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Spring is Sprung Myfanwy Alexander ‘How lovely of you to come all this way,’ my mother said to the bemused wedding guests, ‘but do you mind going out now and driving about a bit until you find some primroses? We need to candy them for the cake and there are less than forty-eight hours left.’ A cold Spring nearly robbed me of the delicate flowers for my wedding cake but my resourceful mother’s expedient of sending them out in foraging parties and refusing them so much as a sustaining cup of tea until they had come up with the botanical goods did work and all was well. I often think of that rather fraught occasion because it seems to sum up the potential treachery of a Welsh Spring, with snow more likely in March than December. But the days are lengthening and the coddling sloth of Winter seems a waste so Spring is definitely a time to put the best foot forward. The most iconic Welsh Spring food must be lamb, that seasonal centrepiece. Some purists may tell you the flavour is better later in the year but the tenderness of the early lamb is exquisite and ideal for those who don’t like their meat too sheepy. Now’s the time to cook your lamb lightly for pink delicacy whereas come the autumn, there’s nearly all mutton to be robustly stewed. Here’s a vital social hint for country-dwellers at this time of year: don’t serve this particular treat to your farming neighbours when they are in the throes of lambing: they will probably be very glad to be distracted by a nice bit of fish or the tail end of the seasonal venison. It’s the time to go looking for the first of the new season’s vegetables and if you are lucky enough to have a local market garden or veg box, you will be able to really relish the difference freshness makes to quite ordinary ingredients. When my girls were small, we had a wonderful weekly veg box but it didn’t ever contribute to any main meals: the appeal of the tender baby carrots meant they were all filched from the fridge to be eaten surreptitiously. I’ve never had much trouble persuading my children to eat vegetables and I’m sure it was because they were, to coin a phrase, forbidden fruit when stolen from the salad drawer. Since snowdrops have started to arrive so early that they are out just after Christmas, like the nearly yearround hot cross buns, the primrose is a more reliable
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indicator of Spring, like its woodland contemporary, sorrel. The Welsh name for Wood Sorrel, suran y coed, is closer to the original meaning, because the pale flower is accompanied by leaves with a sharp, almost sour flavour. They can make an al fresco snack but if you’re thinking of something a little more sedate than grazing on wood sorrel, cultivated sorrel gives a subtle but well-defined lift to a green salad before the new season lettuces arrive. I have a charming nephew who is rather outspoken about food and tends to compare all domestic efforts with the provender he is given by his pal who runs The Wolsey, but even he was complimentary about a salad zinging with sorrel. As we make the most of longer days to relish the reawakening Welsh countryside, we may need to consider refuelling. There are handy apps now which tell you how far you are from the nearest pub or cafe but further off the beaten track, pocket food may come in handy. Spring is not the season for the Wind in the Willows style picnic hamper but for a snack you can eat whilst sheltering from a shower. Sandwiches can become unappetisingly squishy and although a hunk of home-made pizza sounds good, if the wrapping comes loose, you will be seeking the sort of specialist cleaner who makes a good living removing four types of Italian cheese from the poacher’s pocket of an oilskin. Through trial and error, I began to take calzone as walking fodder: the folded dough keeps things manageable. Liquid refreshment is quite another matter. Living in picturesque mid-Wales, good places to walk abound but my favourite stomping ground is Dolanog, through which passes the Ann Griffiths Path, a charming route never out of the global ranking; Top Five Paths Named After Female Welsh Hymn-writers. Before essaying the Ann Griffiths path, I like to arm myself with a few large cucumbers. Several walking companions have mocked my cucumber-rich situation but the laugh was on the other side of their faces when, atop Allt Dolanog, they were stricken by thirst. Cucumbers are far lighter than any liquid to carry, very thirst-quenching and you don’t have to transport an empty bottle home. So when exploring the glorious hills of Wales, slip a cucumber into your pocket: it’s what Ann Griffiths would have wanted.
