First Pickings: Bibb Lettuce, Tender and Leafy

When I cut the largest head of Bibb lettuce the other day, I was surprised to see that the leaves bled a white, opaque liquid. I’ve never had lettuce that fresh, even from a farmer’s market. According to this Web site run by the George Mateljan Foundation, that milky liquid gives lettuce both its bitter flavor and its Latin name, Lactuca sativa. It is also said to be a mild narcotic, though I must say it hasn’t affected me in the least.

Bibb and Boston lettuces are usually among the most expensive varieties at the supermarket. As a result, I don’t buy those loosehead varieties as often as I do Romaine or red leaf lettuce, even though I love their tenderness and pretty, gently ruffled leaves. Now I have a whole garden full of Bibb, and I am harvesting the reward of all those mornings and evenings spent keeping an unprepossessing collection of seedlings evenly soaked.

That first lettuce head was almost too pretty to take. I made a magnificent salad of it, using locally grown tomatoes and cucumbers (my own haven’t borne fruit just yet), and some pasta shells. For dressing, I mixed some white wine with fresh lemon juice, rice vinegar, olive oil, salt, pepper, and a few herbs from the flowerbed: dill, chives, and basil. The dressing had to be light but special enough to set off my beautiful prize, and the result was a summer meal that any oil baron or potentate would covet.

Having dealt with cabbage worms in the past, I was skeptical about growing any leafy vegetables, but the lettuce has been surprisingly undisturbed by pests. Perhaps it’s because of the radishes . . . but that’s another story. Suffice to say, those succulent, light-green whorls are gorgeous, and I feel privileged indeed to dine on them, one by lovely, sweet (and ever so slightly bitter) one.

I will have to pick them all before they bolt, for a blooming lettuce is an increasingly hard and unpalatable plant. Last year, when I let a head of Romaine bloom in late summer, it produced a remarkably tall, ugly stalk, topped by a set of mangy, yellowish flowers. Though it is a pity to take them out, go they must, for the greater good of the garden—and of me, naturally.