Eating What Grows Wild
I'm city-bred and nearly all the food I ate came from grocery stores. Until I started travelling, I'd never eaten food taken directly from the earth with my own hands. These days, we have a pretty large vegetable patch and fruit trees on Saturna Island in Canada.
But it took living in Italy, and walks with a lovely friend who'd spent a lifetime living in Italy, to introduce me to a walk and eat on the wild side (thank you Anna Giannini). This elegant lady has an appreciation for the countryside and its treasures. And is much more agile than me when climbing slopes, jumping crevices, or balancing on wooden fences we weren't supposed to be on.. all this to reach just the right spot for the wild treasure.
I've written about the chestnut groves in Umbria (getting lost in them), and nearly everyone here has their own olive grove (the oil that is pressed communally is wonderful). Many have their own gardens because they prefer eating what is fresh and in season. They know how to pick the best of each variety of product in outdoor markets, too, going to one stall for a particular lettuce and will march a street length to a different stall for its fennel. Truffle grow almost like mushrooms n this region of wild boars. Picking out different varieties of truffles is a well-practiced skill that defies me, so I make do with the recommended truffle-oil.
But the real treasure-hunt is in the wilds near fields and beside the roads. I wasn't bad at spotting wild berries (a familiar pastime in summers at home). Here, y friend introduced me to berry I'd not seen before. I could recognize the wild blueberries on bushes, but these berries, called corbezzoli, were new to me. They look exotic, but seem to grow everywhere here. Their texture and taste is a bit like a strawberry (and they are related). Their cute shape and vivid colours make me want to hang them out for parties.
The key venture , though, remained the hunt for the wild asparagus.
How and Where to Look When Asparagus-Hunting
Pick sunny day to go asparagus-hunting and look along the road verges for wispy slim fronds that poke out a bit like rosemary. It took me awhile to catch on to how to stalk them (punny, yes).
The trick to finding these reticent delicacies is to look for the silver-green, unkempt, and straggly fern-like bushes that tangle around other plants. The more brightly green little asparagi (who says that?) grow among this chaos of green. But once seen, you've got a good idea of what to look for. As you reach in for the picking, they tend to scratch your hand to confirm they've been caught.
They grown hidden among the ordinary dense green growth of bushes, ferns, and vines of this region. Hardly visible in the photo below, those are the spindly, feathery stalks that asparagus grow on. Trouble is, those spindly, feathery stalks look much like others that are not the asparagus variety,. It takes time and practice, I guess.
When you find them, though, they are much more fragrant and intensely flavoured than the thicker and more anemic store-bought kind. So good.
Here's what a collection wild asparagus looks like, taken from a site with a great frittata recipe for them (click here).
Nothing Gets Taken for Granted
Asparagus hunting was the goal of this expedition. Frankly, though, anything would have been a good-enough reason on a bright day in rural Umbria.. It's really glorious: the temperature is just right for walking, the sky is filled with light and just enough cloud to make it interesting. And of course the birds are in full voice. I don't know much about birds, so it surprises me that they sing even at night here.
As I walk along the paths, it js easy to imagine what prompted St. Francis to talk to the birds. And how clearly the birds must have talked to him. The birds really do seem to call out to me when I'm out walking here. Some whistle like a friend down the road might do to get your attention. Others sound sharper, like New Yorkers I remember calling a cab. Others seem to flirt or tease. Others just sing bits of melodies, chirp, trill, warble, or even stutter their message. They don't seem to mind sharing the countryside with you. And all the many cuckoos around here form a persistent chorus! I've unofficially named our little rock-strewn road, la Via dei Cucoli , in their honour.
I was thinking that everything here seems so well placed, so settled in, giving a very satisfying impression of itself. Even the apparently anarchic asparagus bushes seen to be just where they should, once you find them. No wonder, really, given that this land has been grazed and tilled, and grown for centuries. Still, the land itself, especially when seen from a distance, looks so casual but finely laid out As if nature itself is guided by the Italian notion of fare una bella figura.
Yet this high Umbrian land is not at all an easy place for cultivating crops, given all the rocks in the soil. Even today, much work still needs to be done manually. People work hard here in . And the rocks keep piling up year after year, as if the earth grows rocks as fast as it grows vegetables. Still, there is (for me) a grace to this countryside: the peace, the simplicity (not the ease) of life here, the i invitation to roam slowly about , the seasonal changes, and varieties of natural sounds. I know it isn't always idyllic in the countryside. But leave me to my moment here... and share it.
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