With agriculture so advanced, why do we still eat wild vegetables?
Situated at the intersection of Yunnan, Sichuan, and Tibet, Shangri-La boasts diverse landscapes, thriving agriculture and animal husbandry, and abundant forest resources; its markets are bustling throughout the year. Because of the dramatic differences in altitude, spring does not arrive all at once in Shangri-La. Aside from Benzilan Township in Deqin County, spring arrives earliest in Tacheng Township, Weixi County.
My story of wild vegetables in the spring of Shangri-La begins in Tacheng.
I. A Botanist’s Puzzle: With Agriculture So Advanced, Why Do People Still Eat Wild Vegetables?
At that time, the *Cleistocalyx* trees at the Songtsam Tacheng Mountain Retreat were in full bloom, with the humming of bees blending with the scent of the flowers. Yet, while hiking in Damo Cave, it actually snowed; by the time we descended the mountain, it was warm enough to wear only a single layer of clothing. This is the spring of Shangri-La.
Throughout the journey, Mr Shen provided a running commentary on the various plants: the wild jasmine of the mountain gardens, pine pollen releasing billions of grains, the prickly-leaved *Bidens*, and the green-thorn fruit just starting to produce small white flowers…
Upon reaching the forest park, he became even more enthusiastic: “This is the alpine daphne before it blooms, that is the purple primrose just coming into flower, and there is the brilliant red *Pieris formosa*.” However, my attention was captured by a few bright green ferns at my feet. Growing from a cluster of old black stalks, they possessed a crisp, tender quality that made me want to take a bite.
I asked Mr Shen what it was. He glanced at it and replied, “A type of pod fern.”
My next question was: “Is it edible?” He answered curtly, “No.”
After the hike, we returned to the hotel, where the hostess served a dish of vibrant greens and deep reds, announcing the name: “Stir-fried fiddleheads with ham.”
Wait? This looks familiar. I asked Mr Shen, “Isn’t this exactly what we saw in the mountains just now? Didn’t you say it wasn’t edible?”
And so, Mr Shen was forced to put down his chopsticks to explain to me why ferns are carcinogenic. Before he could finish, I had already polished off a bowl of rice accompanied by those ferns. The texture was crisp and tender, completely different from the slippery, fibrous purple ferns I often ate in my hometown.
Mr Shen hadn’t even touched his food. Seeing how much we enjoyed it, he sighed and said, “With agriculture so advanced, why do people still eat wild vegetables?” The second half of the sentence, left unspoken, was: *especially wild vegetables that might be poisonous.*
Mr Shen, who loves nature, usually lives in Dali in his own small courtyard. I told him how envious I was: “That means you can grow your own vegetables!” He looked at me in disbelief: “Who would use their courtyard to grow vegetables? If you want vegetables, you go to the market. A courtyard is for growing flowers—and specifically, flowers you can’t find anywhere else!”
I admire his scientific discipline and rigor as a botanist, but when it comes to the act of eating wild vegetables, he may not actually have more authority on the matter than the locals.
Of course, it’s not that Mr Shen refuses to eat all wild vegetables.
Our next stop was Nixi Village in Shangri-La. Nixi local chicken is very famous, and it must be cooked in a black pottery pot. The secret to making the chicken soup particularly fragrant is this: do not wash the pot too thoroughly.
The vegetable paired with the chicken pot was dandelions, freshly dug from the soil. The earth in Shangri-La is rich, and the dandelion roots are exceptionally thick. Beside them sat a plate of freshly fried Nixi chillies, the third most famous product of Nixi, renowned for being exceptionally spicy and fragrant.
Mr Shen clearly underestimated these petite orange chillies. He picked one up and took a bite; instantly, his face flushed and he began to weep into his hands, only finding relief by chewing vigorously on the dandelions. As it turns out, only wild vegetables with scientifically proven medicinal value are worthy of a botanist.
II. Only Those Who Have Foraged Know the Joy of Eating Wild Vegetables
The people of Shangri-La, who have always lived off the land, have likely never considered the question posed by the botanist. Eating wild vegetables in spring, much like eating mushrooms during the rainy season, is a tradition etched into the genes of those from Yunnan.
In Shangri-La, no matter how busy or exhausted one is at work, the drudgery of office life is washed away by the charms of the wild. Li Yun, a young woman from Tacheng in Weixi, is one of the most zestful people I have ever met. The vases in her office are always filled with various blooms she brings in: plum blossoms, peach blossoms, crabapples, and all sorts of nameless wildflowers…
It was the spring of 2022. During a post-lunch stroll through the village, Li Yun spotted a mother cow shielding her calf closely behind her and called us over: “Look at that tiny calf!”
She then noticed a pile of cow dung beside a villager’s house and exclaimed with delight, “Look how dark and glossy this dung is! Such a huge pile—I wonder where it all came from!”
On the way back to the office, she spotted a patch of green grass and beamed: “Look at this grass! So tall, tender, and soft. Oh, I wish I were a little calf!”
Of course, Li Yun’s love for life was most evident in her passion for food.
One day, she told me that the broom blossoms behind the office had opened and invited me to pick some. She insisted that now was the perfect time; once the flowers fully bloom, they become tough and lose their flavour.
And so, in the afternoon, we headed to the broom thickets beneath the willow shade, beside a flowing stream.
‘Broom’ is the common name, though its formal name, ‘Genista’, somehow sounds more like a colloquialism. Like the black locust blossoms loved by people in the North during spring, these are legumes and among the few wild flowers that can be washed and eaten raw. In the markets, they can fetch over a hundred yuan per kilo.
The branches of the broom are covered in sharp thorns, and a careless hand is easily pricked. Li Yun demonstrated the correct technique: using her left hand to pinch the tip of the branch and gently lift it from the thorns, while her other hand deftly plucked the unopened buds from left to right. It was efficient and painless.
I popped one into my mouth; it was indeed subtly sweet, just like locust blossoms.
Li Yun plucked a broad leaf by the stream and snapped off a small twig, using it like a needle to pin both ends of the leaf together, fashioning it into a cone for me to hold. We used it to collect the broom blossoms, quickly gathering a large handful.
She then used another twig to curl and secure the tip of the leaf, wrapping the blossoms inside so they wouldn’t spill or dry out. In this manner, the four of us collected three large bags—enough for a feast.
Just as I thought we were heading home with our haul, Li Yun spotted some shepherd’s purse beside the broom: “This shepherd’s purse looks wonderful. A few handfuls of this in dumplings would be delicious!”
She produced a pair of pruning shears and began digging. She actually carried shears with her at all times! No wonder she could always conjure up so many fresh flowers.
Remarkably, although Shangri-La is a highland, the shepherd’s purse here is even more succulent than that found in the Jiangnan region. The leaves were soft and tender, blending unobtrusively into the green grass, yet Li Yun had spotted them. Thanks to the efforts of Li Yun and two children, we soon had a generous bunch.
Back at the office, Li Yun entered the kitchen and transformed into ‘General Li’, the master strategist. With a few quick washes, the shepherd’s purse was clean, then finely chopped along with some pork she had recently brought from her hometown, and wrapped into dumplings.
For the broom blossoms, she used the classic method: washing them, beating in a few farm-fresh eggs, stirring them together, and frying them into omelettes. This is perhaps the most reliable destination for almost any wild green.
She had also bought a bunch of bamboo-leaf greens from the market. These are a specialty of Shangri-La at this time of year, available for only a very short window. It is said that those grown above 3,000 metres are the tastiest; the higher the altitude, the less bitter and the more crisp and sweet they become.
Li Yun took a piece of ham with the rind and simmered it in a pot of water. Once cooked, the lean meat was sliced into ruby-red pieces and stir-fried with the bamboo-leaf greens, while the rind and fatty portions were cut into large chunks and served on a platter. Then, she poured the ham broth back into the pan and added the remaining handful of shepherd’s purse, creating an incredibly savoury soup.
Amidst the bustle, Li Yun even managed to fry some potatoes, tossing them with lemon, bird’s eye chillies, coriander, and spring onions. One bite made my eyes widen: the fried potatoes were divine. The crispy crust carried the fragrance of lemon, and the sharp, spicy punch gave way to the steamy, fluffy sweetness unique to highland potatoes.
Li Yun smiled happily: “My daughter says my potato salad could take first prize.”
This final spread—with its blossoms, potatoes, wild greens, and local pork—was a gift from the boundless generosity of nature. Combined with the spontaneous and mindful labour of the people of this land, it naturally became the best meal of my year.
III. Eating Wild Greens is a Human Instinct
Finally, returning to the botanist’s riddle: why, in an age of such advanced agriculture, do people still eat wild greens?
I believe we don’t actually need to answer this. Foraging is a human instinct.
Today, agriculture and science have joined forces to vastly enrich our tables, yet they still cannot replace the gifts that nature bestows upon us. Those wild greens, requiring nothing more than sunlight, soil, and rain, thrive even when left untended, for growth itself is a plant’s instinct. Those who seek a kinship with nature can receive this ‘gift of the wild’ with a clear conscience.
Unless otherwise stated, all images in this article were taken by the author
Editor: Ze-en