With Agriculture So Advanced, Why Do We Still Eat Wild Vegetables?
Nestled at the junction of Yunnan, Sichuan and Tibet, Shangri-La features diverse landscapes, a prosperous agro-pastoral sector, rich mountain and forest resources, and markets that bustle year-round. Owing to its dramatic elevation gradient, spring does not arrive uniformly across the region. Apart from Benzilang Township in Deqin County, Tacheng Township in Weixi County welcomes spring the earliest.
My encounters with Shangri-La’s spring wild greens begin in Tacheng.
I. A Botanist’s Paradox: Why Do We Still Eat Wild Vegetables?
By then, the Michelia at the Songtsam Tacheng Mountain Retreat was heavy with blooms, the air thrumming with bees and fragrance. Yet, while hiking to Damo Cave, we were caught in a sudden snowfall. By the time we descended, the heat had us in light shirts. This is Shangri-La’s spring.
Teacher Shen spent the journey explaining the various flora: wild jasmine, a mountain ornamental; pine pollen, capable of releasing billions of grains; prickly ash with its spiny leaves; and Prinsepia, just opening its tiny white blossoms…
Upon reaching the forest park, his enthusiasm only grew: ‘Here is the unblooming alpine Daphne, over there the newly opened purple dwarf primrose, and the vivid red rhododendron.’ Yet my attention was drawn to a few stalks of verdant ferns at my feet. Rising from a cluster of dark, weathered stems, they exuded a crisp, tender vitality that begged to be bitten into.
I asked Shen what it was. He glanced over and replied, ‘A kind of pod fern.’
My next question was: is it edible? He answered without hesitation: ‘No.’
Back at the hotel after the hike, a local attendant brought out a dish. It was a vivid mix of green and red, and she announced the name: ‘Stir-fried horse fern with ham.’
Wait, that looks familiar. I asked Teacher Shen, “Isn’t this the same one we just saw in the hills? Didn’t you say it wasn’t edible?”
So Teacher Shen had to put down his chopsticks to explain why ferns are carcinogenic. Before he could finish, I’d already polished off a bowl of rice with this plate of fern shoots. The texture was crisp and tender, completely different from the slippery, fibrous purple fern shoots I used to eat back home.
Teacher Shen hadn’t so much as touched his chopsticks. Watching us eat with such relish, he sighed and said, “Agriculture is so advanced these days, so why do people still eat wild vegetables?” The unspoken second half was: especially ones that might be poisonous.
Teacher Shen, a lover of nature, usually lives in Dali and has his own little courtyard. I couldn’t help but feel envious: “That means you can grow your own vegetables!” He sounded utterly incredulous: “Who uses a courtyard for growing vegetables? If you want to eat greens, you can just buy them at the market. A courtyard is, of course, for growing flowers—ones you won’t see anywhere else!”
I admire his scientific rigour and self-discipline as a botanist, but when it comes to eating wild vegetables, he’s hardly in a better position to weigh in than the locals.
Of course, Teacher Shen isn’t one to reject every kind of wild vegetable outright.
The next stop is Nixi Village in Shangri-La. Nixi free-range chicken is highly renowned, and it is traditionally cooked in a black pottery pot. The secret to making the soup exceptionally fragrant is simple: do not wash the pot too thoroughly.
The vegetable served alongside the chicken pot is fresh dandelion just pulled from the ground. Shangri-La’s soil is exceptionally fertile, meaning the dandelion roots grow particularly thick and robust. A plate of freshly fried Nixi chillies sits beside it, the village’s third most famous local produce, celebrated for its intense heat and distinctive aroma.
Teacher Shen clearly underestimated these petite, orange-hued chillies. He took a bite, and his face instantly flushed as he covered his eyes in tears. It was only after vigorously chewing the dandelion that the heat began to subside. It seems, after all, that only wild vegetables with scientifically proven medicinal properties are truly fit for a botanist.
II. Only those who have foraged know the true joy of eating wild vegetables
The mountain folk of Shangri-La, who live off the land, have probably never given much thought to the question posed by the botanist. Eating wild greens in spring, just as one forages for mushrooms in the rainy season, is a tradition hardwired into the DNA of Yunnan’s people.
In Shangri-La, no matter how hectic or exhausting work becomes, the mundane weight of office life is invariably dispelled by the wild charm of nature. Li Yun, a young woman from Tacheng in Weixi, is, I’d say, the person I’ve met who loves life the most. The vases in her office are always filled with an assortment of flowers she brings in: plum blossoms, peach blossoms, crabapples, and a host of nameless wildflowers……
It was spring 2022. Taking a walk through the village after lunch, Li Yun spotted a calf sheltered tightly behind its mother and called us over: “Look how tiny it is!”
She noticed a pile of cow dung by someone’s house in the village and exclaimed with delight: “What lovely, dark cow dung! A pile this size—where was it all gathered from?”
On the way back to the office, she saw a patch of green grass by the roadside and beamed: “Look at this grass! Tall, tender, and soft. Oh, I’d love to be a little calf right now!”
Of course, Li Yun’s passion for life comes through most clearly when it comes to food.
One day, she told me the golden locust flowers behind the office had come into bloom and asked me to go and pick some. “It’s the ideal time to harvest them now,” she said. “Once the blooms open fully, they’ll be too fibrous and won’t taste right.”
So in the afternoon, we made our way to the thicket of golden locust flowers growing beneath the willows, where a stream ran by.
Golden locust flower is the common name, while its botanical name, *Caragana* (锦鸡儿), somehow sounds even more folk-like. Like the black locust flowers beloved in northern China during spring, it belongs to the legume family. It is also one of the few wild flowers that can be eaten raw once washed, fetching over a hundred yuan per kilogram at the market.
The stems of the golden locust are covered in sharp thorns, so you can easily prick yourself while picking. Li Yun demonstrated the proper technique: holding the tip of a flowering branch with her left hand to lift it away from the thorns, she used her right hand to deftly pluck the unopened buds on either side. This way, you’re both efficient and keep your fingers safe.
I picked one and popped it into my mouth. Sure enough, it tasted just as sweet as the black locust flowers.
By the stream, Li Yun plucked a broad leaf and snapped off a small twig. She threaded it through both ends of the leaf like a needle to secure it, shaping the leaf into a cone. She handed it to me to hold, so we could drop the picked flowers inside. Before long, we had gathered a huge bunch.
She then rolled up the leaf’s tip and secured it with another twig, wrapping the golden locust flowers snugly inside so they wouldn’t spill out or dry out. Working this way, the four of us managed to gather three large bundles—enough for a proper meal.
Just when I thought we’d be heading back with our arms full, Li Yun spotted some shepherd’s purse growing beside the locust flowers: “Look how well this shepherd’s purse is growing. We should pick some to take home for making dumplings—it’ll be delicious!”
She produced a pair of pruning shears and set to digging. She actually carried garden scissors with her! No wonder she could always find so many flowers!
Remarkably, although Shangri-La is on a plateau, the shepherd’s purse that grows there is even more succulent than what you’d find in Jiangnan. The leaves were tender and delicate, and though they blended into the grassy patch, Li Yun spotted them anyway. With her help and that of two young children, we quickly gathered another large handful.
Back at the office, Li Yun headed into the kitchen and transformed into General Li, taking command of the scene: with a few swift movements, she washed the shepherd’s purse, minced it together with pork that had arrived just a few days earlier from her rural hometown, and started rolling dumplings.
The golden locust flowers were prepared in the most classic way: washed, beaten with a few free-range eggs, mixed together, and pan-fried into a thin omelette. It’s almost the safest, most reliable recipe for any wild foraged green.
She also bought a bundle of bamboo-leaf greens from the market. This is another seasonal wild vegetable unique to Shangri-La at this time of year, available for a very short window. Legend has it that the ones growing above 3,000 metres are the best to eat: the higher the altitude, the less bitter they are, and the sweeter and more delicate the flavour.
Li Yun took a piece of ham with the skin still on, added water, and simmered it in a pot. Once cooked through, the lean meat was sliced into rosy pieces and stir-fried with the bamboo-leaf greens. The skin and fatty bits were cut into hearty chunks and served straight on a platter. Finally, the ham-infused cooking liquid was poured back into a pot, the reserved shepherd’s purse was added, and a deeply savoury broth was ready to serve.
Amidst the kitchen flurry, Li Yun somehow managed to deep-fry a potato and toss it with lemon, bird’s eye chillies, coriander, and spring onions. I took a bite and my eyes widened instantly: these fried potatoes were extraordinary. The crispy exterior carried the bright aroma of lemon, and the sharp, tangy heat gave way with every bite to the sweet, creamy, and comforting warmth that only high-altitude potatoes can deliver.
Li Yun grinned: “My daughter says my dressed potatoes could win first prize.”
In the end, this table spread—featuring flowers, potatoes, mountain greens, and free-range pork—was a bounty from nature’s generous hand. Made possible by the steady, mindful labour of the people who work this land, it effortlessly claimed the title of my best meal of the year.
III. Eating Wild Greens Is a Human Instinct
Finally, let us return to the botanist’s puzzle: why do people still forage for wild greens when agriculture has advanced so far?
I suppose we hardly need to answer that. For eating wild vegetables is simply a human instinct.
Today, agriculture and science have joined forces to greatly enrich our dining tables, yet they still cannot replace nature’s own provisions. Those wild greens, needing little more than sunlight, soil and rain, thrive quite happily without human tending, for growth itself is a plant’s instinct. Those with a heart drawn to the natural world may gather this “gift of the wild” with a clear conscience.
Unless otherwise stated, all images in this article are taken by the author.
Editor: Zeen