Held to ramson

I went wild garlic hunting last weekend, which is probably the most sedate type of hunting in which one might partake.

I know a spot where a large swath of wild garlic plants grow and in recent years (excepting those sullied by Covid), I’ve deeply enjoyed these wanders through the trees, excited and on tenterhooks like a child at Christmas, anticipating the scent of that first plant inadvertently stepped upon.

If you’ve never gone wild garlic hunting, let me say this: Even if you don’t know what the plant looks like, the smell is unmistakable.

I remember my own first time. Having never gathered as much as a wild garlic leaf, I had scant idea of what I was about, that is, until my size seven Hush Puppy accidentally squashed a leaf.

It was as if I’d been gifted nature’s finest perfume and I drank in the scent of the wild garlic for ten long minutes as I carefully gathered a bundle to take home.

It was the sort of ten minutes which remain tattooed into my senses; ten minutes of woodland magic; ten minutes of extending my life expectancy through pure joy.

“What’s yer man on about with his ‘pure joy’ looking about stupid garlic that he could be buying in the shops in the first place?” I can hear you think.

Well, that is the real essence of wild food. I hate this phrase but, well, I’m going to use it anyway: If you know, you know. If you don’t know, I shall endeavour to explain.

Before modern supermarkets, which is to say, not too many generations hence, our forebears used to forage all the time. Before convenience food, we grew food, searched for it and perhaps even killed it.

Before everything ingestible imaginable became available behind a cellophane wrapper, we visited the outside much more than we do today. Before preservatives and additives and genetically modified madness, everything was natural.

Before air miles, we ate our way through life on a seasonable basis. Before garlic from Spain and China sat in shops throughout the year, we hoked about through the trees and tried to find our own.

So why would I give up my precious time of a Saturday morning to hoke about through the trees? Because it’s a link to a life that we don’t lead anymore.

Because it’s natural. Because it’s fun. Because there is an element to ‘wild’ food – a satisfaction, a feeling, a taste – which simply isn’t available when spending money. Because the benefits from foraging, both mental and physical, cannot be purchased with a debit card.

Most importantly of all, I also like the taste of wild garlic, that mildness and subtlety that doesn’t even need to be cooked out.

It’s the sort of mild yet heady aroma which makes you feel as though you’ve hit a vein of wild treasure among the trees and that nearby, you are sure of it, something magical might be happening.

Did I mention that wild garlic is also known for its antibacterial, antibiotic and antiviral properties? It also contains vitamins A and C, calcium, iron, phosphorus, sodium and copper. Studies have even shown that it may help reduce blood pressure.

The picture of the green stuff in the jar is wild garlic pesto, made with parmesan, olive oil, pinenuts and magic.

If you fancy the recipe, drop me an email. I might even be persuaded to tell you where the wild garlic patch lives.