There is a happening taking place fit for a king. Like the
front row of trombones in a marching band blaring the oncoming
joyous spirit of some important event, the wild leeks are
announcing the arrival of spring in the woods.
Our hike into an upland hardwoods last Thursday, the 22nd,
revealed the first two-inch-tall green sprigs of leeks poking up
through the surrounding dried leaves, a sure sign that other
wildflowers can’t be far behind.
Mountain people of the Southeast have honored these savory
plants, which they call ramps, for many years and celebrate the
occasion of their emergence with eagerly-awaited festivals. This
pungent vernal greenery is their spring tonic. Winter has passed
and now the people will begin their own planting prompted by the
arrival of the first vegetable in nature’s garden.
The use of leeks dates at least as far back as the Egyptians
and the time of the Pharaohs. The Holy Bible, Numbers 11:5,
states, "We remember the fish, which we did eat in Egypt
freely; the cucumbers, and the melons, and the leeks, and the
onions, and the garlic:"
Apparently their plants were somewhat similar to the
cultivated leeks available through many seed catalogs today.
They too have escaped into the wild and become naturalized in
some of the eastern states.
All leeks, native or otherwise, are generally alike. They
belong to the large lily family, containing about 325 species,
and are close relatives of the onion, garlic, shallot and chives.
Their genus, Allium, is Latin for garlic. Indeed, I have
always felt that the flavor of leeks is considerably more like
that of garlic than onion.
Twelve species of Allium are listed in Gray’s manual of
Botany. Four of them are wild garlic, five wild onion, two leek
(one being the naturalized plant from southeastern Europe), and
one chives.
Other native wildflowers of this region related to the leeks,
and often growing in the same woods, are wood lily, bellwort,
trout lily, asparagus, clintonia, Canada mayflower,
Solomon’s-seal, twisted stalk and trillium.
The rolled-up, quill-alike foliage of young leeks quickly
develops into flat, rubbery, rich green leaves that can get to be
two or more inches wide and eight or nine inches long.
Frequently they will occur in patches of hundreds, or even
thousands, of plants growing in rich soil of maple-beech-hemlock
hardwoods. In case you are in doubt as to the plant’s identity,
trust your nose for positive verification. There can be no
mistake. Many people claim the odor and taste are a pleasant
combination of onion and garlic.
The leaves, like typical ephemerals, appear rapidly in early
spring and survive for a relatively shore duration. They wilt
and disappear quickly once the dense forest canopy of broad
leaves has formed. The bulbs will naturally persist much like
young onions or scallions, the base somewhat swollen but without
a true bulb. In fact some of the mountain people call them
rampscallions.
Flowers are borne in the summer on a thin nine or
ten-inch-tall stem. The quarter-inch greenish-white florets
radiate from a central point and resemble a typical rounded
cluster of onion flowers, although much smaller. By fall the
flowers give way to tiny steely blue-black buckshot-like seeds,
each at the end of its half-inch-long stem. Dig the leek up
during the fall color season and you will find the bulb to be the
size of your thumb.
Spring is the best time to eat the young tender leaves and
small bulbs chopped fine and added to a tossed salad. My gentle
warning is, go easy the first time. The plant is considered by
health food advocates to be an excellent diuretic. Euell
Gibbons, in his book, "Stalking the Wild Asparagus,"
lists several wild leek recipes for soup, salad, creamed leeks
and even pickled leeks.
The most memorable experience I have ever had with wild leeks
involved a group of second graders and their teacher on a day
when I had taken them into a sun-drenched woods to search for
signs of spring. Throughout the woods were many patches of
delicate green plants poking up through the carpet of dead
leaves. Knowing what they were (wild leeks) I picked several,
tore them into many tiny pieces, and told the children to either
smell or taste their sample.
When I asked them what they were reminded of, back came their
loud answer, in instant unison, "ONION!" One of the
little boys was quick to add his own story. In all seriousness,
speaking slowly and clearly, his eyes wide open with
expressiveness, he said, "Oh, we eat wild leeks at home
every spring, and when you eat leeks you have bad breath for
THREE days!"
Plan to have your own ramp festival. Enjoy both their beauty
and stimulating goodness. Assume that you’ve discovered a
beautiful, quiet, remote hardwoods and have received permission
from its owner to hike in it at your pleasure, to witness and
celebrate the "spring woods awakening." Be wise.
Don’t let your secret "leek" out even though your
breath will reveal what you have been nibbling upon!
Whoever eats wild leeks will have bad breath for three days!
This column appeared in the Door County Advocate on 03/31/2000.
© Copyright 2000 Roy Lukes. All rights reserved.
