Four years ago, on one dark, melancholic winter’s eve, I found myself lying on the couch watching Netflix. Sounds familiar, right? The problem was, for me at that time, it felt like the only thing I could master. Yes, I went to work. Yup, I did the dishes and the laundry. I prepared food, showered and walked my dog. But compared to what I used to be able to do and what I longed to do it felt like all I did was lay on the couch, barely processing what I was watching.
My love for wild plants as food and medicine started when I worked as a budeie, or a milk maid, at a sæter (summer pasture) in Hemsedal in the middle of the mountains. There I stayed in a small cabin without any electricity, water or toilet. I would wake up early in the mornings to milk the cows with the owner. We would make heavy cream and sour cream with a hand-powered milk separator and we would repeat the process after dinner.
We waste food enough to feed one billion people, yet growing your own carrots can get you in jail. The very first EAT Food Forum in Stockholm this spring gave us some spicy mouthfuls.
Picture the scene: you lift your spoon ready to dive into the soft folds of an exquisitely light soufflé. A song comes on over the radio, but which one? What combination of frequencies, rhythms and musical intervals could best enhance, or even transform, the experience of eating this airy treat? Perhaps a thundering baritone bass line would be too cumbersome, but what of a delicate and dreamy aria? Does sound in fact have a taste?