The Berry before Me: Nightshade

I've watched them arrive this summer, one by one, pop up and flourish in the garden beds. Some planted intentionally, like the Tomatoes, Eggplants, and Peppers, others volunteer, like the Potatoes from years before, but mostly new and welcomed wild fresh faces. The Nightshades. No, not a secret society or fancy light-blocking drapery. Can anyone tell my why I feel so drawn to these diverse beauties?

In the past several years, I've fallen in love with them above all other plant families. Yes the Mints (Lamiaceaes), and Onions (Alliums) and of course the Mustards, (Brassicaceae or Cruciferae), have all vied for my attention while farming, and while I do maintain that if I had to pick only one family to grow, I'd chose the Brassicas for their diversity in form, taste and color, somehow the nightshades remain in the back of my mind as this sort of exotic vegetable siren I can't shake. I've even started writing a research paper on the Hornworm, both Tomato and Tobacco, which subsequently becomes a lovely Hawkmoth. Coincidentally, why we scream when we see their caterpillar form yet flock and awe at the winged version? After spending a summer plucking the worms off and mercilessly squishing them in the greenhouse rows- for which I'll certainly face those deaths in hell-how could I not become fascinated with them, and develop a sort of reverence to their arrival each year. For how could one not find marvelous how an insect like the Hawkmoth or the humble Leaf Miner, can feed upon a "toxic" plant and flourish? An adjacent example, being the Poison Hemlock Moth (Agonopterix alstroemeriana). In their larval stages they feed solely on Hemlock (Conium maculatum). The same plant used by the Athenian government to notoriously kill Socrates (and several other notable characters in our history)! After consuming these plants they are rendered deadly to anybody who would dare snack upon their wriggly bodies.

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I do feel the need to briefly mention that between writing this sentence and the last was about 30 minutes of time. When researching one plant or insect, another pops up or I come across some intriguing fact on this or that, until I learning that Coffee is in the same family as Bedstraw and the Quinine Tree. Part of me feels that my entire life should just be spent studying plants, but how could I ever possibly pick just one? And by studying, what do I even mean? I don't intend to just regurgitate articles or Wikipedia pages. So how can I thoughtfully contribute? Do I find the plants with the shortest pages and accumulate more information on those? Or should I simply use this blog as a note taking app for the plants in my own garden? But how many people know about the oldest nightshade, Physalis infinemundi (Latin for "At the End of the World"), found approximately 50 million years ago before the supercontinent of Gondwana (Africa, Australia, India and Antarctica) broke up?? I'm guessing not many. My husband certainly didn't when I told him just now, and but he also didn't care for my idea of getting "infinemundi" tattooed on my arm. So...

I suppose I just need one thread to pull. Let me start by simply identifying the nightshades on our "property" in Cicekli Vadisi or Flowering Valley.

As I've mentioned, the garden bed bordering our vegetable garden is comprised mostly of wild plants, and a select few planted flowers. Whoever wants to join the party is welcome. Except grasses. Sorry Grass, I just can't keep up with you (excluding corn, which is ALSO A GRASS what?? and why your feeble human body can't process that buttered summery treat anyway since you're not a graminivore. Moo). A few days ago I noticed two plants laden with berries hanging in clusters from what appeared to be a nightshade. One who's berries were a deep golden orange, and the other with berries jet matte black, tiny and delicate and looking ever so tasty but also maybe deadly. Excited I had finally stumbled upon the Deadly nightshade, I immediately took out my phone to do a quick ID with Seek, which does prove to be reliable most of the time.

According to the identification App, these were Red and Black Nightshade respectively. Further research, showed that while the app correctly identified Black Nightshade, Solanum nigrum, I wasn't convinced that the first was Red Nightshade, giving the scientific name of Solanum villosum. The official Seek images did seem to match the berry before me, however an image search for "Red Nightshade" on Google, showed pictures of a deep red oblong berry, in looser clusters, and a few similar to those I was trying to identify. Could they be the same berry, just unripe? Possibly, but the fruit before me seemed to be bursting from the seams with juice, almost translucent with their fullness, as well as rounder in shape than the more oblong examples shown under Red Nightshade, also known as Bittersweet. Furthermore, everything under Red Nightshade and Bittersweet told of the fruit as toxic at worst and inedible at best. Rats. I had already eaten one of the black berries, after finding these were commonly used in African jams and have a taste profile similar to blueberries. Score, can confirm. Not as over sweet or pungent as the Maine native, but more subtle, delicate and creamy, as well as high in Vitamins A and C, notable Calcium, Iron content and containing many antioxidants. I did send a quick text to my husband just to be on the safe side after testing, with a photo of the plant and it's location just to be safe. Although after an hour and finding myself not in a paralytic coma, I deemed them to have been safely identified and popped a few more. Careful of course to avoid the unripened specimens still containing toxic compounds. Where do these alkaloids go during the ripening process? Does time sweeten a fruit? A secondary defense mechanism in place to protect the seeds inside until they communicate to the mother plant that yes, mom, we are in fact ready to venture into the world? Who then sends some sort of permission note allowing those berries to leave the house become sweet and edible? A bad metaphor maybe.

Part of the problem in the internet-age of plant identification is not that there's a lack of information, but too much. Too many cooks my mom would say. College extensions mixed in among backyard blogs and identification groups leave a plethora of pages to wade through, some reputable, but mostly amateurs like myself. Common names showing clearly different species of plants, even sometimes conflicting within the scientific names. How many pages do I read before I feel confident enough to actually consume what I've encountered and "identified"? Apparently I've gotten pretty brazen, reckless even, and only read about five pages before eating one of the black berries. How did our ancestors even get here? Did we just sacrifice one of the group as the "Guinea Pig"? Was there a vote taken? Short straw? Maybe that's one of the reasons why we had so many children. Even when an excess of children would have meant more resources consumed, you could still sacrifice one every once in a while without feeling too much regret. JOKE. Maybe we had our livestock try questionable food first? But even before then, far before words connected us, before the wolves followed us as fellow hunters, who pointed the finger to say, "You first Man"? Were there early versions of Rock, Paper, Scissors played over trying a new food source? Nose goes? If we came across an unidentified plant today, who would be the first to try it?

I digress, and for now I sit between two possible positive ID's-Solanum villosum and Solanum alatum. The latter listed on a seed website, as a cultivar known as Sweet Amber Pearls, promises a "tangy ,sweet and rare taste" also able to be used in jams. Wikipedia actually shows alatum as a subspecies of villosum. Could these be one and the same?

After coming across this article here however I am fully convinced of the orange berry's ID as Solanum villosum sp. alatum. Edible in their fully ripened state, and packed also full of vitals and possibly even anti-aging properties. Both Solanum species seem to be a well-known and valuable food and medicinal source in areas around India and Africa, if not used daily at least in times of food scarcity.

P.S. Two days later...I tried the Villosum berry this morning. Immediately reminiscent of the blueberry with a slightly astringent, bitter after-taste, not at all unpleasant. The website that listed the seeds mentioned to dry them and use similar to raisins. I guess their sweetness really comes through after dehydrating. I've had grapes sitting on my balcony now for almost two weeks and they still haven't fully raisined out yet, so I'm not holding my breath to add these to my granola. I suppose I did wait 33 years to try Alatum anyway, so whats another few weeks.

P.S.S 10 days later...The berries are now fully raisined out. Ended up with a scant Tablespoon. They're okay. I'd certainly add them to a granola if they were in abundance, or no access to raisins, but I'm not sure if I'm going out of my way to collect them. I did however find two more Black Nightshades growing in among the amaranth I cleared away in the garden beds. Verdict stands, really quite tasty. Maybe I can grow them in abundance. I left plenty for the ants and to self-seed next year. Fingers crossed.

Note in the future to find and buy,

Flora of Turkey and the East Aegean Islands, by Davis