Birdsong

I’m listening to Cosmo Sheldrake. Specifically an album from last year called Wake Up Calls. It borrows bird song recordings as the main instrument. Somtimes the sound is manipulated, not in any subersive way nor in a way which transforms it into somthing that it isint. This is a very respectful use that manages to incorporate the animals without having to interpret in any way.

Birdsong dosent need interpretation. It is a whole onto its self and is not benefited by our logical understanding of it. Nor has it been uttered solely for understanding. Our interpretation should be respectful, personal and met with an open heart. As a tool for simple meditation it is priceless and as a key to bring us from the material to the ethereal it is invaluable.

Alexanders

I have to admit i am a little obsessed with Alexanders, the plant that gives so much. they show up mid October just when all other greenery has given up for and been folded away for the year. Their growth cycle defys convention and they glady endure wave after wave of the worst lashings winter has to offer. The hardest frosts and freezing temperatures temperoraly halt them but any bit of mild weather and they bounce back again. At the moment i see them everywhere and their green growth is a welcome respite from the darker winter coulurs.

Its imagined that they made their way to us in medevial times when they were a popular choice in monastic gardens. Here they were valued for their own unique flavour and so so were used as a potherb and as a flavouring for alcoholic beverages and I imagine for medicinal purposes too. the flavour itself is interesting with much going on. I like to make a simple soup with them similar to a how i make nettle soup thats greens, potato, onion, water and a little bit of salt and pepper for flavour.

Forest

I was lazily watching TV the other night. Just wanting to zone out really but instead had my interest peaked by a piece on Forest Bathing, a subject that interests me greatly. The notion of Shinrin-yoku which literally means forest bathing, originated in Japan in the early 1980s and may be regarded as a form of nature therapy. Literaly bathing in the calm energy of the forest. Presumably best experienced in unspoiled old forest away fro the distractions of life and the din of modern existance. Here the calm is easily accessed and soaked up and the cares and worries left behind on the soft forest floor.

Not much good if your travel is restricted to a 5km radius of your home. But perhaps all is not lost. I suggest just tuming in to natural sound and tuning out of the white noise of the city as best you can. Now this is easier said than done. I have been trying this recently and its difficult to drown out the noise of your head and the city. But if instead you tune in to bird song it really ahs the most calming and soothing effect. Then move on from birdsong and listen to what else can be added to this soundscape. Wind, perhaps the sound of running water, rain, trees, leaves. I find I weave in and out of both worlds as I get distracted and then return. But daily practice really dose make a difference.

City Life

There are lots of subjects that I ponder, return to and have percolating away somewhere in my mind. I somtimes ruminate on my morning walk about where the country ends and the city begins . There is no distinct place to say “here this is where it is”. no doubt there are official boundaries between city and country but these are really just lines on a map and provide no real indication, no signs that say “no nature beyond this point”

But thats taking the assumption that countryside has the monopoly on nature and city is no place for wilderness. But when you really think about it both the city and the country are sort of industrial spaces. Climb to the top of almost any mountain and take in the view. Its mostly endless fields of production. Sure the air may be cleaner and its perhaps somwhat quieter but its mostly concerned with production. Nature is in the margins.

In the city it seeps into the chinks, into the forgotten places. It thrives on the edge and in the limited space avilable. It takes a while to see this. For me perhaps many years of slowing down and rethinking and then realisation that that the connection I sought was practically on my door step and the yearning for somthing else could be satisified by somthing close to home.

There is so much more to the city than just the city.

Local flavour

This is a subject i return to time and again. Do people know any of the flavours of their surroundings. It seems far more likley that the vast majority of the country could recongnise and describe the taste of ginger way before the taste and identity of wood avens. Yet avens grow here in abundance and ginger is not really suitable for growing in our climate. The same could be said of many other plants from alexanders to wild garlic. Its of course all about commerce and markets.

I somtimes ruminate on how things could be different and how the flavours of the immediate were better known and incorporated into every day dishes and were given proper respect and recognition. How could 5his become a trend? Or more than a trend. A permenant aspect of our ever growing flavour lexicon where our indigenous and naturalised plants were given proper credance and a place at the table.

Education is key to this. I seek to inspire not to produce.

Bitter Leaves

I have recently been reading both a biography of and a book written by Patience Grey. A fascinating character and a wonderful food writer who lived much of her life in very remote and rural parts of Greece and southern Italy. Here she supplemented merger income with foraged plants from the immediate neighbourhood. She followed the traditions of the locals and spent much of the early spring months in the hills near her home searching for the years first growth in the form the bitter young leaves of dandelion, daisy and other local plants. Knowledge of theres plants was known by locals old and young alike and the distinct bitterness was much valued and appreciated as an antidote to a heavier winter diet.

This indeed reminded me of something that I had learned many years ago. In Chinese Medicine the seasons are divided much the same as they are in the West but each season is allocated different bodily organs, tastes, temperatures and emotions. These can contribute to both the assessment of a client and the to the treatment of ailments. The flavour of spring time is bitter and the organ the liver.

I know that somewhere in our own history must be something of their wisdoms. Something of an understanding that is bourn of a very deep contemplation of the aspects of the landscape that sustain and enhance ourselves throughout the year. What to pick when and why to pick particular plants. Folk knowledge is still with us but it is gradually fading into the background and further and further away from everyday life. Once people knew the names of all the plants trees and animals in their vicinity and they were treated with reverence and dignity and indeed their very essence was regarded as in some ways holy or sacred.

Its very easy for the contemporary mindset to dismiss all knowledge and beliefs from the past especially that which has drawn conclusion without reference or referral to science as whimsey or silly or old-fashioned and defiantly without value in our modern world. But this is also denying us of the ancient history and connection to our own land here and somehow this is a separation that has left us without knowing bewildered by and prone to the modern illusion of consumption and entertainment. To this there must be an antidote. But where do we find our bitter leaves and when do we pick them.

takingaleaf

an acknowledgment of the bounty in the immediate landscape

Despite being urban confined there is much in the way of wilderness. Indeed I often wonder where the countryside ends and the city begins. Is there an exact point that can be seen or more likely a gradual fading of one into the other. But both are in their own way industrial and not indicative of natural or nature. In fact both are indications of mans, and I use this word in its full patriarchal meaning, desire to conquer, own and manipulate to his own end the bounty of the earth. But nature seeps through here and there in neglected corners, in the margins and in the forgotten places. Here it lingers and sometimes flourishes devoid of manners and meaning, without balance , it thrives on neglect and abandonment.

Birthday Celebration

Obviously the limited avenues and gathering places for celebration have in a way opened other vistas of possibility when it comes to marking those important dates. This morning I met my friend Maya who is today 50 years old. What an achievement. So instead of our usual lunch and chat we walked up through the pheonix park. We were met by abundant growth of Alexanders whose green growth is dismissing the Winter protocol of going inwards and taking this time to grow. Onwards up a hill where two stags were resting in the growth. They observed us with their cool detached knowing eyes.

We walked on for what seemed like hours and in this time we chatted and laughed and caught up with all the things that needed to be caught up with. We put lots to right and unrolled some old favourites which over the years have given much to both of us in the way of ruminating. We talk of everything from TV to feminism and anthropology all the time basking in the clear cold November sunlight.

Coffee and cake and more chats by the river then a final stretch through the grounds of IMMA. All in all over the two hours perhaps the conversation was probably no different to the one we would have if we sat in a cafe but somehow the cold fresh air and the sunshine made it feel like I was soaking up some sort of tonic for the soul. Friendship can do this and apparently a long chat with a friend is similar to being hugged by one, releasing similar hormones in the brain etc. but the combination of both felt like a holiday.

Badgers

Mini (our west highland terrier) and I take our daily walk through a small wooded area that is possibly a municipally planted thicket that has lost the run of itself. Silver birch and cherry trees have self seeded themselves into a thick and closely knit wilderness. Of course strewn with the usual detritus and party ware that are synamous with all urban and indeed rural green spaces. I don't let this hinder my journey though.

There is much growth on the ground beneath the trees too, wood avens, brambles, cleavers and little tree seedlings all fighingt for the light. Mini loves a good rummage in the undergrowth, it brings out something feral in her. I have at times almost had to cut her out of some tangle as she frantically digs for some poor shrew or mouse. On retrieval there is a wild primal look in her eye, all signs of cute face licker and bedtime cuddler gone and replaced by an instinctive hunter and killer. I really have to keep my eyes trained on her or else she is off on a mission of destruction.

On one recent occasion, my back turned for a moment, she completely disappeared. Not a sight of her or a sound. Once locked on target there is no calling her back and I just hoped that where ever she was accesable. Its still summertime so visibility in the woods is at its lowest, but I know that where ever she is she is motionless as the tell tale jingle of her tags is inauadable, so somthing has really caught her attention. I push my way right into the middle of the growth and in a little clearing she stands frozen but ears cocked infront of a large burrow. She seems engaged with somthing but fear is stopping her progression into the hole that I am sure she will easily fit into. I push forward as silently as I can hoping I can grab her before she darts further away. Just as I reach her I see a white snout dart back into the darkness. Safe in my arms and swiftly chastised I then realise that we are surrounded by a network of burrows, all large and expertly dug out of the banks of soil.

On the walk home, I elimenate foxes, rabbiits and hares and once infront of my lap top I google urban badgers Dublin. 

Mid Summer

The year unfolds and rolls out to midsummer when the sun floats  to its highest point. A lazy clam settles on the growth and nestles in the air. All the new life has been sucked up out of the soil and once again the green mantle settles on the earth. A slow roll on through July and August and then on  to the distant Autumn. 

Lunasa looms ahead too and a taste of the years harvest but for now settle in to the summertime. Take a breath and some time out to read and plan. New routs and ideas to explore. A map unfolds for the comming months.

Bealtaine

Our seasons are blending, spring is crushed into summer as winter keeps its icy grip well into where spring once reigned. Autumn the same, we enjoy balmy weather sometimes up until the very edge of December. I sometimes wonder about the Celtic festivals and imagine them as being these totally in sync time keepers of the passing seasons. Bealtaine, now time to work on raising crops and animals, Lunasa, now time to gather in the years efforts , etc. Where are we now?

A couple of weeks back it was time for takingaleaf to sync with Bealtaine. A feast to welcome the Summer months is what I billed it as. And as luck and magic would have it the clouds parted an hour or so before drinks were served. Ans so the celebration took off with seasonly tuned food, drinks and sunshine.

About six weeks before the event I had synchronistically found a venue which provided all the character and mystery that the occasion called for. I the heart of Inchicore, not far from where I do a lot of my foraging, is the CIE Works, and in the heart of the works is a sports and pleasure centre. Built in the 1840's as a social and community centre for CIE workers who were working on the then new railroads. It boasted a sprung ballroom and also had sewing rooms to make and maintain uniforms. Since then it has been through several incarnations and today still serves the community and is run by a fiercely loyal and committed committee. 

The ballroom provided the perfect atmospheric backdrop with lighting kept to a minimal except for a single mirror ball giving a desired ballroom of romance in a forest glade appeal.

Bow Lane

I have been in and out of town on my bike several times today. Defiantly one more journey than I really wanted  or planned, having left my laptop in a cafe, I needed to go back for it. Sailing up and down bow lane a couple of times though was enough to connect me with this day and time. If you are not familiar with Bow lane, it connects Jamses St to Kilmainham. It winds round the side of Imma and takes a steep incline, or decline depending on which way you are headed as it heads up to the Royal Oak. One side of this narrow road is a complete wilderness, and some day I will record in detail all the plants and animals that dwell here.

At this time of year the air there is heavy with the smell of Hawthorn in full bloom. A heady and sweet perfume which transports you away from your everyday details and cares. Thats if you let it. As the summer progresses Hawthorn will be replaced by Elder and then Buddleia, each sent leading to the next and each promising all that this season offers as well as unlocking older olfactory memories. 

Imbolc

Imbolc traditionally heralds the end of winter and the first signs of spring. Takingaleaf will be marking this ancient occasion on the evening of the 30th of January. You will be greeted with a warming drink at 7:30 and dinner will commence 8ish. Expect a slow evening of local and foraged foods. For tickets and further information email Miceal at takingaleaf@gmail.com

Dinner, Luncheonette

Any cafe,restaurant, bistro, pub, hole in the wall that serves mint tea made with fresh mint is alright by me. Its a small thing I know but it says “we care” louder and clearer than any amount of barista gymnastics can. And when said establishment has a great big jar of mint sitting on the counter top it almost makes my heart skip with joy.
Lunchonette in the deaths of the National College of Art and Design on Dublin,s Tomas street is one such place. Its an oasis of cool hidden away from a street not know for its sartorial elegance but more so for its old fashioned stalls selling cheap washing up liquid and lighters.

When the college lost its cafe about 18 months ago former student Jennie Moran stepped in offering a sort of soup kitchen to students. It operated on just Wednesdays to begin with but has since expanded to breakfast and lunch 5 days a week. Dinner is only for special occasions at the moment and so I was delighted to be invited to dinner there last Friday night as reward for a hard days workshopping. A full and exciting day spent with  an international and local group keen to work on ideas in relation to urbanising bees. Fascinating stuff. Conversations and connections spilled out of the new college campus in Grangegorman and into a blustery and wet night. We trailed our way across the city and the dividing river pointing out bits and bobs of interest and history along the way to the visitors.

Ravenously hungry and high on utopian ideals we made the last leg of the journey through the archway into the art college and down the stairs into the basement. Jennie greets us all warmly and encourages us too take our seats, at an extremely long refectory style table, before our soup goes cold. Starvation thwarts formality as we all scramble for the nearest free space and grab sourdough rolls from the piled high wooden bowls dotted around the table. In front of each of us is one of those utilitarian enamelled metal bowls, you know the white and blue ones that service prisons, girl guides and family picnics alike. Into each one has been labeled a generous portion of kelly green kale and potato soup. Deliciously warm and nourishing. A menu is spied and 8 courses including soup made out. Its a one menu fits all with no decisions to be made all courses vegetable based with one fish dish.BRING IT ON.

Soup bowls and plates are quickly swept away by a team of delightfully friendly wait staff. Large plates offering a barley and blue cheese risotto placed on top of pieces of buttery roast leek. Grains retain bite and texture and give contrast to creamy allium base. Exceptional. Group sighs and exclamations concur. Conversation dropped over soup is picking up again and a sort of group consciousness of delight reigns.

Sweet potato wedges topped with sharp yoghurt and pomegranate. Mountains of them quickly reduced to molehills and beyond. Enough said.

Spears of chicory topped with hazelnut gremolata. Baked to perfection. One of those deceptively simple dishes behind which lurks careful timing and flavour balancing. Bullseye.  Someone mentions killing a close relative for the recipe before retuning to the feasting.  

Whole salt baked Salmon with lemon and caper butter. Now if you are going to bake something do yourself and the object of your baking a favour and bake it whole encased in salt with an egg wash. You will never go back. I however  pass on this course as I can t bare the thought of farmed salmon and I know in my heart and sole that farming the noble salmon of knowledge is a mortal sin. But fear thee not I did not go hungry in the name of animal liberation instead I scoffed remaining portions of chicory. Yum.

So 5 down and 3 desserts to go. Pears baked with chocolate served with shortbread, plum pancakes and hunks of chocolate brownie all come down the line and bowls heaped with greek yoghurt are generously left between every 4 diners. A triumphant ending.

Well not quite ending. We break up into groups to discuss further plans for the morning and are revived by draughts of mint tea made with, you guessed right, fresh mint.

Raw V Burnt

What makes a food a comfort food?   Of course the food itself varies
from person to person and place to place but the sense of comfort it
delivers is pretty universal.  It conjures up feelings of homeliness
and security, and can offer temporary relief from anxiety, heartache
and hangover. Burnt toast is  like my own personal Rescue Remedy,
although with a slightly more carcinogenic side affect. This, like my
other cannon of favourites, mashed potatoes,fried eggs,baked beans etc
comes from my mid eighties childhood. Saturday mornings me and my
sisters would be left to fend for ourselves for a couple of hours. A
brief respite from the strictly regimented meal times in our home.
Lolling in front of the telly and forgetting all about bread left
under the grill until it had long passed the golden brown stage. Focus
only returning when smoke and the smell of burning wafted from the
kitchen to the living room. Then of course not wanting to waste
precious moments of Anything Goes redoing or scraping off the burnt
bits burnt, blackened bread was duly consumed. Over time this became
and still is the much preferred form.

Moving on a few years from here into my later teens and the first
dabbling with vegetarianism. In its infancy merely a Morrisey inspired
affectation and nothing to do with the moral and health choice of my
adult self. The dietary naivety of youth brought me down a path paved
solely with aforementioned comfort foods along with a host of other
convenience unsavouries. I could easily have faded away from scurvy or
some other malnourishment had I not landed my first ever restaurant
job in Cranks Vegetarian Restaurant and take away in Covent Garden
London. Here I was introduced to an array of vegetarian
exotica,mushroom lasagna,potato pie,spinach pizza and soups both hot
and cold of the most outlandish flavour combinations. It was also here
that I learned about whole foods, organic foods and the relationship
between food and health. It didnt change my life or convert me in any
way at the time but it did educate and stimulate me enough to allow my
mind to open to the concepts. I flip flopped for many more years
between healthy, unhealthy, meat eating vegetarian etc, until I
settled where I am now  with mainly vegetarian diet with a little fish
now and then.

I do however dream of taking a more radical dietary step and entering
the world of the raw vegan diet. For me there is something very
attractive about ridding myself to caffeine,refined
sugars,dairy,cooked foods and other acid forming foods and embracing a
world fueled by nuts, legumes,seaweed, grains, seeds, sprouts, agave
and fruits. A purged and pure self free of all comfort foods and
unhealthy indulgences. Do I have the strength of character and will
power on a cold winters evening to resist a delicious lentil Shepard’s
pie with a half pound of butter melted on top followed by a packet of
chocy bickies and large mugs of hot chocolate. Or plates of burnt
toast while in bed with the Sunday papers. Hmmmm I’m perhaps not quite
yet ready to fully embrace cold comfort.

Butter Making

There is  of course more than a hint of smugness implied by dropping the line “I make my own butter” into conversation. But I just can’t help it and am delighting in reactions. 

To be honest it’s actually very easy to make and in the time it takes to nip down to the shop for a pound you can whip up a bit of your own. All you do is pour cream into bowl. Whip and then keep on whipping past the point you would normally go to for dessert. Just keep going and eventually the butter milk and butter will split into liquid and solid. Pour out buttermilk and keep for baking with.

The butter will then need to be washed. To do this you will need ice cold water. Throw a few cubes of ice into a jug of tap water. Then work the water through the butter, use a spatula for this and not your hands as they will bring the temperature up. You will need to do this several times until the water comes clean. 

Keep your eyes peeled in flea markets etc for those lovely old butter paddles because they make beautiful work of bringing the butter together into a loaf.

Add salt if you like salted butter and I have added wild marjoram for extra flavour. 

A half litre of cream yields about a half pound of butter.

Go on join me in smugness.