Oregano

I am old enough to remember a time when a shady drug dealer might sell you a nickel bag of oregano and be long gone before you discovered his deception.  Other than that misuse of the herb, I have always been a fan.  In fact, I've had a bed of oregano in my perennial herb garden for many years.  I like that I can always count on it to advance wild and crazy as the summer lengthens.  I feel a twinge of guilt when I have to cut it back, thinking that I should be giving the springs of herbal essence away to passersby.  It's just that, where I live, I never have any passersby.

Other than using it in tomato sauce and on pizza, oregano is my herb of choice to blend in with olive oil on cut-up veggies that I am preparing to roast.  Such was the case today, after I'd cut up peppers, mushrooms, broccoli, tomatoes, Brussels sprouts, red onion, and carrots.  A look in the pantry reminded me of what I'd forgotten to put on my grocery list.  There was no oregano.

Now I know I just told you that I grow my own.  But you see, I just never seem to remember to hang some sprigs to dry in a cool, dark place before the frost comes to claim my herb garden.  My bad.

Cursing my lack of foresight, I tore the pantry apart, searching for a small lost bottle of oregano magic.  And then I spied a container that I'd forgotten about.  Inside were tiny packets of spices, remnants from some convenience package that promised you a home-cooked meal with everything included.  Right down to the spices.  And there it was:  a tiny, one-square-inch cellophane box of oregano.

I lovingly sprinkled it onto the mound of oiled veggies in the bowl, then spread the mixture on a parchment paper lined baking sheet.  They are ready to go into the oven now.  And I am saved.

Will I remember to harvest my oregano next autumn?  We'll see.  Meanwhile, I am writing oregano on my grocery list.  Because if you don't have oregano, where is the love?