Posts Tagged ‘wild eating’

Easy Pickings: Foraging on Farms

August 18, 2010

This entry is not about gleaning, which is picking over a field to pick up what the harvesters missed.  For information on gleaning in the present day, there’s an interesting if slow-moving documentary called The Gleaners and I.

Farm foraging is the practice of finding abandoned farms and searching their grounds for horticultural holdouts from the past.  Old farms are pretty easy to spot–the sagging barns, sun-bleached houses, and rusted sheds are a pretty common sight in the rural corners of the midwest.  Until recently, farmers lived where they grew, and kept kitchen gardens in addition to the fields, where they grew their main crop.  Although a garden bed can be completely weeded over after a month or two of neglect, some of the other garden plantings can continue growing a generation after the farm was shuttered.

On a recent hiking trip, my family spent some time passing though several abandoned homesteads.  Close to the houses, we found apples, good enough to eat out of hand (a rare quality in non-commercial apples) and big, sweet blackberries with very few seeds.  The apple tree was probably planted several decades ago as part of an orchard, and the blackberries had probably spread far from their original spot–they’re notoriously invasive.

I would expect that other farms still have asparagus patches, grapes, rhubarb, raspberries, gooseberries, and other long-lived perennials growing, long after their planters have moved on.  Other self-propagators, like sunflowers, Jerusalem artichoke, nasturtium, and squash may even be sprouting year after year.

Kitchen gardens were usually placed as close as possible to the house, to make it easy to harvest as necessary.  If the house is still standing, the garden should be easy to find.  If not, look for the foundation–it’s likely grown over with weeds, but should still be standing.  While you’re working around the foundation, don’t forget to look for those edible ornamentals, like roses and daylilies.

Blueberries

June 27, 2010

I intended to write this entry last summer, when I was lost in the wilderness of Washington and managed the hours in the woods by eating huckleberries, but that doesn’t really fit the “Great Lakes” theme of the blog.  I found them on a recent backpacking trip here in Michigan, though, and was delighted to discover that they were ripe and ready to eat.

Finding Blueberries

I have never found blueberries in my section of Michigan, but they were growing in patches as far as the eye could see just 50-60 miles north of where I live.  I haven’t found a great way to find blueberries, but anytime I’ve come across them, it’s been in a relatively undisturbed coniferous forest.  This makes sense, as blueberries require an acidic soil, which is typical beneath the pines and cedars I’ve found them under.

I don’t know of any lookalike plants that may confuse the blueberry-seeker–the berry is pretty distinctive, both in shape and color.  They may be smaller than grocery store blueberries, but they’re unmistakable.  The bushes are a foot or two tall with fairly sparse leaves.  The leaves are football-shaped, small (about the size of a quarter), and bright green.

Harvesting Blueberries

I’ve always found several types of blueberries growing together, and the ripe color of each variety is a little different, from blue to an almost purple-black.  The best way to determine if they’re ripe is to taste them.  They darken as they ripen, so berries of similar color should be similarly ripe.

Preparing Blueberries

They’re really best eaten out of hand, right off the bush, but they can be used in any recipe that calls for blueberries.

Eating Blueberries

Wild blueberry plants are quite different from domesticated plants–the bushes are much smaller less densely covered in fruit.  The berries are much smaller, sometimes even a quarter the size of grocery store blueberries, but there is no difference in taste.  I might even say that a handful of wild blueberries is better than store-bought, since you won’t find any of the bland, over-sweet and over-ripe berries on wild bushes.

Scouting the Wild Asparagus

November 6, 2009

I’ve been building up a patch of asparagus in the backyard, but lately I’ve been seeing it growing wild just about every time I take the highway.  I started out taking mental notes of where each patch was, but I’ve given up—it’s all over the place, so I’m assuming I’ll be able to find some come spring.
This is an ideal time to locate a patch, though.  In the spring, the sprouts are just a few inches tall and impossible to find without coming within a few feet of it.  In the summer, when it has bushed out, asparagus blends into the other greenery.  In autumn, however, it turns a particular hue that stands out from the bleached-out stalks of the other roadside plants.  It’s hard to describe, and doesn’t really photograph well, but it’s a bit yellower than the straw-colored grasses.  It also has what Euell Gibbons (author of Stalking the Wild Asparagus, the inspiration for this article’s title) calls a “Christmas tree shape”—kind of a lacy pyramid.  If you don’t know of anyone who grows asparagus who can give you a peek at the full-grown plant, I’d seek it out.  You might even be able to convince a farmer’s market vendor to let you take a look at their fields.  Once you get a look at it, it’ll be easy to spot, even from some distance.  I’m hoping that the bushes are as easy to identify in the spring, after they’ve been under the snow for a few months.
Lately, I’ve been seeing it along highways, with one patch growing literally at the intersection of the two biggest highways on this side of the state.  In the past, I’ve found it growing along rivers, and friends have told me of patches near the Lake Michigan shores, but the highway side is the best place to start looking.
I’ll put up a proper post once I’ve found, picked, and prepared some in season, but I’ve been seeing it all over and thought I’d spur my regular readers to start seeking it out.

Black Walnuts: Tedious but Delicious

September 21, 2009

Foraging will always take more time than preparing store-bought food, but black walnuts may be the most time-consuming wild food I’ve tried.  Finding and collecting them can go quickly, but the prep work (and the eventual yield) give walnuts one of the highest time-to-food value ratios.  For me, it’s worth it, but you might want to try these out on a small scale before you commit to bushels and bushels of walnuts.

Finding Walnuts

I’ll find walnuts while hiking now and then, but when I’m looking to harvest them, I’ll drive through some of the older neighborhoods in town.  Black walnuts are generally despised as shade trees, but a few people still have them in their yards.  You can usually see their driveways and patios littered with the blackened husks, and all but the most paranoid neighbors would love to have you gather a bushel or two of nuts.  I’ve also had good luck asking on local online message boards.  The greasy, round, rotting walnuts can pose a serious safety risk, so a lot of people are grateful to have someone come over and pick them up.

Harvesting Walnuts

Harvesting is easy.  I bring a bucket, bushel, or basket and start picking them up off the ground.  I’ve never tried to pull them off the tree, as they generally fall off when they get ripe.  I try to be selective, and just get the freshly-fallen, completely green fruits.

Preparing Walnuts

This is where it gets difficult.  First, you need to remove the husks.  The walnut juice will stain your clothes and skin, so wear gloves and grubby clothes.

I start with a patio stone and a sturdy pair of boots, grinding each walnut under the heel until the green part falls off and I’m left with the familiar-looking nut.  I’ve read accounts of people spreading them over the driveway and driving over them, but I find the monotonous and violent boot method soothing.  It’s important to get the husks off as soon as possible, as they begin to decompose, which causes the nuts to spoil.  The husks will be really wormy.  The grubs are disgusting but won’t affect the nut.

Once they are husked, the nuts need to be rinsed.  Dump them in a bucket of water.  I’ve read (but not confirmed) that the ones that float are spoiled.  I discard them, but only after making sure I’ve removed all of the husk–every so often, a bit of the especially-bouyant husk will be holding up a nut that would otherwise sink.

After they’ve been husked, I hang them in a mesh basket from the clothesline.  Squirrels will seek them out extremely aggressively, so be sure they’re secure.  Once they’re dry, I put the nuts in the freezer, or in a cool place if the freezer’s full–The nutmeat is really oily, so low temperatures keep it from going rancid.

The nuts need to be broken up to remove the meat, and black walnuts are far harder than the commercial (English) version.  A nutcracker won’t do it, but a hammer will.  A solid strike at the pointy end will split it in two, but they’ll need to be busted into quarters or smaller to get the nuts out.  If available, a bench vise works way better than a hammer.  I put them in so that the seam of the nut is perpendicular to the face of the vise and crank down until it cracks.  I’ll crack nuts until the vise handle starts to hurt my palm, then put it all back in the freezer until I want to get back into it.

When they’re cracked, the last step is getting the meat out.  If you’ve cracked the nuts into the quarters, you should be able to pull out fairly big chunks of nutmeat with a nut pick, awl, or toothpick.  I put all of the meat in a jar and put it in the freezer.

Eating Walnuts

Black walnuts have a much stronger flavor than commerical walnuts, which makes them ideal for baked goods.  I treat them like a precious commodity, having gone through a lot of work to procure them, but they work well in zuchinni bread, carrot muffins, and brownies.  They are better the sooner you use them, so be generous.  I love the flavor, and they are one of the few nuts available that are locally grown, but they are an aquired taste.  My wife tolerates them, and others don’t like them at all.  As I said, try out a few before investing the time.

Mulberries

June 23, 2009

I thought eating mulberries was a universal childhood experience, but my wife and I found a mulberry tree on a walk, and it had never occurred to her to eat them.  With that in mind, I submit this entry.

Finding Mulberries
I don’t remember ever seeing a mulberry tree “in the wild”—they’re always along sidewalks, in backyards, etc.  They are medium-sized trees, topping out around 15-25 feet tall, with a weirdly lobed leaf.  They are most easily identified by their berries, which look a lot like raspberries and start out white, then turn pink, and wind up nearly black.

Harvesting Mulberries
I read (I think in Stalking the Wild Asparagus) about a method for harvesting mulberries.  By placing a big sheet under a tree and shaking the tree, all of the ripe berries will come loose and land on the sheet.  I did not have this option available, as the tree I was picking from was growing alongside a parking lot.  I brought a bowl, picked berries by hand, and put them into the bowl in a shallow layer.  If they get stacked up too high, the ones on the bottom get crushed by the ones on the top.

Preparing Mulberries
When picked, the little stem stays on the fruit.  You can leave it on.  Although they can be eaten out of hand, or right off the tree, they are best mixed with other fruits.  Smoothies, fruit salads, and cobblers are all great uses for mulberries.

Eating Mulberries
My copy of The Joy of Cooking suggests that mulberries are best left for children, and I’d agree that they aren’t great by themselves.  They have a bland sweetness that is easy to get sick of.  Mixed with other fruit, though, they’re delicious.

Stinging Nettles

May 15, 2009

Finding Nettles

Although nettles have a fairly distinctive appearance—they are very mint-like, with dark green leaves sprouting off of squarish stems—they are by far most easily identified by their sting.  When I thought I found a patch of nettles, I brushed the back of my hand over them and waited to feel the sting.  Sure enough, a warm, throbbing pain confirmed their identity.  I’m not sure where it is usually located, as I don’t see it often, but the patch I tested was located in a forest along a path.  It is best harvested when it is young, in spring, but, according to my field guides, the new growth at the tips can be harvested through the summer.

Harvesting Nettles

First off, some protection is called for.  I tried to use a plastic bag to grab the plant while I cut it with my clippers.  This did not work in the least—I inevitably brushed against other leaves while moving in with the clippers, and got stung routinely as I harvested.  Next time, I’ll use gloves.  Since I knew I’d be cooking them down, I harvested a lot—a plastic grocery bag full.  I stuck with harvesting the top of each sprout, cutting down 8-12”.

Preparing Nettles

The stingers need to be disarmed before cooking the nettles.  Fortunately, this is an easy fix.  I boiled up a big pot of water, and dunked the nettles in long enough for them to wilt—just a few seconds.  I use the boiling water to kill weeds in the cracks of my driveway, but that part is optional.
Once they’ve been dipped, the nettles are ready to go.  I dumped them on a cutting board, chopped them up, and added them to a palak paneer with some home-grown spinach and home-made cheese.  I imagine it could be used in any sort of recipe calling for cooked greens.

Eating Nettles

I’ve never really figured out how to cook proper Southern greens, though I try every few days throughout turnip season.  If I had a good recipe, nettles would be my greens of choice—they stand up to a good bit of cooking without getting slimy.  In the relatively low-fat palaak paneer, they even came out a little dry.  I wrung them out after dipping them in the boiling water, and that was probably overkill.  Apart from the dryness, the texture was great, though.  The flavor was, well, comparable to any other kind of greens.  I’ll definitely be returning to my new nettles patch, and probably freezing a bit before it gets too tough.

Winter Greens, Part II: The Cold Frame

March 22, 2009

This entry is a follow-up to my article on sprouts several weeks ago.

I planned on being able to post digital pictures before I wrote this, but that’s not happening.  In addition to sprouting various seeds, some home-grown and others from the store, I add fresh local vegetables to my winter diet through the use of a cold-frame.  I have had less than spectacular results, and a few meteorological mishaps, but the idea is worth sharing.

In my last entry, I gave a plan for an insulated straw-bale cold frame.  This year, I didn’t get enough bales before winter, so I used an alternate design–a variation on a hoop house.  I picked up about 75 ‘ of concrete reinforcing mesh–sort of an industrial-strength chicken wire with 6″ holes–to make tomato cages and a compost bin.  With the 15 or so feet I had left over, I made two sections that arced into a half-circle shape, about as wide as one of the beds in my garden.  Each section was cut to leave 6″ lengths of wire sticking out on the ends, which I stuck into the ground to secure the frame.  This left me with a wire tunnel, about 5 feet long, 4 feet wide, and 3 feet tall.  I was able to get some greenhouse-grade plastic (leftovers from a local greenhouse) to cover my frame, and weighed down the edges with some fist-sized rocks.  This left me with a miniature version of the full-sized greenhouses you’d see at a commercial-scale nursery.

The cold frame collects and retains solar energy, resulting in, well, a “greenhouse effect” that keeps the plants within at a much warmer temperature than the outside air.  Though this would only add a week or two to the life of warm weather plants, like peppers or tomatoes, it can keep cool-weather plants alive through all but the coldest Michigan winters.

Fall and Spring Planting in a Cold Frame

I stuck with cool-season greens in the fall, such as leaf lettuce, bok choy, and spinach, planted in the early fall or transplanted a little later.  These go more or less dormant when the weather gets cold, but the cold frame keeps them in a harvestable state through most of winter.  There isn’t a lot of growth, so your stock dwindles as spring approaches, but it’s a great way to keep some fresh and local food on the table all winter.  With no disrespect to the other two winter-long green vegetables, it’s way more interesting than kale, and far more versatile than brussel sprouts.

In spring, the cold frame is more of a head-start than a long-term plan.  Around the time I’m planting pea seeds, I pull out the rest of the winter greens from the cold frame (there’s usually not much left, and what’s left is starting to toughen up and flower), and plant a new crop.  This year, it was spinach, bok choy, leaf lettuce, and very early carrots.  The additional heat and humidity from the enclosed cold frame will give them several weeks of extra growing time before the open-air garden is ready to be planted.  I’ve sited the cold frame in the place I’m putting this year’s peppers, which won’t be planted until early summer, so most of these plants will have a chance to mature before the peppers go in.  I’ve considered putting the peppers in a few weeks before the last frost, hoping that the cold frame would give them the shelter and warmth they would need, but I don’t think it’s worth the risk.  I’m not sure how cold it can get in a cold frame, particularly at night.

Cold Frame Problems

Weather rarely cooperates with cold frame construction.  I’ve had my plastic sheeting blown off completely, despite weighing down the edges and clipping the plastic to the frame.  I’ve also had the entire thing collapse under the weight of snow and ice, crushing the leafy plants underneath.  Also, since the plastic sheeting is impermeable to rain, it can get desert-dry inside of a cold frame when all the ground moisture is frozen.

Access to vegetables is another problem.  With rocks weighing down the edges, water sometimes pools and freezes, making it hard to lift the plastic sheeting and reach in to harvest.  The 6″ access holes are also an obstacle.  I’ve adopted a “mass harvest” mentality, getting a week’s worth of greens in one go, just to simplify things.

Once spring starts to warm up, it can get very hot inside a greenhouse.  Think of a car parked in the sun with the windows up–opening up the cold frame on those warm, sunny days is a necessary inconvenience.

Weeds that are growing in the space where you’ve set up your cold frame are also able to take advantage of the microclimate, so they often spread throughout the winter.  Finally, keeping a bed in production all year takes a lot out of the soil, so your cold-frame bed should be refreshed with compost or fertilizer more often than others.

Possible Improvements

I’ve considered a number of options that I haven’t followed through on yet.  The first–instead of using weights to hold down the plastic, I’ve seen cold frames with trenches dug along their edges, with the edge of the plastic sheet buried under a few inches of soil.  This would hold it down a lot better, but would make it much harder to get into the cold frame.

Another modification would be to put it in so that it straddled two beds, with a path down the center.  I’d have to crawl in from the end (the taller a cold frame is, the less efficient it is, as heat rises away from the plants), but I wouldn’t have to reach, and I’d be able to bury the edges as mentioned above.

I’ve saved up a bunch of dark-colored laundry soap jugs, which I intend to fill with water and use as heat collectors.  The dark colors will absorb solar heat through the day, then release it at night.  Each jug takes up valuable square footage in the cold frame, though.

I may use a few stakes next year to reinforce the wire framework–I’ve never had a collapse before, but this year’s heavy snowfall brought the whole cold frame down.  It’s an easy enough fix, and I could have saved a few plants.

So far, using a cold frame has been more art than science, but it has kept in in the garden throughout the winter, and kept me out of the produce section of the grocery store for several weeks beyond the end of my garden’s regular season.  I’ll be building another straw-bale frame next year, provided I can round up enough free straw bales, but I’ll build another wire-frame hoop house as well, just to see if I can do any better.

Winter Greens I: Sprouting

January 13, 2009

Although I’ve got some parsnips in the ground, some squash in the attic, and a few things in the freezer, I’m still looking for some fresh, local produce.  The best I’ve come up with so far is cold framing and sprouts.  I’ll cover cold framing as soon as I figure out how to get pictures off of my camera phone, so today it’s sprouts.

Finding Sprouts
Although I purchase alfalfa and mung bean seeds from the local health food store, I also sprout seeds that I’ve grown myself.  Most of the cabbage family, including broccoli, works well when sprouted.  I imagine lambs quarters seeds would be good sprouted, but I haven’t collected the seeds yet.  I’m also going to try purslane seeds.  I know that tomato and pepper seeds don’t yield edible sprouts, so it might be a general rule that fruiting vegetables don’t make good sprouts.  I’ve also just started sprouting sunflower seeds, which are sprouted in soil rather than in water.  I grow sunflowers in the summer, but I’ll sprout the sunflower seeds sold for birdfeeders when I run out.  The seeds sold for human consumption won’t work, as they are roasted and salted and won’t sprout.

It’s important to avoid using seeds purchased for planting, as they are treated with fungicides and other sorts of things that are best not ingested.  An additional precaution:  sunflowers are often used to clean up industrial waste sites, as the plants absorb a lot of heavy metals.  Use caution when finding “wild” sunflowers.

Harvesting Sprouts

Harvesting seeds varies depending on the plant.  It’s important that they are properly dried if you’re going to be storing them; to test them, I put seeds in a sealed jar overnight to see if any moisture forms inside the jar.  When they have air-dried, they can be stored.  For sunflower seeds, I keep whole, dried flower heads in the attic and rub off enough seeds to make a planting.

Preparing Sprouts

To sprout most seeds, I take a regular jar, put seeds in it to cover the bottom, and cover them with water to soak.  When they’ve soaked for a few hours, drain the water off.  After they’ve been soaked, rinse and drain them twice a day—I fill the jar with water once in the morning, then pour it off, then do the same before bed.  After two weeks or so, they will begin to sprout and will be ready to eat.  At this point, they can be put in the refrigerator for later use.

To grow sunflower seeds, I fill a tray of some kind (I’ve even used egg cartons) with potting soil and stick in seeds.  They can be packed in packed in pretty closely, as they won’t be growing very big.  Keep them watered and in a sunny/well lit place—windowsill, etc.—until they sprout.  When the seed coat has fallen off and both leaves are out, the sprouts are ready to be harvested.  Using scissors, just cut the sprouts off at the base and use as soon as possible.

Eating Sprouts

Any sprout serves well in the place of lettuce on a sandwich. Some have more flavor than others, but the taste is welcome in most combinations.  Sunflower sprouts are mild enough that they could serve as the base for a green salad, if you can grow enough at one time.  Sprouted mung beans are used in pad thai, and can be added to any stir fry in the last few moments of cooking.

The wide variety of seeds that can be sprouted offers something for every eater.  Sprouts are a delicious alternative to the pathetic lettuce shipped into my grocery store throughout the winter months, and are higher in nutrients if sprouted in the open, as opposed to the light-excluding traditional method.

Black Raspberries

July 10, 2008

Following the unpleasantness of milkweed (see previous post), I needed a palate-cleanser.  Though the purpose of this weblog was to spur me into trying new local foods, I’m writing about a long-time favorite today.  It’s wild raspberry season in Michigan, and that’s a beautiful thing.  I’ve got about 4 patches around the city that are worth visiting, but one is within walking distance of my home.  It’s not far from a busy street, so I was treated to conversation with a few passersby who saw me waist-deep in the brambles.  The highlight was an exchange with a few sceptical youths, who asked me if I needed to wash them off before I ate them.  I didn’t give them the long answer–these haven’t been sprayed with pesticides, handled with improper sanitary measures, packed into crates, bathed in diesel smoke and road dust, and put on store shelves several days after being picked.  Instead, I said, “They should be OK.  It just rained.”

Finding Raspberries

Like the past several entries, raspberries grow in marginal areas between wooded areas and paths, rivers, fields, or roads.  I imagine the combination of fertile leaf-enriched soil with increased sunlight plays a factor here.  It’s not hard to spot raspberries visually, especially in the spring, when their arching, blue-grey-green canes are not yet covered in the greener, more nondescript leaves.  Raspberries are most easily found, of course, by accidentally wandering into the middle of a patch.  Most people with any experience in the less-cultivated areas of their neighborhood have had an intimate meeting with brambles.  When you find a patch that isn’t fruiting, remember it and return.  Some patches fruit heavily, and some will disappoint, so it pays to always keep an eye open. 

Harvesting Raspberries

The faint of heart can usually pull a decent harvest from the edge of a bramble patch, but the committed go in.  Scratches will happen, blood will be lost, and sweaters will be snagged, so dress appropriately.  I usually wear shorts and a t-shirt I don’t mind getting stained, as raspberry juice can leave a mark.  Most of the wild raspberries I’ve found are black; if you’re picking red raspberries, you’ll have to taste a few to find out what indicates ripeness.  In black raspberries, look for dark, plump, shiny berries.  I use a gentle three-finger grab and pull the berry off of it’s “plug”, so that only the edible part comes off. 

Harvesting is easier than transporting.  I have a few broad, flat tupperware (used for packing sandwiches, I gather) that are ideal.  If the berries are packed too deep, the bottom berries will get crushed.  Wild berries are a bit firmer than the store-bought variety, but I still don’t stack them more than two deep.

In an hour, including commute (on foot), I gathered a couple of pints.  Given the cost of a little plastic clamshell of over-ripe raspberries at the grocery store, raspberries may be the only foraged food that return a respectable per-hour value.

Preparing Raspberries

I’ve never gathered enough raspberries at one time to do anything with them but eat them out of hand or with cereal or ice cream.  I had a conversation with a gentleman today while picking who described a raspberry shortcake recipe that sounded delicious, but I’ve yet to find a method of preparing raspberries that improves on their natural state.

Eating Raspberries

Everybody’s eaten raspberries, so there’s not much to say in this section.  I will say that I can’t imagine the sales pitch raspberry breeders make for their latest specimen, because commercial raspberries aren’t really an improvement on the wild versions.  The may be a little larger, but that’s not really a selling point.

Pokeweed: the Fugu of the Vegetable Kingdom

May 25, 2008

Well, it’s all uphill from here. When I decided to explore the food options growing wild in my area, I knew that I would, sooner or later, have to cowboy up and try pokeweed. Mature pokeweed plants are poisonous, but the sprouts, when gathered young enough, have very little of the toxin in them. The cut-off for when they are safe to eat is generally in the 8″ tall range, but it’s a little fuzzy depending on your source. I never thought I’d be one of those people who died doing something stupid, but I was reconsidering as I ate my poke sprouts. I would really prefer to leave the phrase “poisonous weeds” out of my obituary, I guess.

Finding Poke

Poke is really easy to find in the summer, when it’s full grown, but quite difficult to spot during its edible phase, which is around May in the Great Lakes region. When mature, It’s one of the more spectacular weeds in the temperate zones, with thick, purplish stalks, big oblong leaves, and clusters of purple-black berries. I don’t have my digital camera running yet, but there are some pictures on Wikipedia:

Poke Pics

It grows along the edges of forests in disturbed areas. I found my patch alongside a parking lot, but have seen other specimens along railroad tracks and in vacant lots. It’s a perennial, so if you can find some in the summer, note the location so that you can return in the spring. The stalks die in the fall, but they usually remain through the harvest period. I found my patch by looking for last year’s dead, sun-bleached stalks, and harvested the new growth coming up beneath them.

Harvesting Poke

As mentioned, I avoided any sprouts that were taller than 8 inches or so. In each cluster, there was a range of height, from 4″ to 16″, and sticking with the mid-sized sprouts worked best. I chose my sprout, traced it back to ground level with my hand, and bent the stalk until it snapped off. This is similar to the method for harvesting asparagus by hand, and assures that you’re getting the most tender part of the sprout. I gathered about a dozen sprouts, enough for a single serving.

Preparing Poke

Upon getting the pokeweed sprouts home, I pulled off all of the leaves, leaving the little cluster of baby leaves at the top. These leaves can be prepared as greens, but I don’t have a good greens recipe, and there weren’t many leaves, anyway. I tried peeling the stems, as advised by my guidebook, but they were too tender, and the skin kind of just rubbed off. I did use a paring knife to shave off any part of the stem with a purplish hue, in the possibly-mistaken assumption that the color announces the presence of the toxin.

Once they were cleaned, I cooked them just like beans, asparagus, or broccoli–in a pan, with a little bit of water, and steamed until bright green and tender. A dab of butter and a little salt, and they were served as a side dish.

Eating Poke

It tasted very much like a very young green bean, or a mild asparagus, or the white stalk of broccoli. Kind of a general “young vegetable” taste. It was not a culinarily transcendent experience, but it was also not very foreign–this just tasted like an everyday vegetable. I was expecting something out of the ordinary. I was more relieved than dissappointed, though. Making a lifestyle shift towards local eating is a lot easier without any strong shifts in taste. It did take a bit more time than asparagus to prepare–pulling off the leaves is a little time-consuming. It probably takes about as long as it takes to prepare a head of broccoli.

I will definitely be eating pokeweed sprouts again next spring, although I may someday get to the point at which my asparagus patch is producing enough spears to fill that part of the spring menu. If I find a particularly fruitful poke patch this summer, I may attempt to freeze a quantity of poke, as it seems like it would make a great frozen vegetable–it’s got enough substance to not get mushy, and a pleasant enough flavor that it could be slipped into a lot of dishes.