I have been out tonight with a plastic bag collecting wild garlic and coming home my car has a heavy pungent smell. This always reminds me of an incident that happened years ago, I may have mentioned it before.
I was climbing with a friend from the village. We drove up to the Eden Valley in search of some sandstone. It must have been this time of year as on the foot approach along the river we ploughed through swathes of garlic. Even the base of the crag, where we dumped our sacks, was covered in the aromatic plants. The day wore on as we climbed several routes. Packed up we retired to a pub in Orton for a pint or two. The landlord even mentioned the garlic smell to which we had by now become oblivious. Arriving back in our village, rather later than planned due to the pub visit, I dropped my friend off at home. When I next met up with him he related how his wife had given him a good dressing down for being late, but even worse accused him of not climbing at all but dining out at an Italian restaurant with a secret belle, the garlic odour being so strong. He had difficulty persuading her otherwise. My car and climbing gear stunk for weeks.
No secret rendezvous tonight, just a short walk into some shady woods to harvest some Wild Garlic leaves. As a bonus I also enjoyed a good show of Bluebells. 
My bag of garlic is now emptied onto the kitchen worktop. I separate out the flowers, they are useful as a topping on salads for a quick flavour boost. the leaves I wash. In the past I have used them in a nettle and garlic soup and have made a tasty pesto sauce. But tonight I’m going to sauté the leaves in butter to have with a couple of poached eggs, accompanied by some new Jersey potatoes. 
Et voila…
