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6 hours ago
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By March, traditional gardeners have worked hard to eradicate weeds in their vegetable plots in preparation for spring sowing. A quick glance across my unkept patch reveals a different approach, highlighted by its mosaic of vibrant greens obscuring the dark soil. But I have an excuse.
Many weeds are edible and, with a little shift in perspective, can be transformed from a nuisance into a bonus crop. For the forager, this conveniently spans the “hungry gap”: that period between winter vegetables finishing and spring crops being ready for harvest. Be careful with identification of course, and if in doubt, leave it alone.
Changing our perspective on certain members of this despised group of plants is not helped by their common names. Hairy bittercress doesn’t conjure much in the way of delectation, and yet it is an incredibly useful edible plant. With its rapid lifecycle and propensity for freshly disturbed soil, it is almost ubiquitous in gardens and, when picked young, makes a refreshing, tangy addition to salads or an egg mayo sandwich.
Stinging nettles do little to help the hearts and minds campaign. Not only do they sound alarming, but they have literally left their mark on most of us as bare-legged children. As adults, we can wreak our revenge by consuming this gourmet plant in huge quantities. Whilst harvesting, “grasping the nettle” will help reduce stings, but for a pain-free experience it is best to use gloves and scissors to gather the growing tips and young leaves. Boiled or steamed nettles are often described as a substitute for spinach, though in reality they far exceed the latter in flavour, texture and nutrition.
The more gently named chickweed tends to be an easier sell and needs little promotion once its crisp, pea-shoot-like qualities are experienced. Fat hen is another delicious interloper, and let’s not forget the humble dandelion which, despite its mild diuretic qualities, does not deserve its reputation as “pissenlit” and is a celebrated salad leaf throughout Europe.
Today I am clearing ground and sowing radish, spreading pinches of purple brown seed into shallow furrows as I savour the novel tingle of unveiled sun on my bare neck. The pleasure is tinged with impatience – the curse of all impassioned growers – but there is solace to be found in a brimming basket of prime “weeds” beside me.
