It all points to a surprise
Through the night, as rains hammer the earth smooth, pummeling lesser creatures into submission, the leek merely slouches like a detective beneath a street lamp. At dawn, when your breath still hangs in the air, the flat-bladed leaves call to mind the gunmetal of a snub-nose .45.
Yes, this allium is the Robert Mitchum of the plant world -- tough and hard-boiled, yet, unexpectedly, elegant and mischievous. In the gritty, film noir Los Angeles of Chandler, Cain, Towne and Mosley, there may be no more appropriate plant to harbor in the garden than the leek.
When people think of leeks, they think of goon-sized scallions loitering in grocery bins, banded tightly together like TNT. But leeks are top-notch ornamental plants as well. Best used as the bones of a garden, their spare form allows lacy and delicate plants to show off effortlessly.
Leeks can grow just about anywhere. They take full sun or full shade. It makes no difference. They sneer at what we call winter and move their business underground when the action gets too hot. Sniveling pests don’t get under a leek’s skin, especially here. Disease? Not in your yard. Leeks will grow in any ground short of asphalt. They won’t hog nutrients in the soil (though they do like to drink before noon).
They’ve been around the block. Cultivated for about 5,000 years, they were doled out as rewards to slaves who built Cheops and the Great Sphinx. Native to a region spanning from the Nile to the Ganges, the leek, Allium porrum, was introduced to corners of the Old World by Phoenician traders who prized the pearly white stems for their culinary and medicinal properties.
Hippocrates prescribed them for nosebleeds. (Of course, how people got leeks up their noses is anyone’s guess.) Charlemagne decreed that all of France should be planted with leeks, thus guaranteeing that French women would remain thin and coquettish while on their leek soup regimens.
Nero was said to have consumed leeks every day in the belief that they strengthened his voice. His nickname, Porrophagus (“leek eater”), exemplifies how intimidating he must have been. Imagine walking into a bar and having a friend beckon, “Hey, Porrophagus! Over here!” Nero must have had fists the size of canned hams.
The leek’s most famous moment was the Battle of Heathfield. In 633, King Cadwallader and his men defeated a brutal legion of Saxons. At the urging of the poet and preacher St. David, the Britons stuck polished leeks into their hatbands to identify friend from foe. A great many Saxons parted company with their heads on that bloody day and, in honor of the victory, the Welsh made the leek a national symbol.
While cookbook writers bemoan the absence of leeks on American plates, I lament their scarcity in the garden. Hardly a manlier plant can be found. I put this observation to the test by pressing manly men for their opinions. I first exhibited a collection of leeks to Alfred Navarro, a contractor who rides a Harley and makes his own bullets. His response: “It looks like iron gate work or something. Oh, that’s cool.”
Navarro’s got it right. The flower stems do bend and curl like wrought iron. The serpentine movements of the leek flower spiral in ways that would inspire Alvin Ailey and delight Antoni Gaudi. Like a good mystery novel, the leek delivers strange and astonishing twists to the plot.
The flower is an explosion -- a burst of white, star-shaped blooms that sits atop the plant like the grand finale of a fireworks show. It’s pure dynamite when grown next to purple-leafed loropetulam, bronze fennel or Euphorbia purpurea. It looks just as terrific with chartreuse feverfew or black-green germander. Plus it’s an excellent companion for most plants except legumes, whose growth can be inhibited by the chemicals that leeks exude in the soil.
Planted in spring or fall, from seed, bulb or transplant, leeks couldn’t be easier to introduce into your garden. If you’re planting by seed, just scratch the ground, sprinkle seeds and cover thinly with high quality, sifted compost. Then water lightly and frequently until your leek beds are robust.
If you’re planting bulbs, you’ll get to use a dibber, a wooden hand tool that looks like a chubby ice pick. It’s used for making excellent holes. For those who don’t own a dibber, use the handle of a rake. Use an old turkey drumstick if you must. Whatever your tool, poke a 2-inch hole into the ground, plunk a leek bulb down and walk away. Don’t cover the bulb; rather, allow water to erode soil into the hole.
Transplanting larger leek plants is simple too. Even leeks bought at a farmers market can be replanted into your garden as long as a healthy length of root is attached. Simply trim back the blue-green leaves 3 or 4 inches, then bury the roots into well-amended soil. A small grove can be established in a single afternoon.
But will you have a macho plant? I asked firefighters at Pasadena’s Station 38 for their take on leeks. I informed the lot of them that leeks can be grown as perennials if allowed to set out lateral bulbs, and that they deter pests from bothering neighboring plants. “That makes it worthwhile right there,” Fireman Byron said.
“You know, we actually have a garden,” Fireman Tim admitted. They all nodded to one another with silent understanding.
Here’s a sawbuck that says Station 38 will be growing leeks soon. Case closed.
Tony Kienitz is the author of “The Year I Ate My Yard.” He can be reached at home@latimes.com.
