Up north

We have been on woodland dialysis:

Two refreshing nights and fewer days up north, in Pennsylvania, near a big river, in some wild woods, where spring is a few weeks behind New York City's botanical clock.

Ramps featured regularly on our daily menus. Our host, Steven Schwartz, is the proprietor of Delaware Valley Ramps, which supplies markets and restaurants with wild delicacies that are foraged on his property. (And recently he received an upmarket order for garlic mustard. The gospel according to edible weeds as new vegetables is spreading.)

For a post-foraging brunch (we found wood nettles and morels) we scarffed down bagels with ramp green cream cheese, locally smoked salmon, and pickled ramp bulbs. Soon, the Frenchman will post - I hope - his picture of that evening's Rampitini. Ramps popped up in tarts, on kebabs, and under (roast) chickens.

I learned lots in a little time, walked on a wildflower-strewn lawn, drank a lovage cocktail (thank you, Laura Silverman), cooked with wood nettles and found those morels.

Our blood runs a little greener than before we left the city