Japanese knotweed (Polygonum cuspidatum syn. Fallopia japonica) and giant knotweed (P. sachalinense syn. F. sachalinensis) are sending up their fat shoots now in the Northern Hemisphere, and thanks to their ubiquity, promiscuity, and flavour, they're well worth knowing about. The sprouts resemble fat asparagus, but have a tangy, earthy, rhubarb-like quality that's equally at home in sweet or savoury dishes.
Japanese knotweed reaches about six feet, with six- to eight-inch leaves; giant knotweed is noticeably bigger. They prefer moist, rich soil, where they form a dense monoculture; the bamboo-like dead canes persist through winter, making patches easy to locate and identify. Widely introduced outside their native Asia, both species are fiercely invasive and have become pests throughout the temperate world, prompting eradication campaigns.
In spring, brick red, fingertip-sized nubs appear at the base of the dead canes; they soon grow an inch or two and turn white, at which point they 
are mildly toxic. A day or two later they will spurt up to their six-inch asparagus-looking stage, doubling in diameter and turning green with red highlights, with sticky, papery collars at the joints. Then they can be simmered in water, stock, or wine with garlic and onion and run through a blender to make an outstanding vélouté (creamy soup).
When those left behind reach one to two feet, with a few small leaves, well-developed joints, and a stringy, fibrous sheath, they become too tough to be cooked as a vegetable. On the other hand they gain a lot of tartness, so the tough skin can be peeled away and the stem sliced into translucent bright green rings for use in rhubarb-like sauces, jams, and pies. Finally, when the remaining shoots turn bitter, generally at about two feet, they're toxic again; the season is closed for another year.
Knotweed is high in vitamin C and other nutrients that creatures coming out of hibernation crave. Given that its flavour is pleasantly intriguing, it would seem the only thing standing between knotweed and the mainstream is the name. I just tell fussy guests it’s “Japanese asparagus” ("Japanese rhubarb" in the case of pie or jam) and everyone’s happy.
Including the local ecosystem.
(I built this toy gun when I was in Grade 2, nearly 50 years ago. Only a Scottish kid arms himself with a flintlock.)
"Everybody grows up on their own reservation, and the quality of your life depends on how willing you are to get the hell away from it."
Sherman Alexie
(Photo of Chumash Tomol 'Elye'wun paddlers pulling hard for the Channel Islands courtesy of Robert Schwemmer, NOAA Photo Library, and Wikimedia Commons.)
Don't forget to wear your cardigan tomorrow (Friday, 20 March) in support of the bodhisattva in us all! Particulars here.
(Photo of portrait of Mr. Rogers done entirely in M&Ms courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)
(Those are the Olympic Mountains at mid-March. Note the near-total lack of snow. Normally this time of year they'd be white nearly to their feet. Snow-pack feeds the reservoirs that feed the dams that make our electricity. I've got a feeling I've seen what's coming.)
Update, 2023 16 November:
Unfortunately this source has gone pay-to-play, and all shared podcasts I've been able to uncover are of non-Zen origin. Public libraries sometimes have audio collections of Alan teaching; you really do want to hear him, rather than just reading him. So for the time being, YouTube is the best bet. I could even see myself buying an audio repository outright; it's the sort of thing you might listen and re-listen to throughout the years.
Alan Watts was one of the first Zen teachers I encountered, full forty years ago, and today he remains among my favourites. One-time rock star of Western Zen, he's lost a lot of glitter in the intervening decades; from Boomer gadfly to unfashionable hermit. But his lectures are still as magnetic, his wit as wicked. And his insights? Right on, man!
Indeed, rarely has so qualified a scholar stepped into those waraji. Once a Zen student working toward transmission, he chose instead in the last stages to be ordained as an Anglican priest. As a result his references are about equal parts Christian and Buddhist -- ideal for Western audiences.
If it's true that Watts was typical of his generation in some respects (there's a lot of self–obsession and fad-envy in his background, along with the requisite flirtation with drugs), it's also true that he maintained a sardonic distance from both the youth culture of the 60s and the Zen hierarchy in Asia; his blunt Saxon axe cleaves to the heart of what was often a very vapid conversation.
Fortunately for us – his descendants – most of Watts' talks were assiduously recorded. Now some of them are available free of charge online, in fifteen-minute bites, from The Alan Watts Podcast. You can hear them on the website's Flash player, or download them from the iTunes Store directly to your own computer or mp3 player.
Speaking as a guy with a hard-bitten Generation X distaste for all things hippy, I think we Zenners could use a lot more Alan these days. Load up one of these podcasts, and see if you don't agree.
(Alan Watts mural by Levi Ponce, design by Peter Moriarty, conceived by Perry Rod. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)
