Wild carrot, after flowering
Daucus carota
I once tried to preserve and stabilise these materials, holding them as close as possible to a particular state. Over time, I became aware that living matter continues to change. Humidity, temperature, insects and time enter the work. Letting go of my own resistance to these changes opened another way of seeing and working with them.
Each plant carries a memory of where I gathered it, and of what it became afterwards. A single pesto brings together different plant histories. Some are fresh, some briefly blanched, others already lacto-fermented, gathered across different seasons and places.
Their coming together sets another transformation in motion. Bubbles appear. Textures change. Aromas deepen. Acidity, bitterness, sweetness, saltiness and umami begin to mingle. Oils and nut or seed purées add richness and depth. Something emerges that none of the ingredients could become alone. For me, this is a form of living alchemy.
The means are simple: plants, clean water, sea salt and glass vessels. What matters is attention and timing. A ferment may wait for months, another material for years.
Time is the main companion.
Leaves, flowers, fruits and roots gathered through the seasons are held in glass jars. Colours migrate into brine; textures soften and flavours develop through fermentation. Beside these ferments, the powders’ muted appearance belies their intense, concentrated taste. The cupboard brings different stages of transformation into view together.
