Spring in Northwestern Ontario comes fast. One minute it’s snow and frozen ground, and the next you’re walking into the bush and actually seeing life again. For me, this time of year is simple, it’s about getting out there and finding what the land is giving you right now. And when it comes to spring, that means two things: morels and wild leeks.
Morels are one of those things you don’t forget once you’ve found them. They blend in so well you can walk right past a whole patch if you’re not paying attention. I’ve learned to slow down and really scan the ground, especially in areas that look a bit rough, old burns, disturbed soil, places where the forest has changed. That’s where they show up. When you finally spot one, it’s like everything clicks. Then you find another, and another, and suddenly you’re locked in.
Wild leeks are different. You usually smell them before you see them. That strong onion-garlic smell cuts right through the bush, and once you recognize it, you start spotting them everywhere in the right areas. They grow in patches, usually in damp, shaded hardwood areas, and when they’re in season, they’re one of the best things you can bring home.
I don’t overcomplicate foraging. You take what you need, you leave enough behind, and you make sure you actually know what you’re picking. That’s it. The reward isn’t just finding it—it’s what you do with it after.
When it comes to cooking leeks, I keep it straightforward. You don’t need much to make them stand out, because the flavour already does the work.
If I’m making something after a day out, I’ll start by cleaning the leeks properly. There’s always dirt in them, so you take your time, rinse them well, and chop them up. A hot pan, some butter, and the leeks go in. You let them cook down slowly, not rushing it, until they soften and start to caramelize slightly. That’s where the flavour really comes through.
From there, I’ll add a bit of garlic if I have it, then pour in some cream to bring everything together. Let it simmer until it thickens up, and season it with salt and pepper. That’s all it needs. Sometimes I’ll throw it on toast, sometimes it goes beside whatever meat I’ve got, and sometimes I just eat it straight out of the pan.
It’s simple, but it’s earned. That’s the difference.
Spring for me isn’t complicated. It’s about getting back into the bush, finding morels and leeks, and bringing something real home at the end of the day.
