By Michelle Matthews
Foraging is one of the food industries favourite buzz words. And as is often the case its origins lie in humble beginnings. Foraging is a form of gathering, and we as a species originated as hunters and gatherers, in fact during this time we were healthier eating a more diverse, seasonal and regional diet than the era of organised agriculture brought. The industrial age centralised food production and started expanding the incredibly long and increasingly opaque and sketchy food chain. But people didn’t often die from bad food or lack of food in our western countries, so we all grew comfortable.
Along with comfort came restlessness. There’s a societal hunger for the next new thing, and there is always a next new thing. The scarcity and rarity of ingredients make them expensive and tricky to ensure the consistency of their supply. Foraging makes the unreliable supply of fruits, vegetables, meats and grains not yet commercialised or are resistant to the whims of the industrial restaurant complex acceptable and even more desirable.
Restaurants love to stand out and build credibility with their ties to the land. They love to convey their chef’s care for produce and their passion for creativity, so a unique menu item listing ‘chef foraged x from y’ ideally accompanied with social media proof is a winner.
Sound like hard work? It is, and it’s rarely viable unless you factor in intangibles like the marketing opportunities and cachet. But consider foraging from a domestic perspective, and you’ll gradually see your suburb with fresh, hungry, scavaging eyes.
I’m living in postcode 3181. It’s an inner-city Melbourne suburb dating back to the earliest days of the city. Older suburbs offer the most prosperous bounty thanks to their network of forgotten and scarcely used laneways, ageing, gaping fences and scraggly old fruit trees. Summer evening strolls for the sole purpose of attempting to get my steps to 12,000 lead me up and down the back lanes, initially out of curiosity and ultimately out of wonder. And what I discovered was a citrus and ‘vintage’ fruit oasis. Cumquats, lemons, an abundance of figs and the occasional crabapples, documenting the great age of European immigrant kitchen gardens.
Elaborate flower displays occupy the front yard while feast-worthy cornucopia-filling fruit and vegetables fill the back. I just collect the ones dangling in oblivion over the fence or those that have recently and gently landed on the 19th century-lid bluestones below.
Some foraging is encouraged by the local council, and Stonnington City Council does a great many things to make the lives of their constituents easier and more pleasurable. One of their signature events is a summer concert series with the closest location used being Victoria Gardens, a charming park, beloved by dogs and walkers and the ageing Greek community as a meeting place. It’s an ever-flowering park of many purposes. One circular garden within is guarded by substantial cacti, inside lies a vast range of herbs like thyme, parsley, and rosemary. Rosemary can be found everywhere, that it’s able to maintain any kind of commercial value is a mystery to me. So help yourself. I’d argue that more public gardens should be edible.
Some foraging methods are more speculative than others. Visiting a cafe or dine-in bakery close to closing time can generate an offer of taking home goods that would otherwise be composted. It’s a sweet deal.
Others require some sweat, daring and agility. A typically elaborate Kettle Black cafe breakfast dish once contained prickly pears foraged from the sidings of the Toorak train station. Nineteenth-century remnants from the British Empires attempt to get in on the Spanish empire’s dominance in the cochineal trade. They half succeeded and managed to cover much of southern Australia with the plants. Alas, the lucrative insects and their precious red colouring never took hold. Spare a thought for this optimistic endeavour when you’re travelling across rural and regional Australia, and you spot the odd giant cactus.
A favoured method is a midweek, mid-afternoon wine bar sit-in. This is prime time for wine rep visits. Do you have any idea how many wine reps there are on the road at any one time? It’s not an easy job, and they suffer from more rejections than acceptances. As a neutral party in a wine bar, you can skew this scenario a little by expressing interest in the rep and their wares before a rejection sets in. Position yourself in a window seat for the best vantage point to anticipate their arrival. Show some enthusiasm, look for a taste or two. It’s worked for me.
Consider your neighbours. Consider them in several ways. In my experience, a great way to get to know them is to compliment them on their gardens. Obviously, they need to be worth commenting on. An elderly couple in my street grow towering, baby’s head-sized chrysanthemums. While admiring them one afternoon, neighbour-lady plucked me an impressive bunch to take home. Some neighbours will just hang a bag of fruit from the front gate with an invitation to help yourself. To be fair, I only saw this once.
Next up with be actual begging. The only thing that gets me through the final dark days of winter is the hypnotic fragrance of daphne. I’ve mapped out all my neighbours who grow this heady bush and have dropped notes in their boxes begging for a sprig or two. The next round of note will contain a cash incentive or a possible fragrance appreciation donation.
