AS spring pokes the tip of its nose out from under winter’s blanket, my wife and I—and, if the promise of cake has proved compelling, our daughter—take to coastal woods in search of damp, half shade and the magic that lies within.
We may not be the only ones: there are often others with basket, sharp knife and a hopeful gaze after ‘their’ patch of wild garlic (, also known as ramsons). This annual pilgrimage carries much significance now: as well as being one of the few
