wild food, wild places, wild times
The flavour of dried ceps and other boletes is altogether different to the fresh mushrooms. Deep and dusky, it speaks of forests and earth, of leaf litter and moss. To me, it is one of those special ingredients, along with things like butter or vinegar, that can transform a dish from the mundane to the magnificent.
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It is very cold, and mist curls through the bronzing leaves of the forest canopy, turning trees into hulking shadows, half-hidden keepers of old secrets. The feeling in my fingers is gone. Dewdrops collect in my beard and eyebrows, and I cannot feel my nose. I am shivering, and somewhat lost, but I do not…
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It’s not the end of the world. As I write this, I am listening to the radio, where sombre voices are speaking of madmen rattling their swords, about missiles, about poisoned eggs, about droughts, floods, forest fires. Stay indoors. Cover the windows, cover your eyes. Be afraid. And I am afraid. Yet, outside the open door,…
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Some exciting news – in between wrangling chickens and running away from wasps, I am going to be writing a regular column for Locavore Magazine. “Who?” I hear you cry. Well, in their own words: “Locavore is an editorial-led magazine, defined by beautiful photography and intelligent writing. Firmly based in the British Isles, we’ll also…
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Spring, it seems, may finally be here. It’s been a long, hard winter. I have spoken of winter at length (thank you for your patience), but now my thoughts and my hands turn to warmer work. We are still battered by the occasional gale, and in fact a great many trees in the area have…
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We awake early to a foggy morning, wrap up warm (it’s cold now, summer didn’t last forever after all), and let the chickens out. They, as is their wont, stare at us, gurgle weirdly, and then proceed to continue digging to China. They seem to have settled in nicely. The last few days we have…
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kieran jefferson 