A Gatherer’s Tale
On Foraging, Folklore, and Finding Magic in the Wild
Photographer & journalist Aniella Weinberger sat down with Peter Chippy Grant, a creative and passionate soul who defines himself as a “gatherer.” Peter is a culinary herbalist and plant alchemist who explores the natural world to transform wild ingredients into food, remedies, and stories. In this interview, Peter takes us on a journey, from the hedgerows of Somerset to the remote landscapes of Eastern Europe. He speaks about surprising discoveries, personal rituals, and his unique approach to cooking. It’s a conversation about honoring nature, reconnecting with our roots, and finding a quiet magic in the simplest things.
Hi Peter, how are you feeling today?
I’m feeling grounded today, actually. Spent a bit of time outside this morning, which always helps. There’s a kind of clarity that comes after being with the plants out in nature, I need to always get outside first thing in the morning.
What’s been your most surprising discovery in the hedgerows or woodlands lately?
Recently, I came across a great patch pf bilberries—or whortleberries, as they’re called in Somerset. They were such a joy to find, tucked low beneath the leaves, and packed with this wild, tart sweetness you just don’t get from anything store-bought.
I’ve also been loving nettle seeds. They’re a bit of an underrated treasure. I dry them and use them in all sorts of things—sprinkled into salads, mixed into breads, or stirred through fritters. They add a subtle crunch and a really grounding, earthy energy. A little wild magic in everyday meals.
When you think about cooking with foraged ingredients, what’s the first scent or taste that comes to mind?
The sharp, green citrus of wood sorrel. It cuts right through you and sort of snaps you awake. That, or the rich, earthy perfume of dried porcini—there’s something so ancient about it.
What’s culinary herbalism and plant alchemy?
Culinary herbalism is the practice of using herbs not just for flavor, but for their health benefits. It’s about understanding how herbs support the body—whether that’s digestion, energy, or stress—and using them intentionally in everyday cooking.
Plant alchemy is a broader, more hands-on approach to working with plants. It’s about transforming raw ingredients—through drying, infusing, fermenting, blending—into something useful, whether that’s food, medicine, or something in between. It’s practical, rooted in observation and experience, and shaped by the relationship you build with the plants.
Do you have small rituals you keep when preparing these herbs?
Nothing elaborate, but I do try to approach it with focus. I clear the space, make sure everything’s clean, and take a moment to slow down. It’s more about being present than following a set routine. Sometimes I’ll acknowledge the plant in a quiet way—nothing formal, just a habit of respect. It helps me pay attention to what I’m doing.
What’s the difference between cooking and creating something more like a medicine?
Cooking feeds the body, but medicine—true medicine—feeds the whole of you. The intention behind it matters. When I make a broth with birch polypore or nettle, I’m thinking about how it might support someone’s resilience, not just how it tastes.
Do you have a favourite plant or fungi to forage?
Nettle is always at the top of my list. Every part of it is useful—medicinal, nourishing, and surprisingly versatile. It’s easy to find, and once you know how to handle it, the flavour is really clean and green, almost like spinach with more character.
I also really love hen of the woods. The texture is beautiful, and the taste is rich and umami—almost like something you'd expect from a well-cooked broth. Finding it feels like a reward.
Is there a favourite herbal remedy you like to make? And why?
I love making infused honeys—especially with thyme or meadowsweet. They’re simple, approachable, and they hold the essence of the plant in a way that feels both practical and deeply comforting. There’s something timeless about them, like small offerings of care.
Recently, I made a rose honey after a trip to Bulgaria—it has the most delicate floral note, a little sunlight in a jar. And one of my favourite things is making rose hydrosol with my mum’s garden roses. It’s not just about the remedy, but the memory and connection that come with it all.
When did the word ‘Gatherer’ first start to feel right for what you do?
It came slowly. I resisted titles for a long time—none of them felt quite right. But “gatherer” felt honest. It speaks not just to the physical act of foraging, but to collecting stories, experiences, and small moments of connection along the way.
It leaves space for humility, for curiosity. It doesn’t try to claim authority—just a willingness to listen, learn, and engage. The word really settled in after a conversation with my friend Boris during our trip to Slovenia. It just fit.
Can you tell us about the film you’ve been making?
Yes—it’s a quiet, observational film called The Blessing of the Hoof Mushroom. It follows me as the protagonist, journeying through Slovenia to visit producers, foragers, and keepers of traditional knowledge. The film is directed by my dear old friend Boris, who brings a filmmaker’s eye and a deep sensitivity to the landscapes we move through—from wild hedgerows to remote mountain forests. At its core, it’s about how we relate to the land, and how folklore continues to live through those who work closely with nature. There’s a lightness and playfulness to the storytelling, and it’s all shot on Super 8, which gives it this beautifully aged, textured feel—like flipping through an old field journal. This is the pilot episode, and we hope it will be the first of many.
What first drew you to explore Eastern Europe?
There’s something powerful about the way tradition and land remain deeply intertwined there. I was drawn to the folk practices that have endured—not just as nostalgic remnants, but as living, breathing parts of daily life. People still work with wild plants, not as part of a trend, but out of necessity and cultural inheritance.
As a Slovakian, that connection resonates with me. In Eastern Europe, there’s a kind of ancestral knowing—an intuitive relationship with their surroundings. Even if someone doesn’t know the scientific name of a plant, their understanding runs deep. It’s in their bones, just as it’s in mine. My great-great-grandmother was a white witch, and I feel that thread of wisdom and wonder still running through me
Could you share one memory of gathering or cooking that stayed with you from those travels?
There was a woman who invited me to help her make the most incredible wild mushroom soup. It was early autumn, and the leaves were just starting to turn bronze.
What struck me most was the way she moved with the plants and fungi—calm, confident, and full of quiet respect. There was no rush, no fuss—just this deep familiarity and care. It reminded me that foraging isn’t just about finding food. It’s about connection, tradition, and a sense of belonging to the place you’re in.
How did those landscapes shape the way you think about foraging?
They reminded me to slow down. To listen. There’s a patience to those vast old landscapes, a sense that the plants have seen generations pass. It taught me that foraging is not extraction—it’s relationship of the land.
What inspired your shift from focusing on regular cooking to a more holistic, herbalist approach?
I started seeing food as more than just something we eat—it’s medicine. But in today’s world, we’re often addicted to food in ways that disconnect us from its true purpose. I wanted to change that, to make eating a more intentional and healing experience.
Learning about herbs and wild plants helped me reconnect with that older wisdom. It felt natural, especially with my Slovak roots, where people used to know how to work with the land to care for themselves. I’m just trying to remember what they never forgot.
Was there an ingredient you tasted that changed something for you?
Wild dandelion root. I’d never tasted anything quite like it—bitter, musky, with a kind of expansive sweetness quality. It was like tasting the forest’s breath. It made me think differently about what flavour can be, and how plants can speak to us through taste.
Chippy - @thegathererwild
Photography & interview – Aniella Weinberger @aniellaweinberger
Floral & Décor Stylist – Millie Uhlein @millieuhlein
Copper Still – Lily Ballard @kobashiessentialoils
Location – Will Heard @heardysworkshop