Another day of lockdown, another day of wondering about food. In the past 24 ours British farmers have been voicing concerns about their capability of harvesting crops with a shortage of foreign labour. The anxieties continue…

But a handful of people who live out in the countryside will be comfortable in the knowledge that they can go out and forage  food for free. One of those people is my old friend, Devon chef David Beazley, who must be on of the most knowledgeable cook-foragers in the country. 

I have been lucky enough to join David of several wild food adventures - and this was the first - and I repeat it here because it reminds me that there is food about even at the back end of winter…

In fact, we did this foraging in the dead-end of January - and we cooked the food on the beach despite showers of rain and hail. David is an absolute enthusiast when it comes to food for free. 

And his passion is not about cost or expense, or lack thereof - it is all to do with the amazing flavours and textures of the foods he finds, and about the joys of the hunt. In fact, when we met on the shores of the estuarine Teign at Shaldon, opposite the much larger community of Teignmouth, he told me: “Food foraging is about the hunt rather than the find. The find is the bonus…”

I agree with this, but can imagine there are many people who won’t. My theory is that some folk are more connected to the inner prehistoric hunter-gatherer than others. Our ancestors relied on hunting and foraging as the only means of survival for tens of thousands of years, while we modern folk have only been buying stuff in markets and so on for just a few centuries - so I reckon there could easily be some basic instincts lurking within us which are capable of pushing buttons of accomplishment, achievement and delight. 

I could use all three of these words to describe my feelings about spending a couple of hours with David hunting, picking and cooking on the somewhat icy shores and sandbanks of the Teign.

Despite being well wrapped up against the cold, one of those storms was in full swing when we met - so we sat in the car for ten minutes waiting for the hail to pass and David told me something of his career and his love for food foraging…

It was as a boy, following in the wake of his father’s “almost magical familiarity” with Cornwall’s precipitous cliffs and beaches, that David first learned about what he calls “the bounty of pick-your-own crabs and prawns” and his curiosity for foraging was born.

Classically trained at Cornwall Technical College, David began his professional career at the acclaimed Horn of Plenty as third chef to Sonia Stevenson, after which he went to work for another “formidably talented, Michelin star, female chef” - Joyce Molyneaux, at the Carved Angel in Dartmouth. 

“She wanted to use local ingredients and, as her second chef, I couldn’t have agreed more - so I provided rich pickings for her from forays into the countryside and foreshore,” David recalled. “But that was after I realised that people bringing in chanterelles and ceps were earning as much as I did during a whole week for a basket of wild mushrooms. I knew what those mushrooms looked like so I decided to give it a go.”

David’s professional career continued - for example he became head chef for Keith Floyd at his once famous Tuckenhay restaurant and pub on the River Dart - but all the time he continued foraging for free, and for fun. And he still practices the art now he is inspiring the next generation of chefs as a tutor at Exeter College where he teaches at the Michael Caines Academy.   

“I work four days a week during term time, but whenever I can I get out and about to do a bit of foraging,” David told me. “When you start it’s like hunting a needle in a haystack, but you get better at it over the years and so now I could easily feed myself and family for free. 

“I do it for my own pleasure, but I do occasionally take the college students out or the odd journalist or food blogger if they are enthusiastic,” said David when I asked if he earned money from foraging. “What I find is people say: ‘Dave, can you take me out foraging?’ But all they really want to do is go mushrooming. Then if we find 40 or 50 different varieties and I tell them only one or two are edible… Well, it puts people off - most don’t bother again after that. 

“It’s more of a hobby and I do a bit of photography and writing alongside. Actually I wrote a book called The Forager’s Apprentice which is available for download on Amazon. But actually it’s a chance for me to cook and experiment with wild ingredients.

“My first wild food away from mushrooms were wild strawberries - I used to make tiny little sweet pastry tarts with them and with little blueberries or whortleberries. Then I moved on to the beach. Of course, nowadays sea vegetables are a new thing. I’m not talking about seaweed, which is covered by tide every day. The sea veg grows up above on the shoreline and you’d be amazed at what’s out there now at this time of year. 

“Here in Shaldon we’ll pick three or four different sea-veg leaves - a lot of these things seem to grow in late winter, early spring when you know there isn’t any lettuce growing. Today we’re picking sea-beet, wild fennel and rock-samphire. 

“It may be one of those trends that passes over, like micro-herbs,” shrugged David. “I mean, who needs micro-herbs? Why not just eat herbs? So some food foraging might become one of those trends that passes over. But I don’t think so. What the items I pick all have in common is that they’re all luxury stuff. I don’t want to pick a leaf off to make some strange wine - I want a gourmet experience.

“It is all about the flavours,” he adds. “And so, for instance, on the way here I picked wild watercress and sorrel which will enhance a lot of dishes at this time of year…”

With that the storm had cleared and off we went across the great sand a mussel banks at Shaldon which were rapidly becoming ever more apparent in the ebbing tide.  “The local authority really keeps its eye on the water quality in this estuary,” explained David. “You’ll will notice a sign on the beach saying to make sure you cook any shellfish you pick for three minutes. That’s what we will be doing anyway because we’re making mussel broth. It’s a dish I really love, partly because I make the cider that goes into it at home. 

“So the  only thing I buy for the broth is a bit of cream - everything else is free - a fine-dining dish that comes from the wild,” said David as we quickly picked enough mussels near the Shaldon-Teignouth bridge, which is where we also found the sea-vegetables clinging like so many weeds to the wall in a south-facing corner. 

Later we found a sheltered spot on a quayside, just out of the cold north wind, and began to cook the broth. “You see why I like making this?” said David. “I’ve been able to use my knowledge of foraging with my training as a chef. A lot of chefs know how to cook these things, but not how to find them. And, vice-versa, there will be people who know how to find these things, but won’t know how to cook them.”

David was a master of both, that is for certain. The broth was fantastically delicious. Which is why we will be joining him on another foraging trip later this year…

David Beazley’s Devon Mussel Broth

1 kilo cleaned mussels

125 mls dry Devon cider

125 mls Devon double cream

50g shredded sea beet

25g blanched rock samphire

25 g shredded fennel

In a large saucepan for which you have a lid, add the cider and reduce

by half. Add the cleaned mussels and cover with the lid, turn up the heat and

leave for three minutes or until all of the mussels are open, discard any

that remain closed. Strain the liquid from the mussels into a bowl. Remove the mussels

from their shells. Return the liquid to the saucepan, add the cream and bring to the boil,

remove from the heat. Add the leaves and the mussels, taste and adjust the seasoning too your preference, and enjoy.