Weeds: They're Tasty, Attractive, and Everywhere!

A basswood tree growing at the edge of a playground parking lot. Basswood in bloom is easily recognizable by the tongue-like bracts that are attached to the flowers and buds.

My eldest son displays a basswood flower
connected to its leafy bract.

Although I love to go foraging -- intentionally take my backpack, tools, and some plastic baggies and go looking for food -- much more often I find plants I can eat when I'm not even looking for them. Just this morning I took my kids to a playground I've only been to once before. As we were getting out of the car, I spotted two large walnut trees at the edge of the small parking lot. Then I noticed another large tree, this one with the most interesting, sweet-smelling flower clusters. The flowers were at the end of a long stem that was connected midway up a long, narrow, tongue-like bract that was a much lighter shade of green than the other leaves. Immediately, I recognized this tree from one of my foraging books. I knew which book it was in, but I couldn't remember the name of the tree or which parts one could eat. Still, those flowers and bracts were unmistakable.

I took some pictures, and my eldest son picked a sample to take home, where we identified the tree as a basswood. The leaf buds, young leaves, and tiny nuts are edible. The cambium, which lies underneath the bark, is also supposed to be tasty, but you'd have to kill the tree to get it, so it isn't an advisable snack unless you need to fell the tree anyway. Some people enjoy tea made from basswood flowers, although my source (Samuel Thayer) finds basswood tea overrated. He does highly recommends the young leaves as salad greens. It's past time for me to try any parts except the tiny nuts this year, but now we have an excuse to visit this playground again in the spring.

Burdock growing beneath some walnut trees at a local playground.

Playgrounds seem to make good foraging spots. On a recent trip to a different local playground, we found so many edible plants that it would be difficult to list them all. There were walnut trees growing over a lush border of burdock and pokeweed and, farther along, blackberry bushes and cattails. The latter had crept under a chain-link fence separating the ball field from a marsh. I showed my middle son how to pull up cattail leaf hearts, and we collected some for dinner (this was my second attempt at cooking the leaf hearts; they were delicious boiled and then served with a little butter and salt). As we tried to pull up one heart, the entire plant, roots and all, came out, and I was excited to find a lateral stem attached! My middle son was the only one of us who had yet had the opportunity to try a lateral, reportedly the best part of the cattail plant (see my February 2 post for details). I can now report that the lateral tastes just like the leaf hearts, except that it's not at all fibrous.

Lady's thumb in flower.

Cattail latteral stem.

After finding the cattails, we made our way around to the other side of the ball field, where there was a little building. Outside the building was some flowering lady's thumb (the peppery greens make a nice addition to salads and are tasty sauteed as well).

Wild food isn't just at playgrounds, though. In previous posts I've established the supermarket-like quality of certain parking lots. Now, let's add rest stops to the list. It was there that I collected some burdock flower stalks on the way back from a recent trip to New Jersey. Burdock is a biennial, which means it flowers every other year. All along the treeline at this rest stop were burdock plants, and many of them had sent up tall flower stalks. Most had not yet made flowers, though (once the flowers appear, the stalk is too tough to eat). I remembered that the flower stalks were supposed to be the best part of burdock (I had never tried any part of burdock before). I cut off several stalks and took them home, where I boiled them until they were tender. They were quite tasty, sort of like potatoes.

Milkweed growing near the school where my sons played spring
soccer. Unfortunately, most of the plants were infested with
some sort of black goop; I'm really not sure what it was.
I'm hoping the pods will be unaffected.

The beauty of being a forager is that I seem to find plants I can eat wherever I go: wood sorrel in the garden of our bed & breakfast, curly dock on the side of the road near my son's school, milkweed at a soccer game, sumac shoots at the edges of parking lots, thistle, wintergreen, and a variety of different berries at a cousin-in-law's house. I don't have to go foraging to go foraging, and that's just what I love about learning to recognize wild plants. Weeds are no longer weeds.

Not only can weeds be delicious; they can also be attractive. I was particularly inspired while visiting a local children's museum because, while walking along a pretty garden path, I noticed that all the beautiful flowers in the garden were so-called "weeds." I don't know the names of many of the flowers, but I recognized them as native plants that grow around my house in places we don't necessarily want them growing. Or at least in places we think we don't want them growing. Perhaps we should take a different approach and cultivate them. The museum garden and path were quite lovely.

My eldest son displays
a milkweed flower.

In fact, many edible plants make pretty flowers. I love lady's thumb, for example, and sheep sorrel makes striking, if tiny, red flower spikes. Wood sorrel's yellow flowers and heart-shaped leaves are cute, and chickweed's white flowers would look nice along a border. Even milkweed, which I found growing alongside "proper" garden plants in front of my son's elementary school and near the the boys' soccer field (see picture above), produces an attractive flower (see photo at left). I suspect that the plants got in without the landscaper's permission, but I think milkweed could be an attractive part of a planned garden as well.

Ox-eye daisies.

I also recently learned that the young leaves of ox-eye daisies are edible. The daisies are all in flower here already this year, but I've been noting good future collecting grounds, which so far include the field near our train station, the field by our favorite picnic rock, and the conservation land behind a local church.

Open day lily and some
unopened buds. Delicious!

Some flowers that people already plant in their gardens make excellent table fare. Yesterday afternoon the boys and I picked some day-lily buds from around our house and sauteed them in a little butter. We had never tried day lilies before, but they were so tasty that I decided to use them in a stir-fry for dinner tonight! The results were worth sharing; see the end of this post for my recipe. The taste of day lilies is similar to asparagus and green beans but is definitely its own flavor.

The day lilies on our property are being taken over by invasive vines, so in the process of collecting dinner, my oldest son and I ended up getting out the clippers and preventing at least some of the flowers (and a couple of birch trees) from getting dragged to the ground under the weight of the vines. It turns out that clipping invasive vines is addicting! I know it sounds crazy, but we didn't want to stop. We only came reluctantly inside because the rest of the family wanted dinner, but we have plans to continue the work in the morning.

Sauteed day lily flower buds.

I learned about eating day lilies from a great little book called The Edible Flower Garden by Rosalind Creasy. Unfortunately, I don't have enough sun at my house to plant many of the flowers she showcases, but I have planted some, including violets, violas, borage, pinks, and Johnny jump-ups. If you're interested in the prospect of being able to admire your garden and eat it, too, I highly recommend her book (which you can find in the list of recommended products on the right-hand side of this blog).

My youngest son with
a mallow pea we collected
from my garden.

Mallow makes a pretty purple flower, although it might be too inconspicuous for attractive garden plantings. I did plant some mallow in my vegetable garden, though, and the little spiral "peas" have started coming out. I've been freezing them by the handful as they ripen. They have thickening properties, similar to those of okra, so I'm planning to use them in a soup once I've collected enough (I only have two plants in my garden).

Mallow with flowers and fruits at our train station.

My middle son and I also recently collected some mallow peas from our favorite train station. Someone clears the brush away around the edges of the parking lot from time to time, so there weren't as many plants as we were hoping for because the trimming had just been done. We were able to collect a fair amount of peas, though, as well as some mint leaves for iced tea.

My most exciting recent discovery was in New Jersey, where we met my dad at a campground for a couple of days. I kept seeing these plants that I thought might be mayapple, but I hadn't gotten my book out to compare the live specimens to the photos. I have seen mayapple only once, on a foraging walk with Russ Cohen. We were on a community farm, and Russ mentioned, much to my disappointment, that mayapple does not grow natively in Massachusetts. I'd read that it grows in southern Quebec and in states south of Massachusetts, so I figured it grew here, too, and I'd been searching for it, apparently in vain.

Mayapple leaves.

Mayapple usually consists of a single stalk with an umbrella-like leaf. In flowering years, the stem forks and produces two leaves, and after the lone white flower appears, a lemon-shaped yellowgreen fruit (which turns yellow or yellowish brown as it ripens) begins growing underneath the leaf. Mayapples are apparently a bit fickle about producing fruit. If they don't have enough sunlight, or there hasn't been enough rain, or they're in the wrong mood, they just hang out as leaves. Even when mayapple plants do make fruit, raccoons and other animals are likely to get it before people do. The unripe fruits are toxic (as is the rest of the plant), but the ripe fruit is apparently so delicious that it's worth long hours of searching just to find one the raccoons missed.

To give you an idea of why I'm so excited to try a mayapple, I invite you to read the words of Samuel Thayer in Nature's Garden: A Guide to Identifying, Harvesting, and Preparing Edible Wild Plants. Thayer has just described the lengths to which he has gone to hunt down a mayapple. Then he writes,

Mayapple plants.

"I have never examined the input/output ratio of calories for this pursuit, nor have I calculated my labor efficiency. But please don't do it for me. Let us mayapple hunters have our fun. Who cares how many hours are consumed; we are driven by our memory of that one time, when there was a fruit on every forked stem, some as big as kiwi fruits -- and we got hundreds. You don't understand; you weren't there. Maybe someday we'll find that again. And if not, sixteen will keep the memory alive."

Mayapple plants with fruit hanging under nearly every one!

 So I'd been seeing all these possible mayapple plants in New Jersey, but I hadn't seen any fruits, and I hadn't checked Thayer's book yet to see whether I'd found the real thing. Then, as my middle son and I were hiking along a trail in the state park where we were camping, we came upon something that made consulting a book completely unnecessary. There, on either side of the trail, were mayapple plants, and mayapple plants, and more mayapple plants, and almost every single one had a lemon-shaped fruit dangling underneath its leaves. I was beyond excited, and it hardly mattered that the fruits were unripe and still toxic. (My son got so excited that he was campaigning to drive back to New Jersey when we thought the mayapples would be ripe, but of course I don't intend to drive four and a half hours to find out the animals beat us to the prize).

Unripe mayapple fruit.

I might not have been able to taste a mayapple, but I could and did dig up a few plants to take home. I chose them from shady spots where the tree canopy had grown so tall and shady that the plants were just hanging on, not making flowers or fruits. I chose them from the middle of the trail where they were only going to get trampled. And I brought them safely home to my own garden, where fortunately a few are doing well in their new soil and, with luck, will someday allow me to taste a fruit (a few, unfortunately, have withered in their new home). Of course, I fully expect to have to fight the local wildlife for them (the chipmunks ate every single strawberry from my garden this year).

Even if I don't get to eat all the fruit from my future mayapple colony, though, at least the attractive flowers will make a fine addition to my garden!

Photo Gallery

Here are some more pictures from our adventures over the last few weeks. And check out the recipe for day-lily stir fry at the end.

Unripe fruit hanging beneath a mayapple leaf.

Curly dock (center) and ox-eye daisy in the field near our train station.

Curly dock near my son's elementary school. It's easiest to spot curly dock when it's in flower, which isn't the time at which you want to eat it.

A selection of edible plants growing near my town's train station. Pokeweed is at the top left, mallow is at center right, and mint is at the far right. I'm no longer sure whether the plant at bottom center is anything interesting. I gathered a bunch of mint to make iced tea the day I took this picture.

My youngest two sons play in the sandbox at the playground where we found the cattails. My middle son is building a volcano.

My youngest son.

We found a great climbing tree at the playground!

Here are the cattails that have crept under the fence. We made some friends after we collected these. A little boy saw us carrying the cattails across the field and ran over to ask what they were. I told him they were cattails and that we were going to eat them, and he ran off to tell his mother, who was apparently interested in the idea of eating cattails and other wild plants.

There were also some walnut trees.

Here's a closer view of the walnut leaves. Walnut trees can be distinguished from butternut trees because the terminal leaf in each leaflet is not well developed on a walnut tree. I keep examining walnut-like leaves in the hopes of finding a butternut tree, but so far no luck.

There was also a lot of pokeweed at this playground (this is way too big to eat now).

Pokeweed. Too big to eat. The pokeweed across the street from my house is about to make berries, so I'll post pictures of that soon.

A burdock leaf. I neglected to take pictures of the flower stalks I collected and ate.

Last year's dried burdock burrs.

 

Here's a close-up of a mallow pea.

This snail was hanging out in the field at the train station, and he seemed photo worthy.

 

 

 Sweet-and-Sour Day-Lily Stir Fry

Sauce:
6 T red wine vinegar
6 T orange juice
6 T sugar
3 T ketchup
1 t cornstarch
 1/2 t salt

Stir-fry:
1 lb chicken, flank steak, pork tenderloin, or tofu, cut into small, even pieces (I used chicken)
2 t soy sauce
2 T vegetable of peanut oil
1 1/2 lb vegetables, including as many day-lily buds and flower petals (remove stamens and sepals from open flowers) as you can collect; supplement with other vegetables, such as bamboo shoots, baby corn, or mushrooms
1 14 oz can pineapple chunks
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 T minced fresh ginger
cashews, for sprinkling
serve with rice

1. Cook rice. While rice is cooking, toss meat or tofu in soy sauce. Heat 2 t oil in nonstick skillet or wok and heat over high heat until just smoking. Stir fry meat or tofu, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned. Transfer to a clean bowl (prepare sauce while meat or tofu is cooking).

2. Add 1 T oil to the pan and return to high heat until shimmering. Add vegetables and pineapple and stir fry until crisp-tender, only a couple of minutes for day lilies (add vegetables at different times if some will take longer to cook than others).

3. Clear the center of the pan, add 1 t oil, garlic, and ginger, and cook until fragrant, about 30 to 60 seconds. Whisk sauce to recombine, add to pan, and bring to a simmer. Cook a few minutes or until thick. Serve immediately over rice and sprinkle cashews on top.

Easier Than Pie

My two youngest boys show off their Japanese knotweed stalks.
The plants are also growing in the background. Collecting these invasive weeds
is easier than making knotweed-strawberry pie.

A mallow plant sprouting at the edge
of the parking lot at the train station.
Mallow leaves are roundish, with gently wavy
margins. They are covered in tiny hairs,
have a long petiole, and have a dark spot
at the tip of the petiole (in the
center of the leaf). I find this latter
characteristic helpful in distinguishing
mallow from look-alikes, although I haven't
seen it mentioned in any book.

This past Saturday I took my two youngest sons to our local train stop to see what we could find growing there. It was much easier to look around the edges of the parking lot without so many commuters' cars in the way. I was hoping to find some purslane, which I did find there last year and unsuccessfully tried to transplant to my garden (this is both annoying and unbelievable given that my books claim it is sure to be found in every garden but, believe me, I've looked! Especially after I tasted the purslane I finally located at the train station last year; it was yummy! Succulent and lemony. So I tried to transplant some, but it didn't take, even though supposedly other gardeners have a hard time getting rid of it.) The purslane must not be up yet, but we did find lots of garlic mustard (see previous post), wintercress, and mallow.

Mallow has mild flavored but slightly mucilaginous leaves, which are covered with fine hairs and are thus a little fuzzy on the tongue. I first identified it at a kids' birthday party on a farm in southern Massachusetts last summer. It's most recognizable when it bears its tiny fruits, mallow "peas," which are cute little spirals that my kids thought it was so fun to eat. They don't really taste like much, but the cuteness makes up for it. They're a little crunchy and would make an interesting salad addition. They (like okra) have good thickening properties and would be useful in soups (one of my books has a gumbo recipe I'm interested in trying). When we first identified the mallow growing by the barn, my eldest son was so excited that he collected a handful of the mallow fruits and ran off to offer some to his friend, big sister of the birthday girl. To his great disappointment, she wouldn't try any, but another little girl volunteered. She put the "pea" in her mouth but almost immediately spit it out whilst delivering the most dramatic display of disgust I have ever seen. "Ew!" She shrieked. "That is disgusting!" I think she even spat. Truly, it was an amazing performance. And performance it most certainly was; I assure you that no

Wintercress in flower. A mallow plant is in the
foreground.

open-minded person could possibly object to the mallow pea. I later learned that this little girl objected to vegetables on principle, so that leads me to wonder why she would so enthusiastically volunteer to sample the thing in the first place.

Unlike field mustard, wintercress (a member of the mustard family)
has ridges along its stalk.

Well, now that I've got that off my chest, let's get back to the parking lot at the train stop. In addition to the mallow, (which isn't making its fruits yet), I found multitudes of yellow flowers that I thought might be field mustard. After reading the description of field mustard, though, I decided that couldn't be right. A little more investigation pointed to wintercress, which my sources agreed was bitter, bitter, bitter. Usually, if a plant is bitter, my guide will advise that one just needs to harvest it at the right stage, or harvest the right part, or cook it the right way, and then the thing will be delightful. Not so with wintercress. No part of the plant is not bitter, and there's really nothing one can do to make it otherwise. Boiling the unopened flower buds and tender stalks for a few minutes reportedly makes the plant marginally less bitter, so that it tastes pretty much like broccoli raab. That wasn't warming me up to my discovery; I detest broccoli raab. However, being the adventurous outdoorswoman that I am, I picked a leaf and put it in my mouth. I'd like to be able to tell you that the reports were wrong, but in reality I couldn't spit that leaf out quickly enough.

A collection of wintercress flower buds.

Not one to give up without giving something a thoroughly fair trial, I decided to broil some of the unopened flower stalks with a little olive oil and salt, as I do with broccoli (which I also find bitter unless I prepare it exactly right). I then squeezed a little lemon juice on top and tried again. Although I managed to swallow this time, my mother-in-law, who was with me, can assure you that my reaction did not invite further tasting. "Oh! That is really nasty! Disgusting!" I cried.

Later I read another wintercress description that claimed the flower buds are excellent in cheese sauce. I'm not sure I'm willing to give this vegetable another trial, or at least not quite yet. My taste buds are still recovering. The bottom line is that, if I'm ever lost in the woods, I'll have a ready source of food if I can just manage to swallow without tasting or chewing. Wintercress is apparently loaded with nutrients, and it grows everywhere (although I first found it in a sunny location, I later found it while hiking in the forest, too).

We collected this knotweed in about 2 minutes.
I'm sure it would take an adult
without kids even less time.

The most exciting discovery at the train station, though, was that the Japanese knotweed stalks were coming up. As you might recall from a previous post, Japanese knotweed is an invasive weed with large, hollow stalks. When the stalks are just growing and still tender, one can easily snap off the shoots and have an excellent substitute for rhubarb. The boys and I collected an armful of shoots in our few remaining minutes before we had to head to soccer practice (my husband and my eldest son were already there). It turns out that there was more Japanese knotweed growing at the fields, so after his game my eldest son collected more. So much more that it took me quite a while to peel all the leaves off when we got home!

My eldest son collects Japanese knotweed after his soccer game.
He has made a little pile of it by his soccer ball.

We of course had to try a knotweed-strawberry pie right away, so my middle son and I headed to the grocery store to get strawberries. Collecting the knotweed turned out to be much easier than making the pie; the juices didn't set right, so we ended up with a pie crust dunked in a knotweed-strawberry soup. Nonetheless, the results were delicious. I have read that knotweed-strawberry pie is even better than strawberry-rhubarb pie. Without the two contestants in front of me at the same time, I would be hard pressed to say, but the knotweed version is certainly in the running.

I also tried sauteed knotweed, which at first I rather liked, as did my middle son; my other family members found it too sour. After eating several stalks, however, the sourness began to get to me. I will have to experiment with more ways to eat it, especially given that I now have two gallon-sized Ziplock bags full of it in my freezer!

Here you can more clearly see the dark spot in the center of a mallow leaf.