However, Rusty Burlew, a master beekeeper who directs the Native Bee Conservancy of Washington State, says that a lot of circumstantial evidence points to the inky-violet flower of the kudzu, and she doubts that bees have the jaws necessary to pierce fruit for nectar. Flavour-wise, she says, "to my untrained palate, the honey really does taste purple, in a grape-y sort of way".

Burns tells me that she's never been one of the lucky ones to harvest the jammy-sweet treasure. "One of the beekeepers I work with, she's probably, as the crow flies, two miles from me. I'm on the creek; she's on the creek. Obviously, we're in a very similar environment. She regularly gets purple honey; I've never gotten it." Laughing, she adds that it's a surprise even to the bee farmers when they open the hive and find it. "Some years you get it, and then 10 years you don't."

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And here I am, a native to the state, with no idea such a wild-foraged wonder existed. Turns out some mysteries aren't just hidden; they're hidden in plain sight. That's the beauty of travel: not just the landscapes that render you speechless or the food that rewrites the rules, but the stories you stumble into along the way. The ones that don't come with tidy explanations or easy answers. There aren't many of those left.