Horta

When I was last in Greece, sadly about 20 years ago now, you could still see old people, black-clad grannies in particular, out in the fields, the shore and the scrubby hillsides, collecting the wild plants known collectively as horta. Nipping and plucking here and there like goats, they knew exactly which leaves, shoots and roots to gather, either for a lightly boiled or steamed salata or to eat au naturel alongside the meal as in my version here.

The bulk of this is made up of watercress since, to my great delight, I recently found an uncontaminated source of these tender peppery leaves a couple of miles from where I live. (It's essential to avoid any that could have been polluted by farm animals or you might end up with liver fluke.) Then there's wild sorrel which is flourishing in the mild weather, it adds a sharp tang. I've included a few leaves of Alexanders, dandelion and pennywort too.

There's a massive interest in wild foods just now and top-class chefs pay exorbitant prices for professional foragers to supply them. It bothers me because there's a danger over over-picking. And the joy of nature's larder is to search and gather for yourself and your family, using your eyes, nose and tastebuds to identify the plants you're seeking. Human beings seem always to have possesed an in-built desire for fresh greenery, driven by the instinct to add Vitamin C to the diet. Even the most meat-dependent groups in the Arctic collect the new shoots as soon as spring arrives and at other times consume the stomach contents of the herbivorous caribou.

This simple dish of leaves accompanied my supper of beans as the cats and I warmed our backs before the fire and the rain beat down outside.