herbal cough syrup

We like to forage for plants in early autumn that support our health through winter illnesses. A very timely medicinal harvest, like the nettles in spring. Some years I’ve made elderberry cordial, others, rosehip cordial. The following simple homemade herbal cough syrup includes both, plus hibiscus and honey for a delicious variation without refined sugar. If you can forage the ingredients fresh – brilliant! Luckily, the dried versions available at herbal shops are also great, so you can make this remedy anytime you need it.

My tall girl spotted elderberries growing just next door to our friend’s place, as we set off on a walk while our dried herbs were infusing!

We used dried elderberries. Add rosehips and hibiscus to these, about 1 part each to 2 parts elderberry.

Simmer these until very soft in just less than double the weight in water as you have in herbs. So, if you have 500g of herbs, use about 900ml of water.

Strain them through a scalded cloth. You can hang this to drain overnight if you like, to get every last bit.

Once the infusion has cooled, pour in raw honey – 1 part honey to 2 parts herbal infusion.

cough_syrup

Stir it up gently and store it in small, very clean bottles in the fridge til required! We take a spoonful when we feel a sore throat coming on.

(I reserve the stewed herbs to make an infused vinegar, too.) Stay well!

elderberry cordial

Preserving berries as a cordial takes me hurtling back to childhood. My grandmother would make a syrup from the wild blackberries she would pick each summer. She’d fill green bottles that seemed colossal to me, and the stuff was rich, heady and gorgeously dark.

elderberry cordial © elisa rathje 2011

I haven’t yet found a blackberry patch big enough for those purposes, but the elderberries we gathered share many qualities with the blackberry. They are ever so beautiful, and I was very pleased with how they really did pop off the stem like little buttons when pushed by a fork, just as my Preserves handbook says. Lovely! I was eager to taste them and had a ripe, raw one.

Awful!

elderberry cordial © elisa rathje 2011

Still, I persisted, and cooked them til soft in a bit of water.

elderberry cordial © elisa rathje 2011

Here in London, away from all of my preserving equipment, I kept it quite simple and used what I had. Cheesecloth, scalded to prepare it, and folded in layers, did the trick to hold the crushed berries and allow them to drain overnight into a clean jar. (I’ve reserved the berry pulp for an infused vinegar, following the advice of Food in Jars)

elderberry cordial © elisa rathje 2011

In the morning I resisted tasting the liquid until I’d dissolved sugar into it over low heat. Then I sampled it again, my first taste of elderberry cordial.

Marvellous!

elderberry cordial © elisa rathje 2011

I put up a very small bottle to save for fighting wintry flu bugs. We tasted the rest diluted with water, though I’m sure that sparkling water would be very fine and sparkling wine still finer. Everyone agrees. Marvellous stuff.

elderberrying

Whenever I become familiar with a plant I begin to see it everywhere, ubiquitous, like the name of a star who appears everywhere you look. Each year the elderberry eluded me. I never knew it like I know the wild blackberry, sure of its stages, and though we knew where to find elders from gathering elderflower in the spring, we’d return each summer to England long past berry season. This summer we were resolute. On a sunny afternoon the children and I called on the first plants we’d collected flowers from, along an old greenway near our old flat in London, where nettles grow tall and rich and blackberries line the path.

 elderberries © elisa rathje 2011

Abundance.

 elderberries © elisa rathje 2011

I was warned that elderberries are a bit poisonous raw, and so we still only imagine their flavour, though we’ve since heard that’s only the unripe ones. The bucketful we’ve picked are bound for a medicinal cordial, but may not make it past us to flu season. While the berries on the sunny side of the path were glorious black, in the shade there are green ones, there’s time yet to return for more elderberrying.

 elderberries © elisa rathje 2011

The elders grow tormentingly tall along our path, but we made a couple of friends, building at the end of a garden, who emerged with the perfect berry snips, and helped us forage a few extra umbels. Ever so kind! I spotted what I thought were plums high up, out of reach, and I’m delighted to hear they are likely damsons. My first glimpse of them. This is wild fruit I’ve only dreamt of in deep winter whilst poring over my copy of Hedgerow.

mirabelles © elisa rathje 2011

Our friends confirmed that we’d found a wild plum. Probably mirabelles, if Mark, the head gardener at River Cottage, can be trusted. He did just write their latest handbook, Fruit, which I must wrestle away from my tall girl so I can read it myself.

hawthorn berries © elisa rathje 2011

Our small girl was enchanted with the hawthorn berries and wanted to collect them. I’m hoping they will keep on the trees until we’re back in the countryside with our trugs and our preserving jars. I’ll be back soon to show you what I’m doing with all the wild food!

Before you go, subscribe to the appleturnover postcards, which will commence with this autumn’s equinox, in celebration of a year of homemade stories. I’ll be marking the anniversary with a gloriously delicious project that tells the story of how appleturnover came to be. Get the postcards to your inbox for a peek at what I’m plotting to learn to make in the coming months and to catch singular homemade projects appearing in the impending appleturnovershop.