Spring Comes On Fast

And with it, the weeds, the wilds, and a table full of good food

A single bird call where there was silence. Mud softening underfoot. A bright shoot of green breaking through brown. Then, all at once, the woods erupt. Garlic mustard punches through last year’s leaf litter. Knotweed climbs skyward like it owns the place. Ramps, fiddleheads, and mushrooms follow fast—each one fleeting, each one full of promise.

This is what cooks wait for. Nothing is handed to you. Everything must be earned. You bend. You dig. You bring it home.You don’t waste a thing.

Spring’s Edible Wilds

Some things we treasure year after year:—Ramps, sharp and bright, earthy with just enough bite.—Fiddleheads, tightly wound and full of spring’s first energy.—Mushrooms, appearing like secrets after the rain. But not everything we forage is loved. Some of it is fought.

Garlic Mustard in Bloom

Garlic mustard was brought to North America in the 1800s as a kitchen herb. It quickly outcompeted native woodland plants, taking over forest floors with abandon. But its pungent flavor—a cross between garlic and mustard greens—makes it a bold addition to spring cooking. Blanch it, blitz it, and suddenly you’ve got a pesto with teeth.

Japanese Knotweed Shoots

Japanese knotweed is even more aggressive. Introduced as an ornamental, it’s become one of the most destructive invasive plants in the Northeast, splitting concrete and choking out native species. But catch it young, and its tart, rhubarb-like flavor shines in syrups, jams, or preserved in a sharp vinaigrette that tastes surprisingly like marinated artichoke hearts.

Purple Loosestrife

Purple loosestrife, with its magenta spires, looks innocent enough. But it’s a wetland bully, spreading through marshes and edging out native pollinator plants. While we don’t eat it in bulk, we find small ways to use it—a soft floral garnish, a splash of color in a spring cocktail, a wild accent to whipped cheese.

Then there’s the deeper wild:—Cattail hearts, tender and faintly sweet.—Birch sap, tapped fresh from a log.—Spruce tips, citrusy and resinous.—Wild sorrel, sharp and lemony, hiding in plain sight.

Each one tells a story—not just of place, but of timing. We don’t farm these things. We find them. And for a few weeks each spring, they find us.

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Spring AwakeningMay 2nd & 3rd

A Dinner That Gathers the Season In

For two nights only, we’ll serve a multi-course, immersive meal built entirely around what’s growing right now.

You’ll arrive to the scent of smoldering herbs and warm birch bark tea.There’ll be edible soil, forest-floor desserts, and herbs you’ll snip yourself.You’ll drink something tapped, touch something charred, and maybe taste a “weed” you’ve only ever yanked from the garden.

Expect the flavors of smoke, sap, and soil. Expect to harvest, to forage, to be surprised. Expect to see what’s possible when you stop fighting the wild—and start eating it.

This isn’t performance. It’s not a trend, It’s a real meal made from a fleeting moment—and it only happens once a year.

A Few Seats Left Both nights are nearly full.If you want in, now’s the time.

Secure your seats here: Seats

Spring doesn’t wait. Let’s sit with it—just long enough to taste what’s been waiting under the leaves.

Until Next Time,