Because you just never know when you’re going to need to call on your inner Hunter/Gatherer.

There’s always something... 

These were the famous last words as I headed to the airport after my last Bohemian Mojo adventure.  It had occurred to me that each time I have attempted to leave the country, some crazy and random situation happens; typically, something that ends up delaying me.

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Stephanie and I were sitting in the convivial lounge bar of a pub looking at a fish menu from the heavens. 

I’d gallantly opted to let her have the seat with a harbour view which could also grace the portals of paradise.  

“Hake,” Stephanie grimaced as she named the fish half way down the list. On a bed of tomato and chorizo sauce no less.

“What’s wrong with hake?” I wondered, “I love hake!”

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How I Wish I'd Had A Pail...

Bohemian Mojo were in Wales again, exploring the bounty of the coast, for our last blog.  We were staying at our favourite Monk Haven B&B in Pembrokeshire.

It was breakfast time and we were enjoying the laver bread delicacy which had been cooked with our bacon and eggs. At least I was enjoying it. Not so sure about Stephanie. (Food From The Foreshore)Then our friend Joanne Evans mentioned she was going ‘winkling’ with her family later on. Winkling indeed. At first Stephanie looked blank until I explained winkles, more properly called periwinkles, are gathered on the rocky foreshore.

Her eyes lit-up at this. Stephanie is always ready for a foraging adventure and this one had the added spice of being below the tideline.

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The whole day had an illicit feel to it. Stephanie and I felt like a couple of city types in search of hooch from an illegal still during the days of prohibition.    

The whole day had an illicit feel to it. Stephanie and I felt like a couple of city types in search of hooch from an illegal still during the days of prohibition. We were in the lush green pastures and hidden valleys of the county of Somerset. It wasn’t booze we were looking for but a commodity that’s much harder to find these days. We were hunting for raw milk.        

What’s raw milk you may ask?

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THE INTERTIDAL REALMS ARE UNDER THREAT....

We’d talked a lot about the mysterious world of the foreshore at BohemainMojo so Stephanie and I decided we’d take a look at the way mankind explores this enigmatic expanse of tidal marsh, exposed strata, rock pools, sand levels and seaweed beds.

For thousands of years mankind has ventured onto this hazardous, intertidal zone in search of food to forage. We know that because of the evidence left by hunter gatherers. Not least of which are the huge middens of limpet shells which they’d collected to cook on heated, flat stones.

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Lord it blew. How it blew! 

The gravel hard rain had stopped but the wind was still pushing us here and there as we scurried along the harbour side looking for somewhere to eat. And then the Cornish storm literally pushed us into the doorway of what, at first glance, seemed to be a whitewashed cottage on the quayside. But there was a menu posted in the doorway and, hopeful, we stumbled out of the gale into a hearty welcome. We’d found Outlaw’s Fish Kitchen and we were about to experience an assault on our senses to rival the weather’s blast outside. 

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