Hot cross buns

Food styling: Carla Ovenden

Thai carrot and radish salad

Shot for BBC Good Food Magazine, May '12 Issue
Recipe and food styling: Sara Buenfeld
Prop styling: Jo Harris

Watercress

Prop styling: Jo Harris

Griddled chicory with lemon bittercress dressing

I keep finding lunch between the cracks of the cobblestones in the back garden. Slender, peppery rocket leaves have appeared not far from where the salad box sat last year, while a lone strawberry pokes up cautiously next to Amelie's tricycle by the back door (I fear that its days are numbered). Hairy bittercress has sprung up too, which is a joy.
Many wild herbs and greens suffer from unfortunate titling; odd names that might unfairly cast them into the realm of pejorative subjectivity. There's Hogweed and Dead nettles to name but two, not to mention Bastard balm. It's the "Hairy" element of Hairy bittercress that seems to raise an eyebrow, although to me it seems to be one of the least follicaly-blessed plants in the garden. Hairy bittercress tastes not entirely dissimilar to cultivated cress, but has stronger, peppery notes. This simple side dish is great with roast pork.

3 to 4 Chicory heads, chopped in half lengthways
The juice of one lemon
Extra virgin olive oil
One large garlic clove, finely grated
2Tsp Chopped Hairy bittercress leaves
Salt and pepper
Hairy bittercress leaves, to garnish

1 Heat the griddle pan/BBQ until scorching hot, brush the chicory with a little olive oil, then place flat side down on the heat. Don't move them for about five minutes, then flip onto the rounded side for a further three. Leave to cool.
2 Squeeze the lemon juice into a glass or jam jar. Eye-up the level of juice; add the olive oil, at a ratio of two parts lemon to 3 parts oil. Stir in the the garlic, chopped bittercress and a good grind of salt and pepper.
3 To serve, toss the chicory in the dressing and serve with young bittercress shoots.

Wild fennel pannacotta with elderflower jelly

Recipe & food styling: the chefs at Tudor Farmhouse Hotel, Gloucestershire

Foraging in the Forest of Dean

A violet-grey mantle of fog prowled through the trees as we drove deeper and deeper into the Forest of Dean. It cleared briefly on the crest of a small hill, then hurriedly gathered us back into its murky moth jar, adding three new specimens to the dawn collection as it did so. At the moment at which we reached our destination (the aptly named Clearwell) - it was gone.

Our guide Raoul Van Den Broucke opens the boot and checks his kit. Walking stick. Hat. Knife. Basket. Hand-held vacuum cleaner? He explains that its primary use is to gather Garlic mustard seeds once they have fallen to the ground; the dry pods are so fragile that even the the slightest of touches sends them scattering. The thought of an unassuming pair of ramblers chancing upon Raoul as he hoovers the forest floor with a vacuum cleaner keeps me amused for the rest of the day. Raoul has a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a gift for anecdote; its easy to warm to his enthusiasm for life, wild food and the natural world.

Over a pint of ale in the village pub, we examine our bounty. Wild garlic, Hop shoots, Nettles, Wild onions - more than enough with which to fashion a tasty lunch. The pub overlooks an old churchyard filled with Yew; Raoul explains that unlike the deadly poisonous needles, the berry (Aril) flesh is sweet, and edible (always spit out the seeds though). As we walk quietly around the church afterwards, sunlight glances through a stained-glass window, covering a nearby tomb with kaleidoscopic patterns of gentle colour.

Wax