Sometime in mid-April, I began noticing that whenever Susan and I walked the dog, she would waft over to one side of the street in a non-committal sort of way, like it was earth’s gravity that was tugging her over. She thought I didn’t notice, but I did, because I’d be talking to her about something particularly grave—like how sick I am of the 1960s powder blue toilet in the master bath—and suddenly, she was gone and I was mumbling to myself like those people you used to see outside the methadone clinics in Manhattan back when Gerald Ford was in office.
Susan, of course, was checking the same spot from which we absconded with ramps last year, when we made the discovery that they were growing around the base of the oldest oak tree in my neighborhood, on the cusp of two pieces of property (neither of which we own). Days before, she had come home with a few expensive bunches of ramps from Whole Foods, and we fell in love with them, their earthy flavor, their promise of warmer weather, their ever-so-slightly subversive je ne sais quoi. But I had never actually foraged before that fateful day that found us on our knees mere inches from someone else’s land, the car idling nearby in case we had to make a quick getaway.
But once we cooked these things that had been in the ground just moments before, we were hooked—both on ramps, and on the idea itself of foraging. So every day this spring, when we walked Addie, we looked for the ramps, and last week, they were ready.
“I have an idea,” Susan said, as we talked about when we would liberate them.
This sort of statement usually makes me nervous.
“I’ll take the dandelion weeder,” and off she went into the garage to rummage around for this tiny tool. We’re not particularly great with a place for all things and all things in their place, but she showed up with it in our entry way moments later, stuffed up the sleeve of her bright red anorak.
“Shouldn’t you be wearing, you know, black? Like Peter Graves in Mission: Impossible? And maybe a knit cap?”
“Let’s go,” she said, and slipped the collar on our dog, and off we went, looking for all we were worth like sane New Englanders going for a stroll around their neighborhood with their big yellow Lab, a weeding tool and zip lock bag hidden in the sleeve of one our day-glo garments.
As we approached the oak tree, Susan said, “bring the dog over here.”
Great, I thought. We’re involving the dog now.
But, I did, and Addie nosed around the tree for a while, and I came to the realization that a big, sweet, happy, zoftig dog is a pretty good foil for almost anything. Susan dug and pulled and dug and pulled, and in what seemed like seconds, we had a bagful of ramps, which would go into a frittata that night.
We walked home, and Susan put on a pair of rubber gloves, and went around the back to pull some of the weeds that someone had informed us were stinging nettles, and which almost take over our property every year. We took them inside and I looked them up on line. Not stinging nettles, unfortunately; mustard garlic, which is very nice, I’m sure, but I’ve never heard of it being used in a frittata and since my Epi-Pen needs to be replaced, I didn’t want to run the risk of being allergic. Or it being poisonous. Which I’m sure it’s not, but who knows. I’m from Queens, and we don’t know about these things. 
But the fact is that foraging for ramps has compelled us to want to forage for other things too. Me, a city girl, foraging. Who knew.
What’s next on our agenda?
Truffles. The dog is practicing already.
Frittata with Ramps and Ricotta
I’ve always been a fan of frittatas, because they pretty much prove the point that if you blanket anything in eggs, cover it with cheese and then bake it, it’s going to be good. This version, which is a loose riff on Deborah Madison‘s wonderful nettle and ricotta frittata from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, was as delicious for lunch the next day, served at room temperature, and with a green salad.
Serves 3-4
1-1/2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, plus extra for drizzling
1 pound ramps, cleaned, leafy greens separated from stems, and chopped into thirds
2 shallots, peeled and minced
6 fresh eggs, beaten
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves, minced
1/2 cup fresh ricotta
1/2 cup grated sheep’s milk cheese, like Manchego
black pepper, to taste
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
2. In a large, ovenproof, stickproof saute pan set over medium high heat, warm the oil until it shimmers, and add the ramp stems. Cook until almost soft, approximately four to five minutes, and then add the shallots, toss, and cook until just translucent.
3. Add the ramp leaves to the pan, give it all a stir, and cook until the leaves begin to soften and wilt, about five minutes. Reduce the heat to low, and pour in the eggs and the thyme, shaking the pan so that they evenly blankets the ramps. Cook for about three minutes, until the edges just begin to set.
4. Evenly dollop the ricotta onto the frittata, and sprinkle with the sheep’s milk cheese. Pop into the oven for approximately 10 minutes, until the top of the frittata has turned a golden caramel brown.
5. Carefully slide a dinner knife around the edges of the pan, and give it a shake, to dislodge the frittata. Slide it out onto a plate, drizzle with more olive oil, and fresh black pepper, if desired, and slice into wedges.
