We really wanted to go to the ramp patch this spring, but the time to go is slipping away fast and it doesn’t look like we’ll make it.
Ramps are smelly and delicious all at the same time.
They grow throughout the mountains, but none grow right here near us. Over the years we’ve tried to transplant ramps and start them from seed. Neither attempt has worked for us.
One of our good friends has had good success transplanting them at his house and has a dandy patch growing there.
Several years back Jim Casada wrote a guest post for me about ramps. I thought you might enjoy reading it.
“Ruminations on Ramps” by Jim Casada – Copyright 2016
The humble ramp, a traditional wild mountain vegetable of early spring which is fairly widely dispersed in the forest understory at higher elevations, today often garners mention in menus of restaurants famed for haute cuisine. Rest assured any usage involves the vegetable after it has been cooked, for the high-brow epicures who frequent such establishments have no idea of the true nature of the ramp. In its pure, undefiled, raw state, the way hardy mountain folks have enjoyed it for generations, the ramp is at once a delightful delicacy and the embodiment of gag-inducing noxiousness.
Though mild tasting, even in its raw state, when eaten uncooked the ramp has a pungent after-effect that by comparison makes garlic seem a pantywaist pretender in the odiferous sweepstakes. Moreover, raw ramps are a potent purgative, once widely favored as a spring tonic and with properties guaranteed, as my Grandfather Joe used to put it, “set you free.”
My initial experience with ramps came when I was a 5th grade student at Bryson City Elementary School. A classmate showed up on a Monday after having enjoyed, in his words, “a bait of ramps” on Saturday. Never mind the passage of a day and a half, the lingering after-effect of his weekend feast was of a potency defying description. He literally emptied the classroom and sent the harried young teacher, whose educational training apparently omitted the chapter on how to deal with this particular disciplinary dilemma, scurrying down the hall to the principal’s office.
The result was one which would be repeated numerous times over the course of my educational experience. As was the case when some poor soul showed up with a “case of head lice,” the smelly offender was sent home for a three-day vacation. No rules had been violated and no laws had been broken. It was simply a situation where the welfare of the community–his classmates and indeed anyone who happened to be downwind for an appreciable distance–took precedence over that of the individual.
This sort of situation happened with increasing frequency as I entered high school, with the offensive offender invariably earned a temporary reprieve from the educational process. Some of the enforced absences were intentional while others involved nothing more than a family indulging in a long-established gustatory rite of spring—one that ranked right along spring tonics such as drinking sassafras tea or taking a dose of sulfur and molasses.
Eventually yours truly became involved in the consumption side of the ramp equation, albeit my first time was a matter of self-defense. A group of us boys who were avid fly fishermen decided to celebrate trout season’s opening day with a weekend camping trip. As we backpacked to our campsite one member of the party noticed a hillside covered with ramps and stopped to harvest several dozen of them. In camp he cleaned and chopped the ramps, scattered them over a plate of branch lettuce (saxifrage) he had found growing at creek side, and dressed the salad with hot grease and bacon bits. He proclaimed this “kilt sallet” delicious.
Truth be told, it didn’t matter whether the offering from nature’s abundant bounty was supremely tasty or odious to God and man alike. All of us were sharing a big tent and had no choice except to follow our companion’s dietary example. Once you have eaten ramps the noxious odor that seems to permeate the atmosphere for 30 yards in every direction magically disappears. We knew that, and soon enough all of us had a nice ramp salad to go with our trout and fried ‘taters. It provided the necessary refuge from an aroma that falls somewhere in the nasal spectrum with unwashed athletic socks, stump water, skunk cabbage, or a mid-summer garbage dump. One is almost tempted to wonder if that explains why ramp festivals have long enjoyed such popularity–everyone in attendance consumes the featured vegetable in sheer self-preservation.
For all my numerous personal adventures with ramps, my favorite tale connected with the wild vegetable comes from a stunt perpetrated decades ago by the editor of the Richmond (VA) Times-Dispatch. He had his printers prepare a special batch of ink that included the juice from raw ramps and use it on a run of newspapers to be mailed through the U. S. Postal Service. Postal authorities may have persevered with their motto stating “neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers form the swift completion of their appointed rounds,” but they were not at all amused with this situation. Indeed, eau de ramp stopped them in their tracks.
Cooked ramps are perfectly fine, and when scrambled with eggs or included in a batch of hash-browned potatoes they proved first-rate breakfast fare readily passing the smell test. But for the pure of heart and brave of palate, with ramps the raw route is the only road to travel. Just be advised that if you opt for this exercise in culinary adventure and wish to retain friends or keep your marriage intact, the slender, onion-like bulbs are best consumed with kindred spirits or somewhere back of beyond where you won’t return to civilization and the company of others for at least 72 hours.
My favorite way to eat ramps is fried with potatoes. A few years ago we dried a few ramps and then ground them to use as ramp powder—that was tasty too.
When we do get to go to the ramp patch we store any extra ones in the freezer. As pungent as they are you sure don’t want the smell to take over your freezer so after cleaning them good we put them in a canning jar and tightly seal the lid before freezing. No water, just ramps.
I hope you enjoyed Jim’s writing and I hope you get to go to the ramp patch if you’d like to 🙂
Tipper
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The first and only time we’ve eaten ramps, one evening we were strolling through the grounds at JCCFS. We ran into David Brose. He had been out collecting ramps. We told us all about them and gave us a taste.
Thanks for sharing this story! It sure enough brought laughter as I read it to my husband! We have a friend from Robbinsvile NC and he would tease all the time about not eating ramps during courting or your girl would be gone. He would just laugh and laugh.
I gather ramps, sautée them, and freeze in small portions. Later, added to potato soup they enhance a hearty winter meal. Quite yummy and makes me think of spring.
I did not know they had such a smell raw. I just figured they would be like any other onion from your talking about them. Fried with potatoes sounds like it would be good. That is quite the article Mr. Casada wrote on the ramps and some funny stories to read.
My husband and his brother just took a trip to the ramp patch this past Sunday afternoon. I’m on team “ramps are the stinkin-est nastiest things that ever was” so thankfully they took their harvest to my mother-in-laws place to cook and eat them. I know most folks that love ramps also love smelling them cooking but buddy it’ll run me slap outta the house!
Good morning Tipper – I have heard you speak of ramps before, but until then I had never heard of them that I can remember and sure did not know the ‘story’ behind them re after effects, so Jim Casada’s story was definitely interesting and informative! I think I will stay away from having my own personal experience with them no matter how they are served up! 🙂
What a detailed but distinguished way to ruminate on ramps. This reeks of humor!
I’ve never eaten ramps and where I live, I’ve never seen any. I know I would love them fried with potatoes. Thanks for sharing Jim’s story!
The word “Ruminations” is apropos when it comes to my consumption of ramps. I love the things but they don’t love me. They go down easy but they don’t want follow the rest of the process.
My mom knew every wild edible plant that grew in the hills of eastern KY, so it remains a mystery why she never hunted ramps. I’m not sure I ever heard of ramp, much less eat them, until I read about them on Tipper’s blog. The picture associated with the post got me curious about the huge field of similar plants that grow in my bottom field. The blades are not as wide as the photos I’ve seen on this or various internet posts. This garlic-loving researcher headed to the area by the creek with the trusted Lens app to help identify the wonderful-smelling plant. Been eating and sharing them for several years and loving every bite.
Shirl, they also called them wild garlic or spring onions. My momma’s family is from eastern KY. and they called them spring onions.
I grew up in the North GA mountains in the Choestoe District near a beautiful little creek called Stink Creek. As a child, I spent many happy days fishing, swimming and playing in that cold, clear water, and I often wondered how it got its name. Some say it was from the mash dumped into the creek by the moonshiners, others say it was from the feuding and fussing between the families that lived along the creek, and one story had it that it was from the ramps that grew along the creek. To my knowledge I’ve never eaten ramps, but I distinctly remember the day our only milk cow got hold of some! One of my chores as a little girl was to take Ol’ Daisy down by the creek to graze in the lush, green grass. Of course, the ramps blended right in with the grass, so it didn’t occur to me she was eating ramps. It didn’t take long, tho, to discover that when we took a sip of her milk. Oh my!!! Needless to say, we had a few milkless nights afterward. I think that may have ended my chore of “grazing Ol’ Daisy.”
Jim’s story is hilarious! I had never even heard of ramps until I started watching Tipper’s channel. Wouldn’t it be funny if someone sent a mess of ramps to congress! lol
I’ve never lived anywhere ramps grow, but always wondered about preserving them for other times of the year so thanks for sharing. 🙂
The comments from Jim Casada brought a smile to my face. He is indeed a master wordsmith. Ramps don’t grow in my area of the Cumberland Plateau. Like Tipper, we’ve tried to establish a patch but with no luck.
I am a flat lander and never knew of anyone eating ramps. If they are worse than garlic, I know I don’t want no part of them. Me and garlic get along with one another about as well as cats and dogs! I like to joke and say if eating an apple a day will keep the doctor away, eating an onion or now ramps a day will keep everyone away!
Ramps is an area I’m trying to cut down so yall feel free to have my portion and as many as you please! Put ramps in kilt salad -and a tonic I should say! If it don’t heal ya it will kill ya. Bon apetite! Did you hear those tires squeal? It’s just me escaping near the ramp fest…. lol I feel about ramps like rutabagas and turnips… there’s just no way I can do it…
We had lots of Ramps on our homeplace and my Mom always said the first time she ate Ramps was for self defense. Ha! But she ended up loving them as much as Dad did. I love them. Our Ramp meal: Ramps cooked in some bacon grease, fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, bacon, pinto beans, cornbread or cornpone. The Appalachian Spring Tonic!
We have had one mess of ramps this year—fried with a huge pan of potatoes and grilled deer steak. It was delicious. I always cook them outside, so as not to make all my clothes and house smell. Then, I only cook them when I know we won’t be going anywhere for a day or two. They are so worth it. I still have a few in the freezer for another day. There was a ramp festival in a community nearby this past weekend, and there are ramp dinners held at church halls and community buildings all around several weekends this time of year. These are very popular as they usually offer ramps, cooked or raw, potatoes, pinto beans, corn bread, ham, cole slaw, and desserts. Spring in the mountains offers many opportunities for taste testing these delicious delicacies called ramps.
My dad, in his later years, transplanted some ramps in our yard near our spring. Once established, someone he shared fresh spring water with, possible a crew of road workers, dug them and took them all, not even leaving any to continue the crop. It was obvious he had planted them in the yard. I hope they choked!
I’ve heard of ramps but didn’t really know that much about them. Especially their pungent nature. lol!
In Beckley WV, they had a ramp festival during the peak of ramp season. I never went to it, but my husband’s mother and her sisters went every year that I recall when my husband and I were first married. He went a couple of times with them and my mom and oldest sister went a few times too. They all liked ramps and at the festival vendors apparently fixed them in multiple ways or served them with different kinds of foods. I think I didn’t go because I always had to work during the weekend of the festival or had a church event to attend. I don’t know if Beckley still host that festival anymore, but if they do, I know from past comments from family members who attended them the ramp festival was worth attending. Till this day, I don’t think I have ever had a ramp. If I did it must have been when I was very young and thought it was just a wild onion.
Well if we ever get to find ramps and try them, we won’t eat them raw! What a hilarious story, thank you Tipper for sharing Jim’s story.