Ramp it up

They’re almost obligatory now on menus that showcase seasonal ingredients

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Untitled Document I’ve just been to a Rampfest — an evening in one of Chicago’s trendiest venues, the large space filled to overflowing with people sniffing, eating, and talking about ramps. The decorations consisted of vases filled with ramps, their beautiful lily-of-the-valley-like leaves spilling from the tops and the purple stems, white bulbs, and roots showing through clear glass. There were five food stations manned by top Chicago chefs, each with a distinctive ramp preparation: marlin with pickled ramps, ramp soup, pasta with ramp pesto, ramp-and-potato ravioli, and a grilled-pizza station with toppings that included roasted, creamed, grilled, sautéed, and braised ramps. There were even ramp-laced chocolate truffles on the dessert table, although they were gone by the time I made my way there. I’d never even heard of ramps until several years ago, when articles about them started showing up in food publications. Now, it seems, they’re almost obligatory on spring menus for restaurants that showcase seasonal ingredients. Where have ramps been all my life? Not far away, apparently. Ramps, Allium tricoccum, grow in rich forest soil in a belt running from Canada down to Georgia and as far west as Minnesota. They’re among the earliest green shoots to be seen in the woods. For generations people have eaten and celebrated ramps as the first edible sign of spring. Although the Native American word for Chicago is often translated as “wild onion,” it actually refers to the ramps that flourished in the damp soil on which Chicago was built. Ramps are often called wild leeks, but I think that’s a misnomer; their pungent smell and taste is closer to that of garlic or onions than that of leeks. However, describing ramps as tasting like any other of the allium family is misleading, because their distinctive flavor is unique. Like garlic, ramps can be strong when eaten raw, but they turn mild and sweet when cooked. I tracked down my first ramps on the Internet at Earthy Delights (www.earthy.com), which offers wild and foraged items among its food selection. The ramps were delicious, and my family and I were hooked. At that point, however, I didn’t think that they could be found locally, perhaps because the articles I’d read mostly centered on the Appalachians (there are ramp festivals in several Appalachian states). I found out differently when I visited the Old Gillett Farm, in Elkhart (www.oldgillettfarm.org, 217-947-2346). Lisa Pasquesi, a descendant of the original Gilletts, had formed a foundation to preserve her family’s historic home. She called to ask whether I’d be interested in teaching cooking classes there. Unfortunately that wasn’t possible, but she invited me to visit anyway. It was a glorious spring day, and surely nowhere was more glorious than the woods of Gillett Farm. As I walked from the main house to the picturesque chapel, I could see that the woods were carpeted in bluebells, as far as one could see in any direction — except, that is, for a few clumps of lilylike leaves. My eyes kept straying to them. They looked like ramps, but I’d never actually seen any growing in the wild. A few yards farther down the path, I stooped and pinched off a bit. Eureka! Unfortunately, when I asked Lisa whether I could dig some, the answer was no: The woods had been designated a forest preserve, with no digging or picking allowed. Now I knew that ramps grow in this area, however, and the hunt was on. I scoured several local woods, without success; then I discovered Spence Farm, about 100 miles north of Springfield in Livingston County, almost certainly the largest single seller of ramps in the United States. It happened almost by accident. Marty and Kris Travis, Spence Farm’s owners, initially began digging ramps in the 26-acre woods because they were choking out wildflowers. Only later did the Travises discover that they had a goldmine on their hands. The ramp season here runs roughly from mid-March to mid-April (earlier in the South, later in the North). During that time, the Travis family, along with high-school students and anyone else willing to work long, backbreaking hours digging in the muck, will harvest more than 4,000 pounds of deliciously pungent ramps — not bad, when you consider that ramps fetch $10 per pound wholesale and require no tending for the remaining 11 months of the year. Of course, there is that backbreaking work. “We’re really only limited by what we can dig,” Marty told me. “We could sell any amount if we could get enough workers.” He laughed when I told him that I’d first gotten ramps from Earthy Delights. “Those were ours,” he said. “We supply all the ramps they sell. Whole Foods wanted to contract with us, but we just can’t hire enough people to provide the amount they needed.”
Before my initial Spence Farm visit, I wondered how ramps were sustainably harvested: Did the Travises rotate, replant, or spot dig? When I saw the beautiful, almost primeval, ramp woods, I realized that it wasn’t an issue. The ramps form a dense carpet broken only by trees, and just one-tenth to one-fourth of an acre is dug each year for the 4,000-plus-pound harvest. Spence Farm and the Travises are about far more than ramps. They offer a roster of educational programs, events, and tours with such themes as heritage and native plants, conservation, alternative sustainable farming, and heritage-farming trades and crafts. When Marty isn’t digging ramps or educating, he creates beautiful reproduction Shaker furniture, pieces of which can be found in the White House and Oprah Winfrey’s home. The Travises welcome visitors (though they’re very busy for the next few weeks) and can be reached at www.thespencefarm.com, 815-692-3336. I’ve planted Spence Farm ramps in our own tiny woods for three years now (and eaten many more). They’re spreading (though there still aren’t enough to harvest), and someday we’ll have our own little ramp woods. Right now ramps can be found on the menus of Maldaner’s (222 S. Sixth St., 217-522-4313) and the members-only Sangamo Club.
Send questions and comments to Julianne Glatz at [email protected].

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