Read an Excerpt
Introduction
“Live in each season as it passes: breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.” —Henry David Thoreau
The backyard of my childhood home opened up to an expanse of evergreen forest. My brothers and I used to cut a path, tripping over creeping salal and fallen branches while attempting to avoid the stinging nettles as best we could. The fragrant cedar and fir trees cast dappled light across the lower canopy and provided enough shade for a community of moss to flourish. I don’t remember our purpose in going out into the woods; we were kids and purpose was not important. Our imaginations acted as our guide, as we concocted stories of adventures and mythic mysteries using broken sticks as swords to defend both our lives and our honor.
All adventures ceased the moment we spotted blushing red berries, with their delicate green leaves and tender branches growing out of trees no longer living but now gifting life to others. Huckleberries were our summer forest snack, a taste we’d wait for all year. We’d fill our cheeks with the tart berries, popping seeds in between our front teeth while talking of gathering enough for a pie. This imaginary pie of our childhood would never come to be because we could never get past being fully present to the huckleberries right in front of us. We’d stuff ourselves until we tired of picking or until Mom called us home.
Nearly two decades later, I’m now living in Seattle with my husband and three kids, and through the food community, I find a few folks who also like to go out into the woods and eat things. More specifically, folks who like to eat mushrooms. I have to beg and plead with them to take me into the woods to look for mushrooms. If you don’t know it already, the mushroom hunting crowd is a passionate bunch who are quite good at keeping secrets. If they want to keep finding the mushrooms year after year, they have to be. Many of the choicest edible varieties grow in the same area, so the location of their “mushroom spot” is rarely revealed.
My friends finally agreed I could join them, even though they threatened to blindfold me. I laughed a cautious chuckle, not quite knowing how serious they were. Although they didn’t actually blindfold me, the chanterelles, porcini, and matsutake mushrooms they led me to that day would have been worth it if they had. We ate my friend Kate’s apple pie out of the back of a truck with slices of Cheddar cut with a mushroom knife and Mt. Rainier as our backdrop (even that may be saying too much). I went home with a basket of mushrooms and an even deeper love for the earth that provided such an abundance of wild foods.
About five years after that first forest adventure, I’m stirring fontina cheese and caramelized shallots in a cast-iron pan over a campfire. As the cheese melts, my brothers, sisters-in-law, husband, children, nieces, nephews, and my parents (seventeen of us in total) descend on the pan, with warm bread for dipping, sitting on the edge of the fire where it cooked. We’re camping in the woods, eating incredibly well, and I notice a deep satisfaction within. I smell of smoke, have dirt under my fingernails, charcoal is smudged on my face, and I just prepared an entire meal over a fire. I am immensely happy.
Shortly after this trip, my brother and I started Kitchen Unnecessary, an outdoor cooking series on YouTube, where we fish, forage, and hunt for wild foods and then cook our finds into a feast over a fire. As a result of this show and these adventures that have marked my life, I notice an awakening to the deepening reality that I am madly in love with the natural world. And it’s not just physical. There is something that continuously moves me mentally and spiritually when I’m outdoors.
Over the next several years, my curiosity led me on a journey to find answers to the questions of why and what? Why is it so gratifying to bring home a basket of wild foods from the woods? What is that visceral satisfaction I get from cooking over a fire? Why is paying attention to the natural rhythms of Earth and its seasons so important? Why do I crave rich and hearty roasts and roots in the winter and live at the canes of my raspberries in summer? What is it about being outside that makes me feel so good?
As I ask myself these questions, I’m paying attention to nature in a way I never have. This noticing is overwhelming me with gratitude. There are answers, measurable data, and numbers that show just how necessary nature is for our health. There have been many books written on this subject, so I’ll attempt not to repeat what’s already been said. I’d rather spend our time together in this book to guide you into a deeper daily connection with the natural world, using the best way I know how to connect: through food.
Before you start to panic that I am going to take you out into the woods and invite you to dance in the nude, hug trees, or dig up dirt for your dinner, rest assured there are other ways. However, if you do feel any of those sorts of urges, I say, go for it! But believe me, there are simpler ways of deepening your connection to the natural world, even if you live in a city apartment, have young children running around you, or have never laced up hiking boots. I’m not saying that I won’t push you, though. There is growth in discomfort. Embrace the stretch, become familiar with feeling a bit awkward, and open yourself up to the idea that there is so much more.
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