Agita. An ailment that lies somewhere between proper indigestion and neurosis.
Most commonly rearing it’s discomfort-inducing head via unnecessarily stressful situations. These may be as diverse as the bakery being out of rih-goth (ricotta) pie or the back-and-forth drama created by a tandem of equally thick-headed, controlling cooks, in an over-crowded pantry, on any given Sunday (dinner).
Perhaps more frequently however, the source of many-an-agita-suffer’s gripe can be directly attributed to the use (or overuse) of garlic. Fret not. A few leaves of this stuff will surely take care of your symptoms.
Just this a.m. a stroll through the more-fragrant area of the garden whisked me away down recollection road. I am still awestruck by how diligent (bordering on diabolically so) Salvatore truly was in his treatment of this herbaceous, tri-leafed plant. He even went as far as to construct a rudimentary greenhouse, exclusively for his wonder weed.
Picture this: a planter’s box (more accurately, an enclosure, without a base floor) whose side walls were made of three-foot-by-one-and-a-half-foot-long wooden scalene triangles, topped by a hinged piece of glass, for access. After the season’s final harvest, in the soil underneath, he would bury altoid tins filled with every variety of seed, in preparation for next year’s crop.
A small handful also freshens breath – parsley, not altoids.