Juniper: A Native Spice on a Tree Near You – Gardenista

How often does one think of juniper as a locally grown, seasonal spice—fresh and blue, and sweetly resinous? And how often do most people use juniper in the kitchen, anyway? Juniperus virginiana, native to much of the US and parts of Canada, changed the way I think about juniper, and its fresh flavor brought a new dimension to my cooking life, where I deploy it most in the cold months, but enjoy using it year-round. When you come upon a tree, pop a couple of the berries (more about that nomenclature, later) and give them a gentle chew. They’re a little sugary, very bright, a touch pine-y, and a lot gin-y (think Gordon’s or Bombay Sapphire). They’re good.

Fresh juniper’s vital and fragrant taste is incomparably better than the drier, dustier version we buy in a store.

Photography by Marie Viljoen.

The juniper in question is commonly known as eastern red cedar. The trees are often used in city landscaping because of their tolerance of horticultural neglect, but they also enjoy a wide natural distribution, pretty much from Nova Scotia to Florida, with a deep sortie into the hinterland. They are exceptionally cold-hardy, from USDA growing zones 2 through 9. Water-wise and drought-tolerant, they require full sun (six hours-plus) and excellent drainage. If you’re planting for fruit, you’d need a female tree, and hope that a male lives within pollen-shedding range.

Despite that common name, these trees are not cedars, botanically speaking (those would be Cedrus, belonging to the Pinacea family—pines). Junipers are the genus Juniperus, in the Cupressaceae family, which—wait for it—is known as the cyprus family. It is worth being aware of this semantic murk so that you head for the correct tree, in print, online, or at a nursery.

So, yes: Juniper berries (which are not berries) come from a tree called cedar!

When they turn blue (sometimes coated in a white bloom), juniper “berries” are ready to eat. They taste like intense juniper candy (birds agree and are the tree’s main dispersal agents). Male juniper trees produce tiny, golden seed cones that release clouds of pollen in late winter (it is a flavorful ingredient in its own right—and yes, it’s a major sinus irritant).

Never be tempted to eat a handful of juniper at a time (although, why would you?); it is meant to be used in small doses, like most spices, or it can be toxic. The fruit and foliage (which is very aromatic, too) have a long history of use in Native American medicine.

There are enough juniper species to cover the country, though each varies in flavor: Juniperus communis—common juniper—has a very broad range (and includes Eurasia), but some of its populations Stateside are threatened and even endangered. J. californica and J. occidentalis occur on the West Coast, and the Southwest hosts a slew of junipers in its famous piñon-juniper biome (and also often referred to as cedar or cedar berries), including J. osteosperma, J. grandis, J. monosperma. The Rockies? J. scopulorum.

There is a native juniper for everybody.

Caution: J. sabina (known as savin juniper) is reported to be toxic and an abortifacient. I have tasted it, and the flavor is horrible—not something I would willingly eat. It is an introduced juniper and is sold in the nursery trade, for its low-growing,  sprawling habit. I think it’s likely that any juniper munched by the cupful will make you sick. Most studies I’ve read that deliver a toxic verdict include subjecting unfortunate laboratory animals to very high concentrations of the plant, or analyze what happened to browsing animals after they ingested a great deal. These are not amounts humans would ever consume normally.

I use juniper in some predictable ways: In slow-cooked, wintery dishes like borscht and braised red cabbage, in Nordic meatball sauces, and in dishes featuring duck. But it is a surprisingly versatile spice: