Round Robin: Exasperating Perilla Frutescens

LANSING, New York—Was there ever such an exasperating plant as perilla? Ever a plant so determinedly, so single-mindedly, so frantically bent on procreation? It seeds itself into the center of every perennial in the garden, into pots of geraniums, and in the cracks between bricks and flagstones. How shamefully fecund it is, yet how useful!

I’m referring to the annual herb Perilla frutescens, native to Japan, China, and India—or I think I am. The perilla I grow is a 2- to 4-foot plant with large, ovate, tapered, toothed, corrugated, pungent opposite leaves that are of an almost indescribable color: like dregs of Chianti with a grayish overtone due to almost invisible white hairs. The colorless flowers in square spikes are negligible. In going through the books to make sure I have the name right, I found the usual muddle of experts differing and leaving me thoroughly confused. Apparently P. frutescens comes in both green and purple forms, with both smooth and ruffled leaves, but each reference has a different opinion on how to name them. I’ll just say that mine is the one with dark gray-bronzy-purple, nonshiny, nonruffled leaves.

The leaves begin to turn green as the plant makes flowers and seeds, but one can slow this process by constantly cutting them back. The leaves and seeds of perilla have been used for centuries in the Orient, especially in Japan, as an important cooking herb—in tempura, in sauces and salads, and pickled, to add flavor to fish, bean curd, and vegetables. Some people compare its odor and taste to that of cinnamon, but that’s only one element. It’s cinnamon and lots of other scents put together. Like the color, it’s indescribable.