If you’ve ever stood in a dusty Mexican market or stared down a bunch of jagged, pungent green leaves at a specialty grocer, you’ve probably wondered: how do you say epazote in English? It's a weird one. Honestly, there isn't a single, perfect translation that rolls off the tongue like "cilantro" or "parsley." Most English speakers just call it epazote. But if you're looking for the botanical or colloquial English equivalents, you're usually going to hear it called Mexican tea, wormseed, or the somewhat unappealing skunkweed.
Actually, "wormseed" is the most historically accurate translation, though it sounds more like something a medieval apothecary would sell you than a culinary herb. This name comes from the plant's traditional use as an anthelmintic—basically, it was used to expel intestinal worms. Not exactly the first thing you want to think about when you're simmering a pot of black beans, right? But that’s the reality of the plant Dysphania ambrosioides. It's a powerhouse of chemistry and culture, all wrapped up in a leaf that smells like a mix of citrus, pine, and gasoline.
The Names You’ll Actually Find in Books
Let’s get into the weeds of the terminology. When people ask how do you say epazote in English, they are often looking for something they can find in a standard gardening book or a grocery store label.
Mexican tea is the most "polite" version. You’ll see this in older botanical texts. It’s a bit of a misnomer because it implies a gentle, chamomile-like experience. Epazote is anything but gentle. It’s aggressive. It’s assertive. It’s the kind of herb that takes over a dish and refuses to apologize.
Then there’s Jesuit’s tea. This one is a throwback to the 17th century when the plant was brought to Europe. The Jesuits were big fans of its medicinal properties. They saw it as a cure-all for stomach ailments. If you're browsing old-school herbalism archives, look for that name.
Then we have skunkweed or stinkweed. These names aren't just people being mean. The plant contains a high concentration of ascaridole, a compound that gives it its distinct, pungent aroma. To some, it’s refreshing. To others, it smells like a literal skunk or a fresh patch of asphalt in July.
Why Epazote Doesn't Have a Common English Name
Most English speakers never bothered to give it a "normal" name because it’s not native to the English-speaking world in a culinary sense. It’s an immigrant. It arrived in the US and UK kitchens through the popularity of authentic Mexican cuisine.
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Think about it. We don't translate "sushi." We don't translate "croissant."
When a food is so deeply tied to a specific culture's soul, the original name usually wins. Epazote is a Nahuatl word—epazotl. It’s a combination of epatl (skunk) and tzotl (sweat). So, "skunk sweat." Delicious, right? The Aztecs were nothing if not honest about their botany.
You’ll find it growing wild in parts of the Southern United States. There, it’s often just called a weed. Farmers hate it. It’s hardy, it’s invasive, and it thrives in disturbed soil. But go to a high-end kitchen in Chicago or a grandmother's kitchen in Oaxaca, and that "weed" is the secret to the best beans you've ever tasted in your life.
The Gas-Busting Secret (The Science of the Bean)
Why do we care about the English name? Usually, it’s because someone told us to put it in our beans.
There is a massive piece of folk wisdom—which actually has some scientific backing—that epazote reduces flatulence. If you’ve ever had a bowl of black beans and felt fine afterward, you might have epazote to thank.
The essential oils in the plant, specifically that ascaridole I mentioned earlier, help break down the complex oligosaccharides in beans that the human stomach struggles to digest. When those sugars don't break down, they ferment in the gut. That’s where the gas comes from. Epazote acts as a sort of chemical mediator. It makes the beans "behave."
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If you’re trying to explain this to an English-speaking friend, you might just call it the "anti-gas herb." It’s not a formal translation, but it’s the one that gets the point across fastest.
Using Epazote Without Killing Your Dinner
Here is the thing about epazote: you cannot use it like parsley.
If you chop up a handful of epazote and throw it into a salad, you’re going to have a bad time. It’s incredibly strong. A little goes a very long way. Typically, you want to use one or two sprigs for a large pot of beans.
Fresh vs. Dried
In English-speaking markets, you’re way more likely to find it dried. Honestly, dried epazote is "epazote-lite." It loses about 60% of that funky, medicinal punch. If you can’t find it fresh, the dried version is better than nothing, but it won't give you that signature Oaxacan flavor.
If you do find it fresh, look for firm, green leaves. Avoid anything turning yellow. It stays fresh in the fridge for about a week if you wrap it in a damp paper towel. Or, you can do what I do: buy a big bunch, use what you need, and freeze the rest. It turns into a dark green mush when it thaws, but the flavor stays intact for the cooking liquid.
A Warning About Toxicity
We have to talk about the "wormseed" thing again.
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Because epazote was used to kill parasites, it contains compounds that can be toxic in very high doses. We are talking about the concentrated oil, though. Eating a few leaves in your soup is perfectly safe for adults. However, it is generally recommended that pregnant women and small children avoid it, just to be on the safe side.
In the 19th century, "Oil of Chenopodium" (derived from the plant) was a common medical treatment, but it was also dangerous because the line between "killing the worms" and "hurting the patient" was thin. Today, we just use it for flavor. Keep it in the pot, keep it in moderation, and you’ll be fine.
Where to Buy Epazote if You Live in the US or UK
If you’re looking for it in a store and the clerk looks at you like you have three heads when you ask how do you say epazote in English, try these spots:
- Mexican Carnicerias: This is your best bet. It’s usually in the refrigerated produce section, often tucked away near the cilantro and radishes.
- Health Food Stores: Sometimes they carry it as "Mexican Tea" in the bulk herb section.
- Online Spice Shops: Places like Penzeys or local artisanal spice hunters often carry high-quality dried epazote.
- The Sidewalk: Seriously. If you live in a place like California, Texas, or even New York City in the summer, it grows in the cracks of the sidewalk. I wouldn't recommend eating "sidewalk epazote" because of the pollution and... well, dogs. But it’s there.
Cultivating Your Own
If you really want to embrace the epazote life, grow it yourself. It is incredibly easy. Too easy.
In fact, if you plant it once, you will have it forever. It reseeds itself with aggressive enthusiasm. You can find seeds under the name Dysphania ambrosioides or just "Epazote." It loves full sun. It doesn't need fancy soil. It just needs a bit of water and room to be its pungent self.
Actionable Next Steps for the Home Cook
If you’ve just discovered this herb and want to move beyond the name, here is how you actually use it:
- The Bean Method: Add one large sprig of fresh epazote (or a tablespoon of dried) to a pot of black beans during the last 30 minutes of cooking. Do not add it at the beginning, or the flavor will turn bitter.
- The Quesadilla Hack: In Mexico City, it’s common to put a single leaf of epazote inside a corn tortilla with some Oaxacan cheese and a slice of jalapeño. Fry it up. The heat mellows the herb just enough to make it earthy and fragrant.
- The Mushroom Sauté: Sauté some cremini or oyster mushrooms with garlic, onion, and finely chopped epazote. It adds a depth of flavor that makes people ask, "What is that?"
- Infusion: If you're feeling brave, make a light tea. Use a small amount of the herb and honey. It’s an acquired taste, but it’s a classic remedy for an upset stomach.
Epazote is one of those ingredients that defines a cuisine. Knowing that it’s called "Mexican tea" or "wormseed" in English is a fun trivia fact, but the real value is in the pot. It’s the bridge between a boring meal and something that tastes like a heritage. Next time you're at the market, don't look for the English name. Look for the jagged leaves and that unmistakable smell of the earth.