(The) Life and Death (of) Foraging
Two simple rules for eating from the wild, and how to learn to do it yourself
Within two days of moving to Italy, I went on a mushroom foraging hike with some classmates.
Five of us went into the forest to hunt and taste wild mushrooms.
All five came back.
I’ve only ever picked wild berries and morels, which are easy to identify if you can find them, so it was a lot of fun to go mushroom hunting with an expert, Mariana, who could identify most of what we found and taught us a lot about what to know and look for when foraging.
For instance, a chemical odor is bad and might indicate the mushroom is poisonous. No odor is good. Or maybe bad. But if it smells good, it probably is. Maybe. And this one has an amazing flavor, but this one — that looks just like it — will kill you.
And my favorite tidbit: the really poisonous mushrooms will make you sick for a day or two, and then you get all better, but then your organs shut down and you die.
In other words, I learned how very little I know about wild mushrooms, and how much you really need to know so you don’t die.
I immediately crafted Rule #1 for Foraging: Do not forage unless you’re with someone who knows what they’re doing.
Foraging is the procurement of food in the wild, as opposed to cultivated or raised, and it owns a long history. Early humans spent most of their daylight looking for food this way, but many people still forage for food. In fact, a traditional Mediterranean Diet includes many foraged foods, which provide diversity of nutrition and flavor to complement grown plants.
My friend Lian invited me to lunch in a nearby village, and afterward gave me a short tour of the areas outside Bra I can’t reach by bus or food. She pointed out a linden tree in bloom — she enjoyed serving tea steep with the dried blossoms, so we picked some. I dried a bunch, and also infused some in a simple syrup that was bursting with flowery flavor with a touch of almond. I didn’t remove all the branch from the blossoms, and was pleased with the bit of tannin that gave the syrup.
Then she texted me “Ok it wasn't linden! But it's a flowering of some fruit and should be ok to consume. Sorry for the mix-up!”
…should be ok to consume…
Well, I had already consumed some, and felt no ill effects, so I’m okay, right? Plus it definitely smelled and tasted sweet, and most poisonous things (not found in fairy tales) aren’t sweet. And generally deciduous trees aren’t poisonous. Right..?
Rule #1 for Foraging (revised): Do not forage unless you’re with someone you’re certain knows what they’re doing.
A few days later our class had an official foraging excursion with Andrea Pieroni, professor of ethnobotany and ethnobiology at UNISG. He has serious credentials — master’s degree in pharmacy, vice-president and president of the International Society of Enthnobiology, and the founding editor of the Journal of Ethnobiology and Ethnomedicine. (You might check out one of his papers, Isolated Mediterranean foraging: wild greens in the matrifocal community of Olympos, Karpathos Island, Greece.)
Serious foraging credentials.
I showed him a picture of the blossoms in question, and he immediately identified them as cherry (which explains the almond flavor). “Not many people pick those, because they’re more valuable as cherries.” Gotcha.
Professor Pieroni took us on a short hike near the university, and showed us a dozen edible plants, including horta, wild hops, brambles, nettles, wild corn salad, wild poppies (not garden poppies), dock, sow thistle, ground elder, green walnuts, and dandelions. A tremendous amount of biodiversity found just 50 meters away.
Dandelions, by the way, are the “hogs” of foraging, because you can eat every root-to-flower component. You can cure the unbloomed flowers in salt and use them like capers, and the bloomed flowers make (I’m told) an excellent risotto. The leaves can be used in a salad — not by themselves, as they’re a bit bitter — and the stems, too. The milky sap is said to be antifungal and antimicrobial, and the roots can be dried, roasted, ground, and made into a bitter tea/coffee drink.
But you won’t be using this information to go foraging. PLEASE.
Do not munch on a hunch.
Professor Pieroni recommended — hesitantly — a couple of reference books, including The Forager Book by Miles Irving, and a Slow Food book coming out later this year.
But he said the best way to learn how to forage is by going out with a nonna, or with someone who’s been foraging for a long time, who can show you the ropes, and keep you alive. On our short walk we encountered an old man out collecting something or other, and the professor spoke to him and was giddy because he learned something new from him. (I apologize for not capturing exactly what the exchange was all about, as it was in Italian.)
The spiny sow thistle pictured above grows all over Europe and the U.S., but of course every region has its own selection of wild plants to forage. Find some classes, like St. Louis-based Slow Food Superfan Crystal Steven’s Flourish Farmstead. She is holding a Spring Foraging workshop next week!
Pieroni calmed the overwhelming biodiversity with what I made my Rule #2 for Foraging: pick five local plants, get to know them well, and focus on finding them and learning more about how to use them. If that still sounds like too much, pick two or three, or just learn how to use dandelions.
The day after our foraging walk, our class met in the Food Lab, where we were presented with piles of foraged greens, procured by professionals. We’ve been studying plant families, and how by knowing how to cook one plant you can — pretty much — cook all the plants in that family. (There will be more about this concept in a future post.) So away we went.
Each team took a plant, and the resulting feast included samosas, stuffed squash blossoms, chimichurri, spiced yogurt dip, savory flan, ricotta spread, smashed potatoes, salad, and a savory Indian pancake. All made with foraged greens.
Pieroni noted that foraging encompasses so much more than just collecting plants — by seeking out those plants, we closely observe our environment. We see what’s growing where, when it grows, and how it thrives and spreads. By focusing on five (or fewer) plants, you can learn all about it, and then maybe someday you’ll be out foraging and share what you know with someone. You can be someone’s nonna, and maybe even make them giddy.
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If you return (wink), I'd pay to take a foraging class. As a kid, my nonna would send us foraging on the farm for greens - dandelions, lambs quarter, etc. I only recall eating it as salad or maybe cooked as spinach.