FROM:LUCASHOLLWEG
One advantageoflivinginthecountryis thatourdaily
hour of exercise takes us along nearby lanes and
footpaths. As much as anything, it’s a chance to forage
for free food. There are stone walls covered in
succulent pennywort, carpets of wild garlic, which has
featured in almost every meal recently, and forests of
young nettles, the spinach of the hedgerows, which
can be drafted into service in the kitchen.
People in the local community are increasingly
sharing their resources. The last of their surplus
winter squashes and seed potatoes appear in the
church porch for neighbours to help themselves.
There are offers of vegetable seedlings, spring onions,
rhubarb, undrunk beer from the pub and gooseberries
left in the freezer from last year. Friends leave jars of
wild garlic pesto at our gate, as well as homemade
rabbit pâté, goose eggs, milk from their goats, and
bulging bags of mizuna and claytonia from their
gardens. We are lucky. Good food is solace in a world
that’s otherwise unsettling and uncertain.
We’re trying to do our bit. We’ve used our wholesale
account to buy flour – otherwise in short supply – for
those who need it. We’ve arranged a weekly bread
delivery from a local artisan bakery and distributed
it around local villages. And we’ve ordered for the
whole community from an award-winning local
cheesemaker, who, without orders from restaurants,
has found himself with too much cheese. Never have
local food and those who produce it been so important.
FROM:AGGIEMACKENZIE
TheweirdthingI realisedaboutpanicbuying was that,
although there was no shortage of good bread in the
shops, people who’d never baked a loaf in their lives
suddenly imagined they were going to spend their
lockdown days crafting artisan loaves, then cleared the
shelves of the flour normally bought by people like me
who regularly bake bread (but don’t buy flour by the
ton). Suddenly, with no ingredients in the house, I was
reduced to buying bread for the first time in years.
But then I had a lucky find... One day, when I was
out for my one-hour walk, I spotted an Afro-Caribbean
shop and wandered in to see what they had.
Hallelujah! At the very back of the shop was a 10kg
bag of white chapati flour. Hold on, is that the same
as strong white? I called my chef son Ewan for advice.
He said it wasn’t as strong as it could be (11.5 per cent
protein, while 13 per cent is the strongest, apparently,
but it would do). I hauled it to the counter to pay (£5.- a bargain!) and asked the shopkeeper how late he
stayed open as I planned to walk the mile home to get
the car and return to scoop up my haul.
The shop was due to close in 20 minutes, he said, so
my plan foundered at the first hurdle. I thought I’d be
just about fine to manage carrying the bag home with
my other shopping... and I wasn’t going to risk leaving
it there until the next day. I set off optimistically but
after a few hundred yards could feel my arm starting to
dislodge from the shoulder socket.
Then I spotted a small brick shed under a bridge. I
walked to the back of it where there lay a rotting, fetid
mattress. Nice. I stealthily placed my bag of flour next
to it, dashed home quickly, returned with the car and
approached the spot with bated breath... Would my
bag of bounty still be there? It was – phew. Since then,
I’ve been churning out sourdoughs like a pro (once you
start, and get good results, it’s impossible to stop).
OUR CONTRIBUTORS SHARE THEIR LOCKDOWN EXPERIENCES
Lucas in the country and Aggie in the city got in touch
with stories of flour hunts and wild-garlic-with-everythingin Somerset in L ondon
FANCY MAKING SOURDOUGH?
Visit deliciousmagazine.co.uk
and search ‘how to make
sourdough’ for Lucas Hollweg’s
brilliant step-by-step guide.