foraging in a hotel parking lot: September 3

This morning I met Bec on the porch outside of our hotel room.  I was eating purselane growing in the crack between the sidewalk and the parkway.  She was curious.  We took a walk to look for other edibles, and spotted an apple tree.  We have apples, but many of them have brown spots inside, blemishes most people would be bothered by.  I gave the nice ones away to a family who was sitting on the side of a road with a cardboard sign that read, “anything helps.”  We picked a few, not the tastiest but certainly prettier than the ones from Boulder.  The gardener spotted us, and stopped what he was doing to tell us about a cherry tree on the other side of the property.  Turns out, they were plums, small red plums, but tasty.  I went to get Andre and dad so they could join in on the fun of harvesting.  We probably picked 7 pounds, using this method: dad  would shake the tree gently, then we’d pick up all the plums from the ground.  Sometimes he’d shake the tree while we were still picking, so plums would come raining down on us.  Some passersby noticed we were having too much fun and asked what we were doing.  I told them about our favorite method of preservation—soaking them in a glass jar filled with vodka and a hint of sugar for about a month.  They grabbed a bag and started filling it.  I can always find something that inspires people to forage… booze is usually a good one.

foraging in Taos - garden style: September 2

After a lovely visit to the artisan market in downtown Santa Fe, we headed back towards Taos.  I wanted to show my parents around town, and we had been invited to forage in Phyllis’s garden but hadn’t found time on our last visit.  First things first, Cid’s.  Despite the fact that we didn’t need anything, far from it, it’s always interesting to see what gets thrown out and who we’ll find at the dumpster.  Smelly bins, loaded with flies, were what we found… probably full of perfectly good food.  Saved for someone else, it is a very popular place to dive after all.

We drove up towards the ski area and parked Butter.  I cooked some of the elk meat we’d been gifted, lots of vegetables, and we made burritos with the tortillas we got from TJs.  After washing up, we drove to Phyllis and Mark’s house.  She started with a tour of their house, which they built themselves.  Much of the wood came from a burn, they harvested and debarked it all themselves.  I think she said the main room downstairs cost about $13.  The space was inspiring, curvy and organic, simple and breathtaking.  The garden, full of goodies, was equally lovely, clearly cared for and loved.  Nearing sunset, we picked raspberries, chard, lettuce, arugula, beets, carrots, green white and purple string beans, snap peas, green onions, and a giant squash.  We talked for what felt like hours inside, reminding me that the book I’m working on is not just about connecting with food, but equally (and perhaps more importantly) about connecting with people.  We’re all in this together--left, right, white, black, rich, poor.  When we open our eyes to that fact, only then will we speak with and live the love that we are.  I would do anything, literally give my life, to witness the generosity I’ve experienced on this trip, the kindness and love that we’ve been blessed with, embodied in all members of society.  What would that take? 

I was sad to leave their house, arms full of garden produce, fresh bread, homemade carrot marmalade, and heart full of love and gratitude.  Taos, another place I’ll call home.

foraging with the folks - September 1

We woke up in the national forest outside of Los Alamos on our way to Santa Fe.  It’s a strange place, Los Alamos, where everything from radiation travel to planetary formations are researched at the National Lab.  I had no interest in the goings on there.  I was excited about today for two reasons. First, I get to pick up my parents this evening, who flew in from St. Louis to join our adventures for a week.  Second, Santa Fe has a Trader Joe’s with unlocked dumpsters.  Yes, diving is a highlight.  The forest has no junk food, and all the long days of hiking and working for my food makes me want to pull a cookie out of the trash with ease, unwrap it from it’s plastic coffin, and give it a new, albeit temporary, home where the mushrooms and nettle I find are laid to rest… in my belly.

We had a bit of time to kill before heading to the airport in Albuquerque, so we walked to the farmers market at the Railyard in hopes of swapping some chanterelles for some fresh eggs.  The chicken farmer had no idea what chanterelles were, and wasn’t at all interested in trading for mushrooms.  I told him about our trip, how we’re trying to forage or trade for all of our food, and he handed me a dozen of his eggs.  I wondered whether he thought we were bums.  We are a little dirty after all, and I was in desperate need of a shower before hugging my dad.  I hate to use the “I’m a professor on a research trip” too often, but it has come in handy.  People warm up to professors, we’re trustworthy, scientists, educators.  We have “real” jobs (despite the fact that I often say I get paid for what I used get in trouble for—talking in class), as opposed to ???  Anyway, it works, but using it makes me feel a little guilty and sad.  Rather than pulling all strings, we tried pushing the mushrooms a bit harder.  I told him all the fancy chefs love them and pay a fortune for them.  Wrong answer.  This farmer wasn’t fancy.  Andre told him they were really good for you, and many of them have medicinal properties.  He bought it, and asked how he should cook them. 

That started a chain of fortunate trades—fingerling potatoes, onions, Serrano peppers, raspberries (gifted like the eggs by a shopper, Lucy, who overheard us talking to one of the farmers).  With too much produce in the bus already, and an impending dive, we left the market, thrilled with our success.

Freshly showered, we greeted my folks with excitement.  They were now part of the forage voyage, although my dad insists on staying in hotels, comforts for a 6’4” man who pretends to be old when it works in his favor.  Hmm… will I shift from “the professor” to “the old lady” one day?  Anyway, a celebratory dinner out and several celebratory margaritas stopped us from diving the night of their arrival, but not the next day.  Bec, my stepmother, a woman who’s been in my life since just after the childhood amnesiac stage of my life, is intensely curious, and has been waiting to dive with me since she and dad’s visit to LA, where we watched Dive and ate dumpster food all week.  We took what we needed – some whole wheat tortillas, several pounds of organic sweet potatoes, coconut milk, organic eggs (we didn’t really need these but why not, they were organic), and those cookies I was dreaming out – a 6 pack of chocolate macaroons that sandwiched a creamy fudge filling.  There was plenty we left behind, including bags of organic salad, breads, other sweets, and heaps of other “trash” we didn’t even bother to look through.  Bitter sweet for me given the economic division we witnessed between many of the native Americans living in Santa Fe and the tourists who fill the streets of downtown.  My parents were happy.  Dad enjoyed serving as the look-out.  Bec enjoyed grocery shopping with us.  We all enjoyed the cookies.  There’s still one left and I know where it is.

berries in Taos - August 31

I learned a new berry today, rosy twisted stalk, which we’ve been seeing in the mountains around Taos.  Andre bravely ate our only sample taken to ID the plant with one of my books.  Based on his reaction to the taste, moderately sweet, not particularly flavorful but fine when other tastier fruits are unavailable (sort of how I feel about the Utah honeysuckle), I was correct in my identification.  Actually, I learned two new berries today.  We’ve been seeing a plant that I intuitively felt was toxic all over the forest, but didn’t know its name until today.  Turned out to be baneberry, highly toxic, even deadly.  Because the forest floor is blanketed in plants and berries, my strategy for learning who’s who has been to, first, learn what is edible, medicinal, and deadly.  What can I eat, what can kill me?  Two very important questions.  Everything else is a mere inconvenience… well, I suppose severe diarrhea and painful gastrointestinal cramping might go beyond “mere,” particularly for a forest dweller, but thankfully I haven’t experienced any “poisonings” in my nearly 10 years of hunting wild mushrooms and a lifetime of eating random plants.  Sometimes I also learn the names of pretty flowers, but everything else gets lost, if learned at all. 

workday in Taos - August 30

Coffee out is always a treat, especially on this trip.  It’s something reserved for days when I must get serious about work, writing, and communicating.  I can sit for hours in a café on my computer, but we don’t always stop in towns.  This morning, the idea of coffee in downtown Taos was enough to get Andre into the bus and on the road without breakfast—a rarity for him.  I suppose the hot air balloon that crept past our bedroom window just as the sun was starting to rise helped get us going, too.  They seemed to be struggling in the canyon, not quite able to get the lift we (clearly experts) thought they needed.  The thrill and fear of a potential crash right next to us almost made coffee unnecessary… almost.

Coffee Cats is a nice little café, has wireless internet, outdoor seating, and the employee didn’t mind at all when Andre asked if he could order something savory from the deli next door and bring it over (they only sell sweets).  She also played excellent music!  I wrote while waiting to arrange a time to stop by Sally’s.  Not only did she gift us with the promised elk meat, but we were also pleasantly surprised with a package of antelope meat!  How exciting, something neither of us had tried!  We stayed much longer than expected, enjoying great conversation on her garden patio, checking out the irrigation canals and her yard, and eating apples from her trees.  On the ride back to downtown, we picked a few apples and peaches from trees along the sidewalk.

We decided to head into the mountains north of Taos, which turned out to be pretty dry. Given that we still had so many mushrooms from previous finds, we spent the evening processing acorns and dock seeds out by the campfire while enjoying a little of my elderflower liquor mixed with my latest herbal beer, which seemed a bit more like champagne than beer.  Anyway, the combination made for a delicious cocktail—very luxurious, and all homemade with foraged ingredients.

I tried my hand at acorn bread tonight, too.  Acorn firebread, which involved mixing together about a cup of moist acorn meal and a cup of whole wheat flour with a little yeast and salt, then baking it over the coals in the oven Andre built.  Given that the acorn meal was fairly bitter when Andre’s attempt to make polenta (aka “acorn mush”) the other night failed, we were both shocked when the bread came out so well.  It was nutty, dense, and absolutely delicious, especially with a bit of Sambudha’s butter and honey.  Acorns are my new favorite food.

Taos Ski Valley

This morning we woke up next to flowing water, parked alongside a road in the national forest between Taos and the Ski Valley.  Excited to start hunting, and unable to sleep due to the constant roar of trucks passing by (there’s construction up at the ski area), we had a quick breakfast of granola with gooseberries and tea, then headed to the hills.  It’s been years since I skied Taos Ski Valley, but remember it quite vividly.  When we first started dating, Rich took me on a romantic ski vacation to Taos.  Having hit a tree the year before, concussion and 16 stitches, I was by no means an expert.  Of course, he wanted to hike, which entails going beyond where the lifts take you and into the backcountry.  From the peak, I watched him fly down the steep slope with ease.  I was in awe at his grace and form.  I whimpered, wondering how I would ever make it down.  I sat down, and reminded myself that I wouldn’t die.  Needless to say, it wasn’t a graceful decent, but I’m still here.  Oh, the first of a wonderful life with Rich, filled with extreme adventures… 

On the slopes, we ran into a gaggle of women who were out hiking, poking around for mushrooms.  They carried plastic bags (a no no for mushrooms) filled with inedibles.  We helped them ID their harvest, and told them about our forage voyage.  One of the women, Sally, reminded me of my friend Mary who lives in Boulder.  Her hair is silver and white, her eyes bright, and her smile would light up even the darkest of spaces.  My heart immediately opened up to hers, and I know this sounds a little woo-woo, but I’m a little woo-woo… I could feel energy flowing between us, something ancient bonded me to her.  Sharing stories, laughter, and ideas with these woman was such a joy.  And to top it off, Sally told us that her son is a hunter and her freezer is full of elk meat, which she generously offered to share with us.  Andre’s been lusting for some meat, especially after seeing elk steak on a menu at one of the restaurants that wanted our mushrooms (a wonderful place called Love Apple that serves locally grown and foraged foods, but too low of a price).  We’ll hop on our bikes in a few minutes to go pick up our steaks.  Yay!  Phyllis generously offered to let us forage in her garden, too!  To top it off, after a 10-mile hike, we filled our bags with mushrooms to trade, porcini, hawks wings, coral, and others. What lovely women, what amazing fortune.

canning chanterelles

Morning chores.  Canning in the forest isn’t trivial.  It’s already a bit difficult in the comforts of a fully stocked kitchen.  In the forest, though, it involves sterilizing jars in boiling creek water over a hot fire, and dealing with the elements... like ash flying into the mixture.  But, today, it is necessary.  We have too much food, too many chanterelles to be precise.  What a wonderful predicament.  Andre has experience canning these little orange beauties, and I love his vinegar-based recipe.  That’s how we started our morning.  No, actually, we started by making acorn flour pancakes topped with gooseberries and strawberries warmed over the fire along with a pot of earl grey tea that we rescued from the lobby at Pagosa Springs. 

If you want to try canning mushrooms yourself, here’s what we do.  Place clean mushrooms (any mushroom will work, but they either need to be small ones or you’ll need to cut your mushrooms into bite-sized pieces) in lightly boiling salt water (salty like water used for cooking pasta) for about 3 minutes.  Scoop them up quickly and place them on a towel or rack to dry for about 12 hours.  Then, mix together vinegar with a bit of water (we did about 2/3 vinegar to 1/3 water) and some spices… peppercorns, garlic, bay leave, juniper berries (go foraging), and parsley in a pot and bring to a boil.  Place the mushrooms in sterilized (boil them) glass jars, and pour over the vinegar and spice mixture.  Do this fast, to keep all the critters out.  Place the lid, also sterilized, on top of the jar, being careful not to touch the seal (use tongs) and screw on the ring.  Turn the sealed jars upside-down until they’re cool.  Once you turn them over, they should be sealed (check the seal by pushing lightly on it).  If it’s not sealed, eat it.  Yum.  If it is, you should store these for a month or so before eating… they’ll taste even better.

You can jar mushrooms in oil, too, but it's a bit of a different process.  The mushroom oil left behind in the jar once they're all eaten, though, is absolutely wonderful for topping on pasta and makes a delicious dipping sauce for bread!  Let me know if you try this at home...