TRAVELANDLEISUREASIA.COM / MAY 2017 107
We stopped under an oak tree reputed to be
well over 600 years old. “I wonder what this
tree has seen since day one,” Adams said.
Consider: it would have been 150 years old when
Queen Elizabeth I ascended the throne, nearly
400 when the American colonies broke free
from Great Britain. Adams shook his head.
“How insignificant am I?”
The land doubles as a buffet, if you know
what to look for. I didn’t, so Adams narrated.
We passed wild watercress, common hogweed
(whose seeds taste of citrus—more orangey
than lemony) and pineapple weed, which
Adams plucked, rubbed between his fingersa nd held to my nose. It offered a n insta nt
olfactory trip to the tropics. The sorrel we
gathered would go with pig’s-head rillettes.
Blackberries were destined for an arranged
marriage with Cornish cream. “Such
abundance,” Bloomfield said.
Returning to the farmstead, we skirted a
streamside forest. Suddenly, Adams and
Bloomfield unleashed a litany of expletives
more typically heard in the heat of professional
kitchens than the cool of the Cornish shade:
“Holy sh**. Oh my god.”
The object of their awe was in a tree: a
chicken-of-the-woods mushroom the size of aTraditional
cottages line the
Cornish town
of Boscastle.