IN WHICH I
  • ... Write
  • ... Explain

Beefsteak!

6/9/2019

2 Comments

 
I'm not announcing my abandonment of vegetarianism.
pinkish bracket fungus on a mossy tree trunk
I did not forage the insect.
I mentioned last time that autumn was upon us, and the abundance of fungus we spotted on our weekend walk has confirmed this. We saw loads of different mushrooms. Porous, gilly, brackety, bright red, rusty yellow and orange, even a few dusky purple ones. And then, on a quiet side path . . . was that a beefsteak fungus?!
many bracket fungi on a log
mushroom in light yellowy brown
The only other time I’ve noticed these has been after rain, when the fungus is covered in a slimy, bright red film. I googled some identification guides to check I wasn’t about to poison us. I learnt that the beefsteak (Fistulina hepatica) usually grows on oak or sweet chestnut - I looked up and, yes, there were the oak leaves, up above a layer of beech leaves. I poked the fungus, it felt fleshy and some reddish-brown liquid (the "blood" of the beefsteak) squirted out. I took blurry photos of the underside and the colour seemed right. “You are unlikely to confuse this species with anything else,” said one website.  And so, we took it home.

(After we’d taken it, I saw a few very young specimens on the opposite side of the tree trunk. It was definitely a positive identification - these had the classic look that gives the fungus its other name - ox tongue fungus.)
pinkish bracket fungus on tree trunk
The fungus in a plastic container
The fungus was pretty clean. I gave it a quick brush and rinse anyway (it was growing close to the ground, and who knows if a dog had visited earlier in the day?) and trimmed off a couple of minor bits of damage. I cut it in fairly thin slices. Incidentally, my wooden chopping board now has some artistic stains on it.
slices of the mushroom showing patterns
Wooden chopping board with splotchy stains
The inside has the most gorgeous patterns. It is pinky red and white when first sliced and goes slightly yellower as it oxidises. We tried a raw sample. It had a sour, faintly bitter, mushroomy flavour. The texture ranged from firm and crunchy to very gelatinous at the edges and top. This is definitely not one for people who have issues with texture.
slicing the fungus with a cooks knife
If eating it raw, I wonder if you could slice it extremely thinly, do a kind of quick pickle, and use it as a garnish for salads? Or perhaps use some kind of olive oil marinade and add it to antipasto?
showing the internal patterns created by tubes
slices of the fungus
I had my mind set on cooking the mushroom, though. There are a number of suggestions online, often including marinating them for a while, soaking in milk to remove bitterness, having them in casseroles, making creamy sauces, and so on. If I find another one, I might try something like this. But I really wanted to get to know the mushroom a bit better, as this was my first time cooking it, so I went for the old classic: fry it.

It looks really meaty when it starts frying, as the red juices leak out and coagulate slightly (as you might expect the blood from meat to do). Check out the video! Blah, blah, science, science, proteins maybe?
slices sizzling in a pan
more slices in white frying pan
I fried the slices on a low heat, changing fats with each round to see if it made a difference. For what it’s worth, I think I preferred olive oil over butter or sunflower oil. I tried a few samples as I went along and found the flavour fairly insipid - still sour, but not particularly mushroomy. I added a bit of garlic, for interest.

I also salted half the slices to see if that made a difference to the flavour and texture. The salt enhanced the flavour, but didn’t seem to do a lot for the texture (I expected it to draw more liquid out and decrease any sliminess, not that there was a huge amount to begin with).
creamy mushroom mix on toast
After I’d cooked the lot, we decided to run with the sour flavour. I roughly chopped the slices and mixed them with sour cream and chives - a kind of Eastern European toast topping. Pretty yummy - and it even turned the sour cream a little bit pink! If I’d cooked them less, I imagine the cream would have turned even pinker.
toast halves with mushroom mix and decorative chive garnish
So fance.
Dan seemed to like the beefsteak mushroom more than I did, but I still think it’s pleasant enough. I also know from foraging experience that flavours can vary wildly depending on where and when something’s collected - maybe another time I might meet a less sour, more mushroomy beefsteak. Regardless, the novelty factor of the visuals makes this mushroom worth foraging at least once.

If you are interested, you can check out a few of my other foraging adventures here.

2 Comments

A slow walk on the South Downs

19/4/2019

0 Comments

 
When was the last time you took as long as you could to walk nowhere in particular?
Chalk road between hedges - one cut short the other coated in white blossom
This looks like a good way to go.
Often, as I map out my walks, I’m wondering if I could put in a couple of extra kilometres before stopping at that pub for lunch, or whether it’s possible to visit both the lookout and the river beach in one day, or if it’s worth the sore feet of an extra five miles to make it to a particular B&B. “Twenty-five kilometres, should be fine!” I think to myself - not taking into consideration the early winter sunsets, not remembering that I haven’t done a long walk for a few months, forgetting to build in time to picnic, forage, soak my feet in a stream, get lost, snooze in the sun, watch birds or rabbits in the grass . . .

But at the start of the holidays, I didn’t have much of a plan. Dan was going to drop me off somewhere between home and Brighton in the morning and pick me up after he finished work. As long as I could let him know where I was at about 4pm, it was all good. I remember with great fondness my mapless walks of a few years ago, so I thought I might do something similar.
Dual carriageway seen through wire mesh from above
The sounds of the A27 in the morning . . .
The landscape was wrapped in fog as we pulled off the A27 opposite Housedean Farm. I waved goodbye to Dan and set off up the side road to join the South Downs Way. I had a vague idea that I might want to walk north over the Downs and through the fields and villages beyond to the River Ouse, then follow the Ouse Valley Way back to Barcombe Mills or Lewes - which would be a long walk, but I was going to be out for eight hours, so it wouldn’t be unreasonable.

A tractor passed me, trailing the smell of cowshit, I snapped a photo of the highway as I crossed over it, I smiled to a couple of hard-faced bike commuters and then I turned off the road and began the climb up onto the hills. The sheep didn’t seem to want to get off the path, so I stepped slowly around them. I saw a couple of house martins (I’m pretty sure - they didn’t sound like swifts or look like swallows). I tried to make out surrounding hills through the fog.
Sheep on a foggy hillside
These were the more energetic sheep. Standing up, even!
After cresting this hill, the path goes straight back down through a wood. I ducked off to wee amongst the violets and noticed that the noise of the A27 had already started to fade. A big bird - which I assume was a buzzard, because I heard them calling soon after - launched itself off a high branch and disappeared above the almost-budding canopy. I decided to stop for a bit and found a convenient tree to sit on.

I like to play a game, sometimes, where I close my eyes and listen. I imagine I don’t know where I am and that I need to figure it out through sound alone. “What are these sounds telling me?” I ask. Birdsong - lots of small birds probably means lots of bushes, trees, places for them to hide and things for them to eat. Distant traffic - probably not a town or city, but not too remote a place in the countryside. Sheep - near or in farmland. The chock-chock of a pheasant and the cat-like calls of a buzzard - definitely not in Australia! Slight echo on the pigeon calls - a valley? A scuffling sound - maybe leaf litter and trees, possibly a wood? No human voices - could indicate location, time of day, time of year. The rattle of a woodpecker - definitely a big tree somewhere nearby. Distant seagulls, a plane overhead. . .

As I sat in a kind of meditation, I decided I was going to move deliberately slowly for the rest of the day. I set myself a different kind of challenge: to walk no more than 8-10 miles (13-16km) the whole day. One mile per hour, on average.
Close up of violets in a wood
There were so many violets.
Path through trees just starting to get leaves
The green mist of spring.
I left the wood and followed the green path into a little valley and up the other side, through fields, past rangy hedgerows. I noted all the plants I could see on the ground beside the path: nettles, rats-tail plantain, ribwort plantain, young hogweed (possibly?), dandelion, silverweed, sorrel, cleavers/goosegrass/sticky willy, violets (purple and white), thistles, bugle (I think - it's the one that looks like furry mint and smells like weed), lords and ladies, dock, a very curly leafed thing I don’t know. . . and plenty of grass, of course.
Shiny green leaves
Young sorrel - so tasty!
Black and white landscape with sun in clouds
Here doesn't quite come the sun.
It felt so luxurious to move so slowly, with such attention to my surroundings! As I climbed through fields, skylarks called noisily all around me. They fly like they sing, skylarks, fluttering and chirring like noisy, hovering bats. I saw a silhouette of a walker through the fog, heading along an intersecting path. I slowed down even further to avoid them, wanting to hold onto my own space a while longer. My plan was immediately scuppered by a tractor that appeared to spray the field beside me. Oh well. The fog - or was it just low cloud? - hadn’t quite lifted off the hills. A bridleway cut a white line through fields of oilseed rape and winter wheat. Classic chalk downs. I sat beside a recently-laid hawthorn hedge to stretch my calves and eat a square of chocolate.
Silhouetted seed heads
I love how decorative these are.
Freshly laid hedge along a fence
I've been noticing lots of new hedge-laying recently.
Another wood, another wee surrounded by violets. Further on, as the sun almost broke through the clouds, I picked some young sorrel and dandelion to add to my cheese and crackers for lunch. I’d been going for just over two hours when I made it to north edge of the downs. I congratulated myself on my slowness and decided on a little detour up Blackcap, which I’ve bypassed before on speedier walks along this section of the South Downs Way.
National Trust sign for Blackcap
Ditchling Beacon is also National Trust and gets a lot more footfall because it's right next to the carpark.
At the top, I found a trig point (well, I was expecting that!) and a little plantation that seemed perfect for another sit down. I found a log and made myself a substantial snack of crackers, cheese, tomato and freshly-picked weeds. As I munched away, I listened to the hum of traffic on the Ditchling-Plumpton road and thought about where I might want to head next: east towards Lewes, north off the downs or west along the ridge to Ditchling Beacon and beyond. I felt called in a Ditchling-ish direction, knowing that if I got hungry I could pop down into the village for a cuppa and a sandwich and so, after sitting for a while and thinking about nothing in particular, off I toddled.
Hand holding cracker with tomato, green leaves and cheese spread on it
The crappy cheese really let this down.
B+W pic with silhouetted trees and a trig point
I spy a trig point!
Back on the South Downs Way, a sign informed me that I’d come 3 miles from the A27 and that it was another 2 miles to Ditchling. More people seemed to be out - several dog walkers, a handful of cyclists, a couple of folks that looked like they might be walking the whole path from Winchester to Eastbourne. I thought about walking it myself - it’s about 100 miles (160km), so would make a good week-long outing. I feel fairly comfortable wild camping up on the downs, too, so I wouldn’t need to book accommodation or be always tied to campsites (though if they were close enough of course I’d stay there - always nice to have a loo and perhaps a shower!).

I also thought that it would be a good place to encourage people to join another project idea I’ve been mulling over for a while: The Slow 100. My idea is that, for a lot of people, walking 100 miles (or 100 kilometres, for that matter), seems wildly out of reach. But what if you could do it slowly - like 10 miles or 10 kilometres a day over 10 days? Stopping for morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, to take photos or do some sketches, to lie on the grass in the sun, to pop into a tea room or get an icecream from a van in a hilltop car park? You could do it over a week and two weekends. If you had a bunch of folks interested, you could hire a people mover and get someone to ferry you to and from your accommodation to make it even more accessible. I think that's something that many people (not everyone, of course) could achieve. Such were the things I pondered as I wandered.
Landscape of fields, houses and village in low fog
The view north from the downs, which is usually quite a bit more extensive. Still pretty, though.
Wrapped in my own thoughts, I was surprised when Ditchling Beacon appeared ahead. I’d been walking faster than I’d meant to! I stopped to get a pebble out of my shoe and to rub my feet - they were a bit sore as I was breaking in some new orthotics, which were tilting my heels out at a rather more drastic angle than my old ones! - noticing how the temperature was perfect for walking, how I wasn’t hungry or thirsty, how there was hardly a breeze and how the fog-haze-cloud-whatever was stopping the sun from becoming too hot. The skylarks were still going. I wasn’t at work and wouldn’t have to be for another two weeks. I felt so happy!
Selfie of person smiling with eyes closed and landscape behind
Happy.
I dithered around before and after Ditchling Beacon, sitting for a while in the chalk hollows and tumuli to look at the view below, watching some goldfinches in the gorse and a kestrel above, holding the gate for a horse and rider and airing my feet out in the just-emergent sun. I also stood for almost a quarter of an hour watching a pair of yellowhammers pottering around on open access land. They are such spectacular little gems of birds that I gasped out loud when they first flew in. I’d sometimes lose them behind a patch of grass, only to find them again immediately as a bright yellow head popped up in front of me.
Small flowers on the woodland floor
Violets, moss, celandine.
Footpath through tree-tunnel with blossoms on trees and ground
Such a pretty path!
Having managed to while away a bit of time, I decided I’d head into Ditchling village via Burnhouse Bostall. I briefly considered going a mile further to the windmills, but knew if I did I’d probably end up breaking my 10 mile limit! So, down I went, taking the time to go off piste through some pretty scraps of woodland, where rabbits nibbled and butterflies flitted. I said hello to some horses. I stopped to pour out a little bit of water in front of a grounded bumblebee that looked a little sad. I admired the way the breeze had scattered blackthorn/sloe petals like confetti across the dried-mud footpath. Again, I realised how luxurious it felt to allow myself this time and presence - not to rush, not to be anywhere in particular, just to enjoy myself and the environment.

Eventually I made it into Ditchling. I called Dan and decided it wasn’t worth going to a cafe before he came to collect me. Instead, I sat on a bench in the sun on the sunken lawn by the church and museum and I watched a very energetic chihuahua run away from its owner (over and over again). That dog was having the time of its life. And frankly, that day, so was I.
Buildings and trees reflected in a pond
In Ditchling, looking towards the Ditchling Museum of Art & Craft (which I haven't yet visited, but it has some interesting-sounding exhibitions).

All up, I think I walked about 14.5km/9mi - a nice, slow day! When was the last time you slowed down on a walk or cycle journey? The last time you meandered without a destination? I would love to hear about it . . .

0 Comments

Foraging for Sorrel (and a Recipe)

29/4/2016

4 Comments

 
April's Outdoor Bloggers theme was "from your own front door", a challenge to explore the world within a mile of your house. As you might remember, Lake Field is just around the corner from me - and not only does it have a lovely view, it also contains one of my favourite springtime foraging herbs: sorrel. Sorrel is easy to pick in decent quantities, great to eat fresh in sandwiches and salads and delicious in soup or risotto.
Sorrel
A patch of common sorrel in Lake Field.
Jack-by-the-hedge
Jack-by-the-hedge, or garlic mustard. How did that get in here?
Spring has truly arrived (this week the weather has been turning on a penny from snow showers to bright blue skies) and we're in the middle of the first foraging glut of the year. This month I've seen loads of wild garlic, primroses, stinging nettles, dead nettles, Alexanders, Jack-by-the-hedge (a.k.a. garlic mustard) and, you guessed it, sorrel!

How to identify common sorrel

Common sorrel tends to grow in pastures rather than in hedgerows or woodlands and at first it can be tricky to spot: unless you're looking for it, you probably don't even know it's there. However, once you've found a patch, the likelihood is that there's more growing very nearby. It's perennial, too, so you should be able to return again and again to forage more (don't take too much from one clump, though, because you don't want to kill the plant).

I've found quite a bit of sorrel in Lake Field, a few patches in other nearby farms and loads of it on the bank in front of the car park at the church just up the road. Sure, sometimes I can feel the puzzled gazes of passers-by on my neck as I scrabble about in the wet grass, but I'm getting a free meal out of it, so . . .
Botanical drawing
A rather unhelpful picture of sorrel in an old wildflower book.
Young sorrel leaves are a medium to dark green, while older ones tend to get flushed with red. The leaves are slightly shiny, and have a thickness and texture a bit stiffer than spinach. They are usually long ovals, anything from a few centimetres to a few inches long, sometimes a bit crinkly. They often have little round holes where bugs have eaten them. The best visual identifier, though, is at the base of the leaf: there is a pointy lobe on either side. These point back down the stem, although they tend to curl up, so you might need to unfurl them to get a 100% identification. If the lobe is not a point, it's not common sorrel. From late spring, sorrel flowers make identification even easier: tall red spikes that pop up above the surrounding grasses.
Sorrel patch
A patch of sorrel in Lake Field.
Sorrel flower
One of the first sorrel flowers to stick its head over the parapet.
Obligatory note of caution #1: Be careful not to mix up other leaves in your bag or basket as sorrel does sometimes grow mixed in with other plants. Don't confuse sorrel leaves with the leaves of Lords and Ladies or lilies that may grow alongside them - they're toxic. Finally, as with any plant you pick from ground level, especially in a popular dog-walking spot like Lake Field, give your sorrel a thorough wash before you eat it!
Leaves
Sorrel (with the red flower) and definitely NOT sorrel (everything else).
Sorrel patch
A patch of sorrel near the local church.

What sorrel tastes like

The taste is the final identifier. Sorrel has a tangy, almost lemony flavour. I love the way it makes my mouth water when I chew on a leaf. The citrusy element makes fresh sorrel a great flavour addition to wraps and sandwiches (with hommous, or egg, or roast vegetables). When it's cooked, it reduces and turns limp and brownish. I also find that the tanginess becomes slightly more subdued. Add sorrel at the end of the cooking process to retain more of the flavour.
Sorrel leaves
A line-up of sorrel leaves, showing variation in size, shape and colour. They're wet, hence the glossiness.
Obligatory note of caution #2: The tanginess of sorrel is due to its oxalic acid content. I've never had any problem with this, but you might want to keep your first intake to a handful of leaves rather than baskets of the stuff. An overdose of sorrel (which from my limited research probably means eating a large plateful of it for every meal) could make you vomit or, more seriously, have a heart attack. So don't do that.

Recipe: Tangy, Wild, Green, Springtime Risotto (catchy name, right?)

As with most of my recipes, the quantities listed are approximate. It might be that you need more liquid - so use more liquid. If you like a cheesier risotto, use more cheese. If you like more garlic, put more in. If you want to eat more veggies, add them. If you're vegan, use a vegan cheese or add a few tablespoons of nutritional yeast flakes and/or a ground up dried shitake mushroom for umami. However. While the ingredient quantities are flexible, you do need to pay attention to the timing: have everything ready before you start and be prepared to stir the pot almost constantly for the entire process. Here's a good risotto primer. And here's one of those Guardian "How to make the perfect..." experiment articles on risotto.

Ingredients
  • 2 tbsp vegetable oil
  • 1 onion, chopped as finely as you can be bothered (not very fine, if you're me)
  • 2 nice big knobs of butter (or vegan margarine)
  • 250g arborio or carnaroli rice
  • Half a glass of dry white wine (have some more on hand for the cook!)
  • 1 litre vegetable stock (1 litre water, 1 or 2 stock cubes), hot
  • 1 cup frozen peas
  • A few stems of asparagus (trimmed, cut into 1 inch lengths)
  • 2 cloves garlic, crushed
  • A big bunch of sorrel, washed and roughly chopped
  • A handful of other wild spring herbs (e.g. wild garlic, Jack-by-the-hedge), washed and finely chopped
  • A handful of parsley, washed and finely chopped
  • 100g cheese (soft goats cheese, or a mix of gruyere and cream cheese, or parmesan, or anything you like)
  • Juice of half a lemon, zest of the whole lemon
  • Freshly ground black pepper
  • Salt

Method
  1. Prepare all your ingredients in advance. Make sure the stock is warm, the lemon is zested and juiced, the cheese is grated.
  2. Put a large saucepan on medium heat and add the oil. Fry the onion gently, stirring frequently, until it's translucent. Try not to let it brown. This usually takes a minimum of 5 minutes, even if you're impatient like me.
  3. Melt one knob of butter (or vegan margarine) with the onion then add the rice. Turn up the heat and stir the rice until it's all coated in oil and begins to go translucent (a minute or so).
  4. Pop the wine in with the rice (it will hiss!) and stir continuously until all the liquid has evaporated. Turn the heat back to medium-low.
  5. Start adding the stock, one ladle at a time, stirring after each ladleful until the rice has absorbed the liquid. This will probably take around 15 minutes. The low temperature helps ensure that the rice doesn't overcook on the outside and become mushy while the inside is still crunchy and undercooked. (If you're making a vegan risotto, add your umami about half way through this process.)
  6. When you've only got a bit of liquid left and the rice is almost done (just on the crunchy side of al dente), add the peas, asparagus, crushed garlic, lemon zest and the rest of the stock. I try to add these early enough so they have enough time to cook, but not so early that they'll be limp and brown.
  7. Turn off the heat, stir in the spring herbs and parsley. Add cheese (if using) and second knob of butter/margarine. As it's melting, stir briskly to up the creaminess factor.
  8. Just before you dish it up, mix in the sorrel (reserve a few small leaves for garnish), a squeeze of lemon juice and  pepper and salt to suit your taste The sorrel is added at the end of this recipe so it retains more of its tangy flavour and stays greenish.
  9. Plate up, using remaining sorrel leaves for garnish. Eat that deliciously tangy risotto!
Sorrel leaf
Of course, I don't have a picture of the risotto. So here's another sorrel leaf. I hope you like it.

Do you have any favourite wild spring foods? What are you foraging for at the moment? And what wild (or almost-wild) food can you find within a mile of your front door? (The supermarket doesn't count!)

4 Comments

Forage for and cook with Alexanders

6/5/2015

10 Comments

 
Alexanders must be one of the quickest, easiest plants to forage and eat in bulk. You can eat every part of the plant, so nothing goes to waste. Here’s a bit of background about Alexanders and a delicious recipe to make with it.

History of Alexanders

I should note, first up, that “Alexanders” is the singular as well as the plural noun for this vegetable, which leads to some technically correct but odd-sounding grammatical constructions, like this one: Alexanders was introduced to this island by the Romans, who cultivated it as a garden vegetable. It escaped from the gardens and fell out of favour and out of widespread cultivation a while ago. However, it's held on remarkably well along roadsides, hedgerows and paths, especially near the coast. So really, Alexanders are just feral garden veggies.

Foraging for Alexanders

These bright green plants were very obvious back in early April, lining the farm tracks through the South Downs, spreading up roadside banks in Hastings, springing up along footpaths all over the place. Now, in early May, they’re well past their prime but the flowers give off a very distinctive sweet smell, so you might still notice them. I’ve added some photos of them in situ (from April), as well as pictures of the different parts, to help you identify them.

The stalk, leaves, flowers and root are all edible - but don’t dig anything up unless you have the landowner’s permission. Avoid those growing right beside a busy road, because they will probably contain a lot of pollutants you don’t want inside you. Finally, as with all wild and foraged foods, make sure you're confident with your identification - then try a little bit and leave it for a while before chowing down on a whole meal!

Flavour of Alexanders

I’ve seen people describing Alexanders as having a very distinctive flavour, similar to celery, parsley, asparagus and/or Angelica (another wild food I have yet to identify, forage or eat).  Personally, I think Alexanders tastes a lot like fennel, especially when raw. These comparisons are unsurprising, as all of the plants mentioned (except asparagus) belong to the same family: Apiaceae. I found the flavour very strong when I boiled the unpeeled smaller stalks (i.e. as I would cook asparagus) - I had to change the water over towards the end to decrease the pungency. However, when I peeled and sliced the larger stalks and ate them raw, they weren’t overpowering.

Cooking with Alexanders

The stalks of Alexanders are hollow (as with most plants in the Apiaceae family), but this is mainly noticeable in the large trunk stalks rather than the smaller, younger shoots. The stalks are sturdy and crunchy, but can be cooked until tender. Most recipes for Alexanders say to steam or boil the stems and serve with a knob of butter and a bit of seasoning (salt, pepper, lemon or lime juice). Other suggestions  include chopping the leaves and using them in salad (similar to a handful of flat-leaf parsley), steaming or roasting the roots and pickling the flowers. These are all lovely ideas and I can attest that the stems make a tasty asparagus alternative. But I think my own invention is the tastiest of the lot…

Alexanders and tangerine salad

This recipe uses several large stalks of Alexanders. Wash the stalks thoroughly, peel off the stringy outer layer and cut the biggest stems in half lengthways. You should end up with something resembling sticks of celery. Slice these stalks on the diagonal, and pop into a salad bowl.

Peel a few tangerines or other sweet citrus fruit, removing as much pith as possible. Cut in half horizontally, carefully remove pips and separate the segments. Add to the salad bowl. I recommend one tangerine per 100g of Alexanders (peeled weight), but you don’t need to be too precise.

To make the dressing, whisk together equal quantities of olive oil and freshly squeezed lime (or lemon) juice, a substantial pinch of salt and some freshly ground black pepper.

As far as I’m concerned, this salad doesn’t need any embellishment. But if you think it needs more colour, try adding a handful of jewel-like pomegranate seeds. Yum.

I was introduced to Alexanders by Geoff Dann’s article in the Hastings Independent (Issue 27, 3 April 2015, page 14). The recipe above was first published in the Hastings Independent (Issue 28, 17 April 2015, page 12). If you're interested, my previous foraging posts include how to make hedgerow jam and  foraging in Norfolk.

Alexanders by a field
Alexanders leaves
Leaves, stems and flowers - separated
Peeled Alexanders stalks
Sliced Alexanders
Tangerines
Tasty Alexanders and tangerine salad
10 Comments

Make hedgerow jam

29/9/2014

12 Comments

 
After I wrote about foraging in Norfolk, a few people asked me to share the recipes I use to make jam from foraged fruits. I don’t use a written recipe for jam – and you won’t have to either, once you know how it works.
Blackberries in a tubLush! I love blackberry season!
If you went out walking in the UK in August and September, you probably noticed the epic quantities of blackberries in almost every hedge. I can’t go past a blackberry bush without stuffing my face, but with all the face-stuffing dedication in the world I couldn’t possibly eat all the blackberries on offer, so I took to making hedgerow jam.

“Hedgerow jam” is really a catch-all name for any jam you make using the fruits of your foraging labours – blackberries, elderberries, crabapples, rosehips, sloe, hawthorn, damsons and so on. You don’t have to have a particular ratio of fruit, but with the current blackberry glut I’d suggest you pick lots of blackberries and supplement them with a few handfuls of whatever else you happen to find. If you’ve got a cooking apple at home, throw that into the mix, too.

Here is the basic recipe for jam: boil approximately equal weights of fruit and sugar together, maybe with a bit of water, until it sets.

That’s it. At the heart of it, making jam truly is that simple. Now that you realise jam-making is well within your capabilities, here are the only other things you need to know to make epic jam.    

Pectin and sugar make your jam set 

Low-pectin fruits don’t set as well, so, if you’re concerned about that kind of thing, combine them with high-pectin fruits or add a good squeeze of lemon juice to the mix. To give a few common examples: damsons, blackberries and crabapples are high in pectin; elderberries and garden fruit like strawberries are low in pectin. If you’re not sure, Google it.  And remember: under-ripe fruit has higher pectin levels than over-ripe fruit, so it makes a better jam.    

Prepare your fruit    

Foraged fruits in a bowlCrabapples, sloe, hawthorn and rosehips.
Clean your fruit thoroughly, discard any spoilt bits and chop it up if necessary. Boil together any fruits that will need straining, such as whole crabapples, damsons and sloe, with just enough water to cover them. It will only take a few minutes for them to get mushy, at which stage you can push the mixture through a sieve or colander to get rid of the pips and skins. (If you're using hawthorn, rosehips or elderberries, it's probably better to make jelly instead of jam - see below.)

Return the mix to your saucepan and add the blackberries and sugar. If you’re using blackberries by themselves, they’re fine to cook with the sugar from the start.

Experiment with spice    

Feeling adventurous? Go for it! Add your spices as early as possible to give them time to infuse. Some spices also look lovely suspended in a jewel-like jelly (see below). You could try cardamom, chilli, cinnamon, star anise, cloves, peppercorns… the list goes on. Let me know if you strike a winning combination!    

A jelly detour

If you’re using rosehips or hawthorn, or if you prefer jelly to jam, you’ll need to add a step. First, boil your fruit in water until nice and mushy (rosehips take ages), then, before adding the sugar, let the mixture strain for at least an hour through a sterile cloth (e.g. a clean, freshly ironed pillow case or large handkerchief) into a bowl. Some people say to leave it overnight – I don’t have the patience! But be aware that if you squeeze the cloth, pulp will come through and give you a cloudy jelly. Mix the liquid and sugar together in your saucepan and proceed as you would for jam.    

Has your jam set?

Your fruit-sugar-water mixture will set only after it’s reached a rapid boil (about 105 degrees), so get it bubbling before turning it down to a lively simmer. The easiest way to test your jam is to pop a small dollop onto a cold plate out of the freezer or fridge, let it cool for a minute, then swipe through it with your finger. If the mixture wrinkles up a little bit/stays separate along your swipe-line, it’s ready. If it oozes back in like a liquid, it isn’t ready. If you jam’s not setting, add a squeeze of acidic, pectin-y lemon juice to help it on its way. But in all seriousness, don’t stress about this: runny jam is still delicious (drizzle it over icecream!) and if it doesn’t set in the jar overnight you can always tip it back into the saucepan and cook it a bit more the next day.    

Eating your jam    

Just joking – I know you know how to eat jam. So, who’s for scones and tea?    

Sections of this article first appeared as “Hedgerow jam” in Hastings Independent, Issue 14, 12 September 2014, p9. Have you got any jammy tips? Please share them in the comments!

12 Comments

Go foraging in Norfolk

9/9/2014

10 Comments

 
Norfolk beachCrepuscular rays near Hunstanton.
In North Norfolk, at the mouth of the Wash, the wind churns the sea into choppy brown peaks and sends clouds scudding across the wide horizon.

At low tide, mudflats and salt marshes stretch endlessly, carved through by meandering waterways, spiked with grey and yellow grasses, lightly but thoroughly trampled by flocks of wildfowl and waders. Inland, fields of wheat, corn and sugar beet stretch across the gentle, shallow swells of a landscape punctuated occasionally by dark stands of trees and the grey flint spires of village churches. Life exists here on a thin strip, like the Earth’s crust, sandwiched between sky and stone.

Having visited Norfolk several times during the colder, off-peak months, I’ve tended to describe it as flat, bleak and full of birds. But this time, after the best summer in years, I was struck by the abundance and diversity of the hedgerows, streams and tidal marshes. As I explored the area, I couldn’t resist making the most of this wild harvest. . .

Foraging for leafy vegetables and herbs

Stinging nettles and mallow are familiar friends. We found them growing in great quantities along a footpath snaking between coastal villages and we sautéed a few bunches with mushrooms to make a tasty snack. The wild mint we found alongside the nettles went into fresh mint tea. We later found a stream overrun with watercress, but we were out without a bag or container, so I made do with munching on a few peppery leaves.

Foraging for berries and fruit

Crabapples and damsonsCrabapples and damsons.
Established hedgerows encircled the village we stayed in, offering a variety of fruit. Blackberries are probably one of the most commonly foraged fruits in the UK and we tossed a handful of small but sweet specimens into an apple crumble along with the last cherry plums from a nearby tree.

Intertwined with a couple of sloe bushes, and easily distinguishable in such close proximity, I discovered damsons – the first time I’ve found these small plums in the wild. I made a tiny batch of damson jam to experiment, and it was absolutely amazing – tart and flavoursome. We went back later to pick a few more and made them into jelly with some crabapples collected during a bike ride. This wasn’t quite as lively, but it was still good spread on challah toast in the morning.

Elderberries in handA handful of elderberries.
The hedges were dripping with droopy bunches of shiny, black berries on bright red stalks. After checking with some knowledgeable friends on Twitter, I identified them as elderberries.

These were completely new to me, so I decided to make something simple to get a feel for the flavour. Alys Fowler in The Thrifty Forager claims elderberries “have a slightly rank taste so it’s always the last jam in our house to get eaten”, but I was not to be dissuaded! I made a tasty (if slightly too sweet) cordial, which was reminiscent of a well-known blackcurrent drink. We drank it with ice out of champagne flutes while sitting in the Norfolk sunshine. . . bliss!

Foraging for samphire

Marsh samphireMarsh samphire.
My most exciting find, out on those wide, sticky flats, was patch after patch of marsh samphire. I had never eaten samphire before. I snipped a few bits (not sure if it was legal to harvest it, not wanting to disrupt an ecosystem I was not familiar with) and added it raw to a salad. It was gorgeous – tiny, crunchy pockets of salty sea-flavour bursting in each mouthful.

(N.B. We later went to Titchwell Manor for a delicious evening meal, during which I was presented with an enormous bowl of samphire. It made my foraging efforts look rather paltry in comparison. . . but food is always tastier when you find it and/or grow it yourself!)

Over the course of our holiday, this flat ribbon of North Norfolk became more than a beautifully bleak and bird-filled landscape to me. Through our foraging excursions, I connected with it on a personal scale and felt grounded there in a way I hadn't before.


What wild food is in season where you live? Have you got any foraging stories or questions? I'd love to hear them in the comments or on Twitter.

10 Comments

    In which I

    In which I do things and write about them

    RSS Feed

    In which I tag

    All
    #30DaysWild
    Art And Architecture
    Audio And Music
    Australia
    Battle Observer
    Birmingham
    Books And Stories
    Bristol
    Buckinghamshire
    Cambridgeshire
    Cooking
    Cycling
    Devon
    East Sussex
    Eating And Drinking
    Film And Video
    Foraging
    Gardening
    Gippsland GunaiKurnai Country
    Grand Union Canal
    Hastings Independent
    Hertfordshire
    Heysen Trail Prep
    Housekeeping
    Imagining
    Interviewing
    Kent
    Lake Field
    London
    Manchester
    Marketing
    Melbourne Wurundjeri Country
    Microadventure
    National Trust
    Netherlands
    Norfolk
    Northumberland
    Paddling
    Q&A
    Reporting
    Review
    Share The Love
    Sheffield
    Snowy River
    Somerset
    South Gippsland Bunurong Country
    Suffolk
    Swimming
    Tea
    Victorian High Country Jaitmathang Country
    Victorian High Country Taungurung Country
    Wadawurrung Country
    Wales
    Walking
    West Sussex
    Wiltshire
    Year Of Sleeping Variously
    Yorkshire

    In which I archive

    July 2022
    June 2022
    May 2022
    April 2022
    March 2022
    February 2022
    January 2022
    October 2021
    September 2021
    March 2021
    December 2020
    February 2020
    January 2020
    December 2019
    November 2019
    September 2019
    August 2019
    July 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.