Priya Chandrasekar
A Slower Kind of Evening
There is a particular quiet in the British countryside once the evening settles in — hedgerows going dark, the last of the swifts gone, a chill in the air that asks for a jumper. It is the hour when most of us reach for something to mark the end of the day. Coffee at nine in the evening is a poor idea, and another hour of scrolling is worse. A mug of something warm and herbal, though, is a small ceremony that asks almost nothing of you and gives a great deal back. Making that tea from herbs you grew yourself, dried on a tray in the airing cupboard, turns it into something better still.
Three Herbs That Belong Before Bed
Three herbs earn their place in an evening blend, and all three grow happily in a British garden, a doorstep pot or a corner of an allotment.
- Lemon balm (Melissa officinalis) is the soft, crinkled one that will take over a border if you let it. Its lemony scent comes from volatile oils strongest in the leaf just before the plant flowers, and it has long been taken to settle a busy mind.
- Chamomile — the tall annual German sort with conical yellow centres, or the low, creeping Roman sort with a sweeter, apple-like scent. Use only the flower heads; the stems and leaves taste dusty and bitter.
- Spearmint rather than peppermint. Peppermint is bracing and dominant and can feel sharp late at night; spearmint is softer and sweeter, and lets the other two be heard.
Harvesting and Drying: A Countryside Method
Pick lemon balm and mint on a dry, sunny mid-morning, once the dew has lifted but before the heat of the day draws the oils out of the leaves. Take stems about 10cm above the ground — the plant will push up a fresh flush within a fortnight. For the best flavour, harvest before flowering, though a few buds can go in the pot. Chamomile is all about the flowers: wait until the petals have opened fully, then pick on a dry morning.
Tie lemon balm and mint into loose bunches of six to eight stems and hang them somewhere dark, dry and airy — a spare room, a loft, a shed with the door open on a warm day. An airing cupboard works beautifully: lay the bunches on the slatted shelves over a clean tea towel. Avoid a sunny windowsill, as light bleaches both colour and flavour. In a hurry, spread the leaves on a lined tray and dry them in the oven on its lowest setting, around 40°C, with the door propped open for a couple of hours.
When the leaves crumble between your fingers, they are ready; if they feel leathery, give them another day. Strip the leaves from the stems, dry the chamomile heads on a tray until papery — three to five days — then store everything separately in small glass jars with screw-top lids. Keep them in a dark cupboard away from the kettle, label each jar with the date, and use within a year. The flavour is best in the first six to nine months.
The Blend: Three Parts, Two Parts, One
A reliable starting point is three parts lemon balm, two parts chamomile and one part mint, measured by volume. For a single jar, that is roughly six tablespoons of dried lemon balm, four of chamomile flowers and two of mint. Tip them into a bowl and turn them over gently with a spoon — do not crush or powder them, as the pieces brew more cleanly and keep their scent longer when left whole. Decant into a clean, dry jar, seal it and give it a shake. Write the date on the lid.
Brewing It Properly
For one mug, use a heaped teaspoon of the blend; for a pot, two to three tablespoons per 500ml. Heat the water until it is just off the boil — around 90°C, the point where it stops bubbling and begins to still. Boiling water scalds chamomile and drives off the delicate oils in the lemon balm and mint, so let the kettle rest a moment before you pour.
Cover the mug or pot while it steeps. That lid matters: the oils that make these herbs smell so good are volatile and will happily leave with the steam. Steep for five to seven minutes, tasting at five. Strain into your mug through a small sieve. Skip the milk — it flattens everything — and try the tea unsweetened for a week before deciding whether it needs a teaspoon of honey. If the brew tastes flat and hay-like, your herbs are simply old.
A Ritual, Not a Routine
The tea is only half of it. Use the same mug each night, put your phone in another room, and let the kettle, the spoon and the steam take their time. Sit by a window with the curtain open and watch the garden go grey. Twenty unhurried minutes of that does more for sleep than a whole shelf of remedies. If the blend does not suit you, adjust it: more lemon balm after a stressful day, less chamomile if you find it bitter, a pinch of dried lavender for scent — though go carefully, as lavender quickly takes over.
One small caution. Herbal teas are not always as gentle as they taste, and lemon balm, chamomile and mint can interact with thyroid medication, blood thinners and others. Chamomile belongs to the daisy family, so avoid it if you react to ragweed or chrysanthemums. If you take regular medication, are pregnant or breastfeeding, or live with a health condition, have a word with your pharmacist or GP before making this a nightly habit.
