This week I have been exchanging emails with a West Midlands Eco Warrior. He makes bread based puns.
There was a seemingly throwaway comment made on diesel injection engines which I picked up on and ran with for a while, then I did the cyber delve and put his name into a search engine!
We had joked that I might be advised to purchase a large text book on diesel injection & bio fuel production and how would I manage to shift the weighty cookery tomes to make room for it on the bookshelf?
What he doesn't know is that I have already uncovered that he is the author of such a text book. Tempted to request a signed copy - too creepy?
He lives in an old bakery, knows about mushrooms and picks Wild Garlic.
Wild Bloody Garlic! Don't talk to me about Wild Garlic.
I'm certain that everyone from the cider quaffing loveliness of Hugh Fearnley Wittingstall to the toothy, clammy, oddly charming grin of the gobbling Valentine Warner (not forgetting Ray Mears) can get their mits on this apparently abundant countryside herb. Hell, I bet even Greg Wallace knows where to pick it.
I live in a City.
I could go groping around the canal side or one of the many well meaning council parks but I can't imagine I'd return with a hoard. I would love to know where to find it, what it tastes like, simply because I'm getting fed up of being told how great it is. If it isn't in a shop or even a WI market stall I don't stand a chance. I'm still horrified that I had to go to Fortnum and Masons to find Sorrell - the affluent shame of it!
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