I tire of hearing the term “abundance” in relation to autumn, and yet the word unavoidably reverberates as the season unfolds, until even I am tempted to use it. Wild food is everywhere, as is a frenzy of gathering and preservation, a ritualised nod to that which was once essential.
Not every year is the same, though. Several species don’t fruit every autumn, but instead coordinate with others of their kind on so called mast years to produce a bumper crop: a highly evolved tactic that serves to overwhelm the frenzied gatherers, both human and animal, so enough seed will survive to germination.
Currently, the Kentish Weald is awash with acorns, like pebbles on a beach, under the mature oaks that dominate the landscape and the view from my kitchen window. Pannage was the ancient and carefully managed practice of feeding pigs on this vast resource. This tradition has been etched into our landscape in the form of sunken lanes eroded by generations of driven swine. Today, the nuts are left to wildlife and a few diehard foragers.
Unlike other countries, we have no culture of consuming acorns, save in the face of dire circumstances such as famine, or worse, a lack of coffee. This latter catastrophe emerged during the second world war, when roasted acorns were used as an alternative to scarce coffee beans. Their high tannin content, while giving character to hot drinks, poses a barrier to their general consumption. Though nutritionally comparable to a staple grain such as wheat, the high levels of bitter acid make untreated acorns unpalatable, and even toxic in quantity.
To render oak mast edible, a process of leaching is required. Hot leaching involves boiling the shelled nuts in several changes of water until the flesh is soft and mild to taste, while cold leaching calls for their grinding and lengthy soaking in moving or repeatedly changed water. A stream is traditional, but a toilet cistern makes a practical alternative for those who can tolerate tea-coloured toilet water and associated tide lines.
Despite honing the cold method while living on wild food, I prefer the hot water technique. As the days shorten, I adore a simple pâté combining them with wild fungi and wood sorrel, a potted homage to the season’s abundance.
• Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount
