If you have ever walked an estuary path in high summer and noticed a low, bright-green carpet of fleshy, jointed stems, you have almost certainly met marsh samphire. It belongs to the genus Salicornia, and it grows in exactly the sort of place that makes a British summer walk memorable: sticky mud, salty air and the call of curlews somewhere out on the flats.
It goes by many names — glasswort, sea asparagus, poor man's asparagus — and it has a texture somewhere between a bean sprout and a crunchy pickle, with a flavour that is naturally, bracingly salty. That salinity is the point. The plant takes up seawater as it grows, which means you barely need to season it once it reaches the pan.
A quick word of distinction before you head out. Rock samphire is a different plant entirely, growing from cliff crevices and stone walls, with grey-green leaves and a strong, medicinal, almost aniseedy taste. It is slower growing and more vulnerable to over-picking, and in some places it is protected. Beginners should start with marsh samphire, which is far more abundant and much easier to identify.
Marsh samphire favours the upper reaches of estuaries and the saltmarshes that fringe them. Look for soft, silty mud rather than shingle or sand, and for the band of vegetation that sits between the lowest mud and the first clumps of sea couch grass. It often grows in dense, single-species patches, which makes spotting it from a distance fairly straightforward once you know the shade of green.
Good regions in the UK include the Wash and north Norfolk, the Essex and Suffolk estuaries, the Solent and Hampshire's harbours, the Dee Estuary, and the extensive marshes around Morecambe Bay. Within those areas, choose your spot with care. Avoid stretches close to sewage outfalls, busy boatyards, industrial wharves or land where livestock have free access — samphire takes up whatever is in the water, which is charming in clean estuaries and rather less so elsewhere.
The season runs from roughly June to early September, with late June through August giving the best balance of tenderness and flavour. Early in the season the stems are small and delicate; by late summer they turn woody, set seed and take on a reddish or yellowish tinge, at which point they are better left alone.
Tides matter more than anything else. You want a low tide, ideally a spring tide, which exposes the widest stretch of marsh. Arrive around two hours before low water, work quickly, and be off the mud well before the tide turns — estuaries fill fast, and creeks that were ankle-deep on the way out can be chest-deep on the way back. Wear wellingtons with good grip, tell someone where you are going, and never walk out onto mud you have not seen at low water before.
Saltmarsh is a fragile habitat and an important one. It absorbs wave energy, locks up carbon and provides nesting ground for redshank, lapwing and oystercatchers. Pick with that in mind.
Take a bag, not a basket you mind getting muddy, and keep your harvest cool on the way home. Samphire is best eaten within a day or two, though it will hold in the fridge for a little longer if wrapped in a damp cloth.
Rinse it thoroughly in cold water, swishing gently to dislodge grit and mud, and pick out any stray grass or weed. A second rinse in a bowl of clean, cold water usually does it. Do not be tempted to soak it for hours — the crunch is the whole point.
Cooking could hardly be simpler. Drop the stems into boiling water for one to two minutes, drain, and toss with butter and a squeeze of lemon. Add no salt; it is already seasoned. The youngest tips are excellent raw, scattered through a salad with tomatoes and a sharp vinaigrette. Larger stems can be pickled in spiced vinegar, which keeps them for months and makes a fine accompaniment to fish. Blanched samphire also freezes well, so a glut in July can be enjoyed in December.
Estuary mud is not to be trifled with. It sucks at boots, hides deep channels and can cut off your route back astonishingly quickly. Go with a companion, keep an eye on the water, and turn back early rather than testing your luck. Wash your hands afterwards and never harvest from water you would not want on your skin.
Finally, think of yourself as a guest. Take only what you will genuinely eat, leave the marsh tidier than you found it, and resist the urge to share the exact location of a productive patch with the whole world. Samphire is resilient, but it is not limitless, and the pleasure of a foraged supper depends entirely on there being plenty left for next year.
Choose berry-bearing and insect-friendly shrubs that provide food, shelter and nesting sites for garden birds near water all year round.
I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system
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I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system
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I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system
Reply
I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system
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