While not quite goats in trees, the caper plants that grow on the steep concrete embankments on either side of the Tiber river in Rome are quite remarkable. “How do they hold on?” asked my young son when we stopped to look at a great bushy cluster, before he was distracted by the apocalyptic pile of twisted yellow rental bikes that had clearly been hurled from the Roman pavement 10 metres above. The distraction of bike hooliganism meant I didn’t have to admit to having no idea how capers cling to sheer embankments, or that, until the age of 32, I thought capers were a variety of seaweed.
Capparis spinosa – Flinders rose, or the caper bush – is a rupicolous species, which means it can grow and thrive on rocks and crevices, withstand wind and the harshest environments. Capers grow in great tangles on sand dunes in Pakistan, the coastal deserts of Libya and Tunisia, on the volcanic soil of the Sicilian islands Pantelleria and Salina, they clamber the ramparts of medieval castles in Spain like free climbers … and grow spontaneously on the Aurelian Walls in Rome. It was the trailing bunches clinging to a section of ancient city wall near my flat in Testaccio that taught me that the nubs of flavour on my pizza and the essential jolt of unabashed flavour in sauces, came from land, not sea.
For more read the full of article at The Guardian
