18
Our Man in the Field
Foraging and Flavour David Hughes meets Rupert Waites Mere steps from the car, in the long, wet grass, my shoes began to breach and are, by now, sodden, my cotton trousers heavy with upward wicking water. Ahead of me, the forestry track along which I squelch, tuft to tuft, drops down into a boggy birch thicket; a most unattractive prospect as the weather, which has not been pleasant at any point in the day, begins to close in once again. Deciding my best course of action is to cut my losses and head home, I clamber the deeply cut bank to my right to shelter a short while in the pine plantation that covers the hill. As I approach, something in the gloomy fringes of the trees catches my eye. The childish giggle I evince is prompted by my proudest discovery to date: a cauliflower fungus, Sparrasis crispa, and an absolute belter at that! Picture perfect, ivory white, fresh as a daisy and— most importantly for an amateur mycologist as comically poor as myself —an easily identifiable edible. I carefully extract my prize and, with much swearing, stumbling and a few close shaves across barbed wire fences, manage to return triumphantly to the van, the 1.5kg mushroom unmolested. What to do with this treasure, though? Looking to get inventive and in need of advice, I ring up my good pal and forager/chef/flavour expert Rupert Waites, of Buck & Birch. “They’re an arse to clean,” is his first response and, having now experienced the task first-hand, I have a tendency to agree. You'll be crunching on a stray woodlouse or pine needle, for sure, if care is not taken to break it down and wash it thoroughly. Mrs Waites makes an excellent Tom Yum-style soup, where she simmers them a while. They pickle rather well, too.
This is why I ring Rupert for advice. If it can be foraged from a Scottish landscape, then he knows the best way to capture its essence. The conversation turned elsewhere: “Where did you find it?” he enquired, casually, but I remained tight-lipped. “The Borders,” was my vague reply. He laughed. I think we all know I won’t be giving up the location of that spot so easily! “You should come out here and see the new flavour library,” he suggested, before we exchanged regards and hung up.
The following day, intrigued by the offer, I venture out to the Buck & Birch development kitchen at Macmerry, in East Lothian, to catch up in person and talk foraging and flavours. I’ve worked with Rupert closely, bottling his array of herbal liqueurs and helping prep the wonderful wild dining experiences he delivers, so I’m familiar with the many shades of culinary wonder that reside in his kitchen. I am not, however, quite prepared for the awe of standing in front of his most recent addition— a literal wall of flavours. Boxes of dried herbs are stacked floor to ceiling. Next to them, shelves filled with brown glass litre bottles containing all manner of tincture and decoction. We have at our fingertips— dried, in tincture and in decoration —everything you might think of that can represent the flavours of Scotland. Barks, plants, flowers, even the seaweeds and peat that
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