Beg a few inches of the white root and put it almost anywhere.

It is forgiving. Clings on. Goes underground if conditions are
extreme. Twines and twines and twines inside a pot. Throws out

runners if unchecked and seems to have no natural enemies. Once
you have got it you have got it for good. You can spare an inch

or two of the thrusting tendril for passers-by, sundry mint-less
persons. Nip a growing bud and crush it under your nose for the

health of it. What a squiffy scent! Perhaps that is their signal to
back off. And something went wrong and now it is a come-on.

Chop chop chop — and into a green salad. Frisky and enlivening.
Steeped in a skerrick of boiling water and a teaspoonful of sugar,

topped with vinegar — what a bitter herb to bless the leg of lamb.