My woods are lousy with spicebush. The shrub grows abundantly in deciduous forests across the U.S. and Canada. It’s a gift to foragers and cooks—accessible and versatile, with a shapeshifting flavor. Although I’ve used spicebush in teas, boozy infusions, baked goods, and tubs for years, I still can’t get a handle on when or where it shines best. Right now, I recommend that you find time to gather its bright red berries before they drop off, likely by early October.

The berries, which ripen on female plants between late summer and early fall, are your entry point. They’re easy to spot. They’re firm, glossy, elongated, and no bigger than the tip of your pinkie. Smash one and a piney, citrusy, resinous quality will announce itself. Once you are certain it is what you think it is, try popping one in your mouth. These bracing, bold berries are not juicy berries that you gobble by handfuls, but thoughtful nibbles. Don’t be too greedy when harvesting. Birds and mammals like the berries a lot, too. I try not to strip more than a quarter of them from any given bush.

The unripe green berries have some of the same flavor and aroma, though it is not as developed. The leaves have more of a lemongrass thing going on, and if you split apart one of the plant’s pliable green twigs, you’ll get more of that.

The elements of spicebush are familiar, but the sum is its own thing. Although early white settlers used spicebush berries in place of warming spices like cinnamon, cloves, or nutmeg, it isn’t really like those at all. When dried, it can even provoke a mouth-numbing sensation reminiscent of Szechuan peppercorn. (In fact, I use it as a stand-in for Szechuan peppercorn in my version of Chinese five-spice.)

The berries can be used fresh, smashed or minced, though they pack the most punch when dried—no dehydrator necessary. Just leave them out on a tray to shrivel up and brown. It’ll take four days, tops, and they’ll brown more quickly and evenly if you shake the pan every day or so. Spicebush berries have a high oil content, so they form a paste of sorts if buzzed too enthusiastically in a spice grinder. I prefer a mortar and pestle. You might even bash them with the flat of your knife and then chop them up.

I strip the leaves from the twigs, lay the leaves out on a tray, and allow them to dry at ambient temperature. The twigs I don’t dry, as they give you the clearest flavor when used fresh, preferably in the spring, when the plant is newly invigorated. You can use the dried leaves to make a soothing tea, but they are fairly bland alone. They taste best when mixed with dried mint. The twigs are more promising. I stick a few in nearly every batch of bitters I make, where they impart a subtle citronella note.

• Add dried berries to fermenting kraut or braising red cabbage.
• Make a marinade for shrimp from ground cumin and dried spicebush berries, plus garlic and soy sauce. Skewer the shrimp on spicebush twigs that have been stripped of their leaves, then grill.
• Make annatto oil, adding a ton of flavor by using an equal ratio of spicebush berries to annatto (achiote) seeds. That makes a striking, sharp-tasting finishing oil that’s nice drizzled over fatty red meat. This is very restaurant-y.
• Add spicebush berries or twigs to steeping batches of vermouth, or whatever the hell else you can dream up. A number of heartland distilleries use spicebush berries in their gin formulas.
• Make the rub below and pat it onto a piece of red meat.