its pink flowers and its fuzzy, rounded seed heads that resemble strawberries or raspberries. Red clover, T. pratense, grows more upright and taller than white and strawberry clovers and has red to purple flowers.

leaves and seed heads of strawberry clover (Trifolium fragiferum)

Clovers are tough plants, tolerating heat, cold, drought, and trampling. Lawns deprived of water go brown fairly quickly, revealing green islands of interlopers, like clover, able to hang in there throughout dry spells. These days, many of us are reconsidering our need for a lawn. Lawns are water hogs that require a fair amount of inputs to keep them green and free of weeds, pests, and diseases. The excessive amounts of fertilizers and pesticides dumped on them from year to year is particularly troubling.

Along with our reconsideration of the lawn has come clover’s return to popularity, and turfgrass seed mixes featuring clover are making a comeback. To keep clover around, herbicde use must be curbed, and so lawns may become havens for weeds once more. Luckily, many of those weeds, including clover, are edible, so urban foragers need only to step out their front door to find ingredients for their next meal.

The leaves and flowers of clover can be eaten cooked or raw. Fresh, new leaves are better raw than older leaves. That being said, clover is not likely to be anyone’s favorite green. Green Deane refers to it as a “survival or famine food” adding that “only the blossoms are truly pleasant to human tastes,” while “the leaves are an acquired or tolerated taste.” In The Book of Field and Roadside, John Eastman remarks: “As humanly edible herbs, clovers do not rank as choice. Yet they are high in protein and vitamins and can be eaten as a salad or cooked greens and in flower head teas. Flower heads and leaves are much more easily digested after boiling.”

I tried strawberry clover leaves and flower heads in a soup made from a recipe found in the The Front Yard Forager by Melany Vorass Herrara. Around two cups of clover chopped, cooked, and blended with potatoes, scallions, and garlic in vegetable or chicken broth is a fine way to enjoy this plant. I don’t anticipate eating clover with great frequency, partly because it is included in a list of wild edible plants with toxic compounds in The North American Guide to Common Poisonous Plants and Mushrooms and also because I have to agree with the opinions of the authors quoted above – there are better tasting green things. Either way, it’s worth trying at least once.

clover soup

More Eating Weeds Posts on Awkward Botany:

Party Time for Puncture Vine at Boise Goathead Fest

When the Goathead Monster revealed itself before the big bike parade at the first annual Boise Goathead Fest, it was worried that the thousands of people it saw gathered before it were there out of hatred. After all, “rides have been ruined, tires have been trashed, and punctures have permeated” the “pedal-powered lives” of pretty much everyone in attendance, and the Goathead Monster was to blame. For that reason, hundreds (perhaps thousands) of pounds of puncture vine had been pulled around Boise throughout the month of July, all in preparation for this inaugural event.

Certainly, those of us who ride bikes regularly have a sore spot for this problematic plant. Yet, we weren’t there in anger. We were there to celebrate bicycles, community, friendship, and summer, and even if it took a villain like the Goathead Monster to bring us all together, how could we be mad?

My bike decorated with a papiermâchée goathead.

Bicycle events like this one have been a feature of summers in Boise, Idaho for years now. For over a decade, Tour de Fat was the main event, but after dropping Boise from its tour schedule starting this year, Boise (with New Belgium Brewing‘s continued support) was left to create its own thing. Boise Bicycle Project, along with the help of several other bike-centric and bike-friendly organizations, put together Boise Goathead Fest. The trappings are similar to Tour de Fat – a bike parade, along with music, food, drinks, costumes, games, and weirdness. The main difference is that this event is “bona fide Boise” … and goathead themed.

As a bicycle enthusiast, this is already my kind of event. As a plant nerd – and even more so, as a weeds-obsessed plant nerd – a noxious weed-themed festival is about as on the nose as you can get. Where else are you going to see people dressing up their bikes and themselves like a noxious weed? And where else are you going to find people who, despite their disdain for this plant (or perhaps because of it), decide to come together and celebrate? In a way, it makes me wish we could throw a party for all vilified plants, each one getting a chance to tell its story, and each one getting some time under the spotlight, in spite of the negative feelings we may have towards them.

Sierra rode in the parade dressed up as a Goat Buster.

Goathead is an easy plant to rally around. As executive director of Boise Bicycle Project said on Idaho Matters, goatheads are a “bane of bicycling, and they don’t discriminate. It doesn’t matter who you are, where you’re from, what sort of bicycle you’re riding … you’re going to get a flat tire from these things.” Perhaps other noxious weeds don’t quite have the charisma that puncture vine does – the ability to “unify everyone together” – but that’s okay. I’ll just have to find a way to celebrate each of them some other way. As it is, we now have Boise Goathead Fest, and if that means that every summer for years to come people will be donning goathead costumes and coming together to party in a positive way, what more can we ask for?

goathead art

more goathead art

The goathead monster is center stage.

bicycle-powered stage

See Also: How to Identify Puncture Vine (a.k.a. the Goathead Monster)

Phylogenetic Arts and Crafts

This is a guest post by Rachel Rodman.

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The foods we eat – namely fruits, vegetables, and grains – are all products of their own evolutionary stories. Some of the most well-known chapters in these stories are the most recent ones – dramatic changes in size and shape mediated by human selection.

One especially striking example is that of Brassica oleracea –the source of broccoli, cauliflower, kale, Brussels sprouts, kohlrabi, and cabbage. Each of these diverse vegetables belongs to the same species, and each is the product of a different kind of selection, exerted on different descendants of a common ancestor.

Corn is another famous chapter. The derivation of corn – with its thick cobs and juicy kernels developed from the ancestral grain teosinte, which it barely resembles – has been described as “arguably man’s first, and perhaps his greatest, feat of genetic engineering.”

But these, again, are recent chapters. Relatively. They unfolded over the course of consecutive human lifetimes –hundreds of years or thousands at the outset (sometimes much less). They are the final flourishes (for the moment) on a much older story — a story that significantly precedes agriculture as well as humans.

It is this older story that lies at the heart of truly deep differences, like those at play in the idiom “apples and oranges.” The contrast between these two fruits can be mapped according to many measures: taste, smell, texture, visual appearance, and so on. When used colloquially, the phrase serves as a proxy for unmanageable difference — to describe categories that differ along so many axes that they can no longer be meaningfully compared.

However, in evolutionary terms, the difference between apples and oranges is not ineffable. It is not a folksy aphorism or a Zen puzzle at which to throw up one’s hands. To the contrary, it can be temporalized and quantified; or at least estimated. In fact, in evolutionary terms, that difference comes down to about 100 million years. That is, at least, the date (give or take) when the last common ancestor of apples and oranges lived — a flowering plant from the mid-Cretaceous.

The best way to represent these deep stories is with a diagram called a phylogenetic tree. In a phylogenetic tree, each species is assigned its own line, and each of these lines is called a branch. Points at which two branches intersect represent the common ancestor of the species assigned to these branches.

Phylogenetic trees can serve many purposes. Their classical function is to communicate a hypothesis – a pattern of familial relationships supported by a particular set of data based on DNA sequence, fossils, or the physical characteristics of living organisms.

But here are two alternate reasons to build trees:

  • To inspire wonder
  • Or (my favorite) just because

To reflect these additional motivations – this conviction that trees are for everyone and for all occasions and that an evolutionary tree belongs on every street corner – when I build trees, I often avail myself of a range of non-traditional materials. I’ve written previously about creating edible trees using cake frosting and fruit, as well as building trees out of state symbols and popular songs. Now here are two additional building materials, which are arguably even more fun.

First: Stickers. This one is titled: “Like Apples and Oranges…and Bananas.”

Bananas split ways with the common ancestor of apples and oranges about 150 million years ago, 50 million years before the split between apples and oranges. On this tree, these relationships are represented like so: the banana branch diverges from the apple branch at a deeper position on the trunk, and the orange branch diverges from the apple branch at a shallower position. 

All of the data required to build this tree  (and essentially any tree) is available at TimeTree.orgOn TimeTree, select “Get Divergence Time For a Pair of Taxa” at the top of the page. This is where one can obtain a divergence time estimate for most pairs of species. The divergence time is an approximate date, millions of years ago, at which the organisms’ last common ancestors may have lived. For more heavy duty assistance, there is the “Load a List of Species” option at the bottom of the page. Here, one can upload a list of species names (.txt), and TimeTree will generate a complete tree – a schematic that can serve as a guide in patterning one’s own phylogenetic artwork.

Here, by way of additional illustration, are three more sticker trees, equally charming and equally mouthwatering:

Carrot, watermelon, broccoli, strawberry, and pear.

Onion, asparagus, tomato, cucumber, and cherry.

Raspberry, apricot, pea, grape, and green pepper.

Sticker trees are festive takes on traditional trees. They are brighter, livelier, and more lovely. But, like traditional trees, they are also 2D, restricted to a flat sheet of paper. To extend one’s phylogenetic art projects into three dimensions, one must modify the choice of materials. There are many options. The following 3D tree, for example, employs 13 pieces of plastic toy food, the accouterments of a typical play kitchen. Segments of yarn serve as branches.

Trees like these, made of stickers or toys, constitute playful takes on deep questions. In pencil and yarn, they sketch a network of primeval relationships. They tell the history of our foods, a narrative whose origins profoundly precede us, as well as our intention to selectively breed them. To the Way-Before, to the Way-Way-Way-Before, these projects give shape and color. If and where they succeed, it is because they manage to do two things at once: To communicate a vast biological saga extending across many millions of years, and to be completely cute. Perhaps best of all – and let it not go unmentioned – anyone can make them.

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Bio: Rachel Rodman has a Ph.D. in Arabidopsis genetics and presently aspires to recast all of art, literature, and popular culture in the form of a phylogenetic tree.