Nettle and Goat Cheese Tart | Crostata alle Ortiche e Caprino

The majority of people don't have the best opinion about nettles. I didn't, too: they are itchy and they make my skin rushed with little red dots. This, until I found out about edible wild plants and yes, stinging nettle is one of those.

Nettle grows all over the world and it is widely used in the kitchen for recipes that go from soup to puree and stew. It is fascinating to imagine people in the past who went beyond the stinginess and discovered that the plant is actually edible and not poisonous. Thanks to them, we can now share this knowledge and enjoy the flavor and benefits of this amazing herb.

Stinging nettle has a flavour similar to leafy greens such as spinach and chard and is rich in vitamins A, C, iron, potassium, manganese, and calcium. It abounds in springtime, when the plant gives its best in terms of edibility and flavor. It is mainly consumed cooked after a process of soaking, which removes the stinging chemicals from the plant. It is incredibly high in proteins (up to 25% in its peak season, much more than spinach). The leaves and the flowers of stinging nettle can also be dried and used to make detox tisanes. It can have some positive results in the treatment of dandruff and inflammations.

In my family, nettle has always been used in frittata or risotto, never as a soup, which seems pretty popular here in the UK. Although tempted to experiment with soup, the first thing that popped into my mind as I saw it growing wild in Wimbledon park was actually a savory tart. Something rustic, filling, down-to-earth that could match well the essence of this wild herb.

I went back to the park the day after with gloves, a bag and some scissors. In a few minutes, I was at home washing the leaves, and making my dough for the tart. My ancestral instinct of gatherer and forager had been satisfied for a while.

Spaghetti with Wild Garlic & Chilli

Since when I was a little kid, springtime has always been synonym with foraging and cooking with wild herbs. For years in this season, our table has been filled with dishes featuring wild garlic, carletti, hop sprouts, mauve leaves, dandelion and nettle. Usually, we would keep things simple and stir fry the herbs quickly before throwing them in a frittata or a savory tart, or directly on a plate as a side for meat or hard boiled eggs. Sometimes, we would do risotto or pasta or even soup –a simple minestrone with legumes and grains and whatever vegetables the season offered. Living in the countryside has deeply shaped my way of conceiving food as seasonal in the first place, and of cooking while following this credo.

In London, the availability of produce from all over the world fascinates and scares me at the same time. It is as if the symbolic value of time and place that food carries was completely deleted and forgotten, so much so that the meltin' pot of people intermingles with the meltin' pot of foods. It feels great to have such a huge amount of ingredients to select and cook with, but in a way it feels confusing, too. Surely enough, the UK isn't the luckiest place as far as growing season and climate goes. Still, I feel appalled by the view of raspberries from Guatemala, as I am pretty sure that with some patience we will be able to see berries from local farms, too, whenever the right season will be. I believe there is always the right season. I believe in the value of waiting.