Wild Harvest Life - Winter Family in PNW

Wild bracken fern harvested in Washington became gosari namul and a comforting bowl of Korean bibimbap. I have loved gosari for as long as I can remember—probably since I was old enough to chew it. Gosari is the Korean name commonly used for prepared young bracken fern. Its flavor is mild, but its pleasantly firm and chewy texture is unlike most other vegetables. Sometimes it almost feels as if I am chewing a very tender piece of meat. That texture is exactly why I have always loved it. In Korea, gosari appears in many familiar dishes. It is one of the classic vegetables used in bibimbap, and it is an essential ingredient in yukgaejang, a spicy Korean beef soup. A similar soup made with chicken is called dakgaejang. I also enjoy adding gosari to japchae and other dishes at home, even when it is not part of the most standard recipe. If I have prepared gosari available, I can usually find a place for it. Today, I am sharing how I turn the wild bracken fern I harvested in Washington into ...

Fresh fall mugwort in my hand. Even in fall, finding these familiar green and silvery leaves in Washington makes me happy. Mugwort is one of those plants that feels deeply personal to me. In Korea, mugwort is called ssuk (쑥) , and many Koreans have strong memories connected to it—especially spring mugwort. Spring mugwort is tender, fragrant, and widely loved. People often use it in pancakes, soups, rice cakes, and many seasonal dishes. But I live here in Washington State now, far from Korea, and that changes how I look at things. Even if fall mugwort is not as soft or as aromatic as spring mugwort, I still feel happy whenever I find it. If it carries even a little of that familiar mugwort scent, it already feels special to me. Recently, I noticed fresh, soft mugwort leaves appearing here and there as summer was fading into fall. That made me want to film a closer look at this plant—its front, back, shape, texture, and the way it changes as the season moves forward. What Fall Mugwo...

A cold, tangy bowl of miyeok oi naengguk made from wild seaweed I harvested in Washington State. Some foods stay in our memory for decades. They do not have to be expensive or complicated. Sometimes they are simply the foods our mothers made when we were children—the dishes that appeared every summer, every winter, or every special season until their flavor became part of our memories. For me, one of those foods is Korean seaweed and cucumber cold soup. My mother once told me that when she was pregnant with me, she constantly craved sour foods. She wanted foods made with vinegar, sour fruit, and even well-fermented sour kimchi. Apparently, that taste never left me. Even now, as I am getting close to fifty, I still absolutely love sour food. Give me something cold, tangy, vinegary, and refreshing on a hot summer day, and I am happy. That may be why I have never forgotten the bowls of cold seaweed and cucumber soup my mother made for us every summer when I was young. Cool. Tangy. Crunchy...

From leaves large enough to hide my face to delicate purple flowers surrounded by tiny hooks —this is the remarkable transformation of wild burdock. This year, I discovered a large patch of wild plants growing along the edge of the woods in the Pacific Northwest. At first, what caught my attention was not a flower or a seed head. It was the leaves. Some were enormous—broad, green, and large enough to hide my entire face. When I realized what the plants were, I felt both surprised and genuinely happy. This was wild burdock, a plant in the genus Arctium , and burdock happens to be one of my favorite foods. I had seen burdock root in Korean grocery stores and eaten it in familiar Korean dishes for years. I knew the earthy fragrance and pleasantly firm texture of the root. But finding a thriving patch outdoors was completely different. For the first time, I could return to the same place and watch the plant change: from a low cluster of huge leaves to tall branching stalks, purple flowers,...

Young prickly lettuce leaves are most tender before the tall flower stalk develops. By the end of July, prickly lettuce looks very different from the tender green I gathered throughout spring. Most of the plants around me have now grown tall. Small yellow flowers are beginning to open, and some plants are already moving toward seed production. Once a wild green reaches this stage, I usually consider its best harvesting season to be over. The mature leaves are tougher, more prickly, and much more bitter. But wild plants never follow one perfect schedule. They do not all emerge on the same day, grow at the same speed, flower together, and disappear together. Even in midsummer, I sometimes find a younger plant or tender new growth close to the ground. That is why I look at the actual condition of each plant rather than relying only on the calendar. Throughout spring, prickly lettuce was not merely a weed I noticed while walking. It became one of the fresh seasonal vegetables I regul...