So I told myself no desserts for a week, and what did I do? I made myself a bacon and potato tart for dinner, which included copious amounts of cream, caramelized onions, and a buttery crust.
I don't know who I think I'm fooling. That's still dessert! Sprinkling a little bacon on your pie doesn't change the fact that it's still a pie!
This is going to be harder than I thought.
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It's so funny how you can walk for an hour and see no mushrooms at all (or at least not the ones you want), and then all of a sudden, you come upon a giant monstrosity such as this one—bright orange like a beacon on the brown forest floor—and you feel like you just found buried treasure, even though it was out there, plain as day, for all the world to see. Maybe nobody walked by, or maybe nobody noticed it, or maybe somebody did notice it but just thought it was some weird gross fungus. Which it is. But it sure is tasty!
I was very excited because this is the first chicken of the woods I've ever found (not to be confused with a hen of the woods, which is brown and tastes different). Chicken mushrooms range from bright yellow to orange, but mine was the color of Circus Peanuts, those old-fashioned marshmallow candies my dad enjoys. The specimen I found was bigger than my head and in very good condition (for a fungus). Also called sulfur shelf, Laetiporus sulphureus got the nickname chicken of the woods because it tastes likes chicken. I agree, it's surprisingly chickeny in texture for a non-meat, so vegetarians take note.
I really wanted to emerge from the woods victorious, carrying my gigantic neon trophy, but it takes forever to clean a mushroom that big (see here). Plus, nobody else in my house is going to eat it but me. So I opted to take just half, sawing off the shelves with the handy-dandy pocketknife I keep around for mushrooms and rapists. Turns out, slicing the brackets off the central stalk makes it really hard to carry them long distances, especially when you're lost. But then, if I hadn't gotten lost, I never would have found the mushroom in the first place since the trail I wandered down basically led to a dead end of No Trespassing signs. Anyone with a trail map wouldn't have bothered going that way. So I juggled my mushroom pieces as best I could while stumbling blindly down the trails, drunk with success and the giddy danger of potential mushroom-poisoning. I found my way back to the car eventually.
Later on, back at the homestead, I double-checked my mushroom identification in various expert reference books. That's when I realized that my specimen matched all of the criteria for a chicken of the woods except for one. L. sulphureus is supposed to have bright yellow pores on the underside of the cap, while the pores on my mushroom were ivory white. This is not a good thing to discover after you've already spent an hour cleaning and trimming your mushroom. That's a major discrepancy in a field where minor discrepancies can be deadly. Even though there are supposedly no poisonous look-alikes for this mushroom, I wasn't eating it until I got some official confirmation that what I had was indeed edible.
After some frantic late-night Googling, I discovered a page on the University of Wisconsin site by Thomas Volk. His name sounded familiar, and it turns out he's a prominent mycologist whose name was dropped several times in Eugenia Bone's mushroom memoir, Mycophilia. Anyway, his DNA research published in 1998 turned up six different species within the previously known category of chicken of the woods. One, Laetiporus cincinnatus, matched the criteria of my mushroom perfectly:
Not only is it edible, but Volk considers it to be the most delicious of the group. Score! I sautéed the mushroom pieces with onions, garlic, potatoes, and fresh sage leaves for a delicious lunch.
Happy mushroom-hunting!
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At least I think these are chanterelles I found. Let's go down the checklist together, shall we?
I need to consult with my mushroom friends to confirm that these are truly chanterelles before I eat them. But, here on my blog, I'm celebrating an early victory. YAY CHANTERELLES!!! *kisskisskiss*
Now to find more than a mouthful!
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Walking by my kitchen window the other day, something caught my eye. Past the birdfeeders and under the azalea bushes and mountain laurel that grow along the rock walls of our steep yard, was a mushroom. A shiitake, it looked like. I was confused because it's pretty early for mushrooms, plus it appeared to be growing out from under some ivy (shiitakes grow out of wood, not the ground).
Then I realized what happened. When the roofers came to replace our roof back in the fall, they heaved my mushroom logs into the bushes because they were in the way and what the hell were all these logs doing lined up vertically in a row anyway? The logs were fine where they ended up, all nestled in ivy—mushroom logs aren't terribly picky as long as they're not in the beating sun. I wasn't going to bother to retrieve them until after the April showers.
But then all of the unseasonably warm weather we had last week must have triggered the mushrooms to fruit. Two of the logs produced a whole bunch of big, beautiful mushrooms. Because the logs were horizontal instead of vertical, the mushrooms grew in a different orientation than previous flushes. (Mushrooms grow toward the light even though they don't rely on the sun for energy like plants do.) The best part was that, because of the early showing, the mushrooms were way ahead of the slugs and bugs. That meant I got to have these perfect specimens all to myself, critter-free! Recipe to come.
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This will probably be my last mushroom post until next spring, so you can all breathe a deep sigh of relief. But first I have to tell you what happened after last week's hen of the woods post. To refresh your memory, that was the post in which I was being a big baby because I was unable to successfully lay claim to my very own hen of the woods mushroom, despite having found four. (Sheesh, Tammy, ever heard of a store? Shut up, whose side are you on?)
Within the course of 24 hours, that post was forwarded by a kind reader to someone who had several suspected hens of the woods growing right in her yard. I was invited to make a house call to a neighboring town to scope out the fungal situation. This is not the first time I've gone on a mushroom-related house call. Earlier this year, I was led to a house that had literally dozens of black morels popping out of the mulch. Can you imagine that? A flower bed full of morels right out your own front door??? I was dumbstruck! I had to be slapped across the face several times before I snapped out of it.
This time, I was much more composed. Once I located the house in question, I spotted the hens roosting at the base of an oak tree—all four of them. I drove by verrrrry sloooowly with the windows down, ogling them like Lenny and Squiggy, until I crashed into some trash cans! Okay, so there weren't any trash cans, but it's my story. I'll tell it how I want. I ran out of the car, ignoring the trash cans everywhere, and ran through my hen of the woods identification check list:
Location at base of oak tree: check.
Brown, ruffly structure: check.
Pores not gills: check.
Smells right: check.
Nooooo maggots: well, just a few. It's a ground-dwelling fungus, after all. One can't expect too much.
Not only was the identity of the mushroom confirmed , but I also had permission to take some mushrooms home (hooray!!!). That was the crucial missing link. So I did—specifically, two hens growing next to each other that had become conjoined into one 4-pound mass. I didn't just rip them out of the ground; I cut them at their bases to leave the underground mycelium intact. This helps encourage future mushrooms to grow in the same area in subsequent seasons. Remember, there are no poisonous look-alikes for this mushroom (also known as maitake and grifola frondosa). That combined with its tastiness makes it a mushroom everyone should know. Many thanks to M and H for getting it into my greedy little hands!
Tell me this isn't a pretty mushroom!
But, wow, I forgot what a pain in the ass they are to clean. I brushed off as much debris as possible initially, but there are so many crevices, you could easily spend an hour or more properly preparing this mushroom for eating. Plus you have to escort out all the creepy-crawlies that were using it as a luxury condo. Worms. Spiders. CENTIPEDES!!! Boy, for someone who likes to hang around rotting stumps, I sure am afraid of centipedes. (It's their speed that gets me. Their deadly speed!)
So in case you ever find yourself in possession of a hen of the woods, here are some tips for prepping this delicacy:
Since it's such a big deal to me to find these, I like to make something really special. I layer the cooked mushrooms with lasagna noodles, browned sweet Italian sausage, lots and lots of braised celery root and leeks, mozzarella and parmesan cheese, and a creamy sauce. I bake two trays and freeze one away. It's totally worth the work.
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Does anybody know what this is?
Bet you weren't expecting a pop quiz on wild fungi first thing in the morning, but I'll make mushroom foragers out of you yet. You've seen this before on this blog. It's a hen of the woods. Not a chicken of the woods. That's different. A hen of the woods is a ruffly mass that grows at the base of oak trees. It has pores on the underside instead of gills, and has no poisonous look-alikes. It usually grows back year after year in the same place. It is also amazingly delicious and doesn't make me vomit. In other words, A-list material.
Ever since a kind stranger bestowed upon me a hen of the woods last year (when I made that amazing celery root and wild mushroom lasagna), I've been trying to find one of my very own. I thought I found such a specimen over the summer, but it was growing on protected land (and people were looking), so I couldn't take it home. Then, a few weeks ago, I went on a group mushroom walk with Lawrence Millman. He just came out with a new mushroom book, Fascinating Fungi of New England, which is beautifully illustrated and written with a certain amount of wit. He brought us around the woods of Drumlin Farm and pointed out all kinds of fungi I hadn't seen before, like stinkhorns and white pine splotch. He seemed to have a particular fascination with slime molds, which I did not share.
On our way back, though, something caught my eye. I nearly peed my pants on the spot because some distance off the path was the most beautiful hen of the woods I've ever seen. It looked like two hens nestled together and it was pristine. Pristine, I tell you! I got out my trusty camera and proceeded to fumble around with the controls, including white balance, ISO, and the critical equilibrium between aperture and shutter speed, during which time the battery died. I shit you not. It died at that very moment. Meanwhile, people must have noticed that I found something camera-worthy because they made a beeline straight for it. A few of them started ripping pieces off of it to get a better look at the pores. I had to stab myself in the leg with my pen to keep from shrieking STOP!! DON'T MANGLE IT, GODDAMNIT. LEAVE IT ALONE!!! (Sheesh, Tammy, possessive much?) Finally, I flung myself on top of it using my body as a human shield. At this point, someone took note of the emotional pitch and I was politely reminded that this, too, was protected land and the mushroom should not be removed. But it's a farm, I said! A farm! And that's when a team of horses was harnessed to my belt loops and dragged me away, limp and pouting. Oh, Drumlin, you big tease!
Luckily, a nice young lady snapped a photo of the mushroom before it got too mangled and she sent me the link. See how pretty? You can tell somebody else took that photo because it's sharp and well lit. It takes more than battery power to take a photo like that.
Anyway, I've been on a mission these past few weeks to find a hen of the woods I can actually bring home and cook. In fact, I found two! BUT one was well past its prime, and the other, pictured above, was way too maggoty for me to actually eat. I considered it, I really did, but even I have some standards. Oh well. At least next year I'll know to return to the coordinates of those exact locations. And this time, I'll be all decked out in camouflage with my pocketknife in my teeth and a wild look in my eyes and no one will dare stop me!!!
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We just got back from our last vacation of the summer at our friend's lake house on the New York-Pennsylvania line. There was some rain, some lightning, a little hail—but not for the whole week like last year. We were very grateful to see the sun for most of the trip, and the rain offered a side benefit for at least one of us:
Mushrooms by the dozens! They were EVERYWHERE. Giant, storybook mushrooms that could shelter several small creatures underneath at once. See those brown oak leaves under there? Those are normal-sized oak leaves. It's the mushroom that's super-sized. Here's another view:
Notice my friend standing back there? That's the scale we're talking about for some of these. I was in mushroom heaven.
Some had warty, spotted caps:
These look like some kind of poisonous amanita.
Some had smooth caps:
I kind of wonder if this is an edible king bolete (Boletus edulis), also known as porcini or cep. It was growing under conifers and had pores instead of gills. I love porcinis, but they make me ill, so I wasn't about to take any chances even if I was sure I identified it right (which I wasn't).
There were tiny ones, too.
I have no idea what that is, but I think the next one is the famous reishi mushroom, so well regarded in Eastern medicine.
There were tons of these deep red mushrooms jutting out of the tree trunks like lacquered shelves.
This next one, though, I'm almost positive is a Destroying Angel (Amanita virosa):
If so, it will kill you. It will kill you dead. If you stop vomiting for even one second over a five-day period, it's only because the complete and utter destruction of your liver is well underway. Seriously, guys, there are better ways to get attention. One of the identifying characteristics of this mushroom is a swollen cup-like base, also known as a volva (not to be confused with a similar-sounding word). You need to dig around down there to see it, but it's there. This mushroom often has a ring around the upper stem, though this one did not. I don't mess around with dangerous mushrooms like this one, but I think it's important to be able to recognize them. Know thy enemy.
Other mushrooms I found: a tree volvariella, which looks just like a destroying angel but grows out of a wound in a tree trunk instead of the ground. We also saw what looked like some oyster mushrooms growing just a few feet above it on the same tree. This was interesting to me because I thought only one fungus would fruit on a single tree trunk at a time. For example, I count on only shiitakes growing on my shiitake logs for several years. This is another reason why I feel it's important to know about wild mushrooms.
Am I boring you?
Okay, we'll stop here for now. FYI: I'm a little behind on my e-mails and comments, but, yes, I'm still collecting recipe-testers for my cookbook. If you're offering, I'm accepting. I'll be in touch soon!
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Right before I went on vacation, I found my first hen of the woods mushroom! The formidable fungus was thriving on the grounds of Garden in the Woods in Framingham, a boreal wonderland of native plants run by the New England Wild Flower Society. I recognized the edible shroom right away. Once you try something that delicious, you never forget it. The contours are indelibly imprinted on your brain. I couldn't take it home, of course, but it was fun to spot it in the wild nonetheless!
I was still basking in my mushroom triumph on the way to the Cape when TeenNiece, whom I've been unable to convince that fungus is anything but disgusting, made the casual observation that none of the other bicycles fastened to the various vacation-bound vehicles had milk crates strapped to the backs of them. Only mine. She complimented me on my uber-stylish "mushroom basket," which I'd never used in that capacity before, but, now that she mentioned it, is a FANTASTIC IDEA! Then, right on cue, Husband launched into his very entertaining impersonation of me identifying mushrooms, characterized by bold, arrogant pronouncements coupled with a complete and utter lack of care. He has a knack for coming up with the most unflattering voices that sound nothing like me but are somehow so funny that you simply have to accept them on the basis of their being 100% wrong.
The mushroom-related torment continued for much of the week, especially since the yard of the cottage we rent was completely overrun with fungus (mostly inedible russulas and poison puffballs by my estimation, and there goes Husband with his voices again). But the mobile mushroom basket? That was pure genius. I'll bring my pocketknife along on bike rides, collect any large mushroom specimens I find, then wheel my way back home distributing spores along the way. Why didn't I think of that??
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Wow, that is one phallic-looking mushroom! But let's not get distracted. I promised you hints for finding morels and hints you shall receive, at least for the yellow morel (Morchella esculenta). Please note that these are only suggestions based on my own limited, amateur experience and, let's face it, a healthy dose of beginner's luck. Still, they're better than nothing.
Hint #1: THEY'RE OUT RIGHT NOW!!! Late April through early June.
Hint #2: You'll probably want to read some books before you go. The field guide I have is the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Mushrooms. This is the book I bring to the woods. Another book I love is The Complete Mushroom Book by Antonio Carluccio, an Italian chef and forager. It has great recipes and amazing photos. Total mushroom porn. This is the book that moves between the kitchen and the bedside table. But the book that really made the idea of foraging for my own wild mushrooms accessible to a novice was Start Mushrooming, which was recommended by a Harvard-trained mycologist friend. It teaches you how to identify six edible varieties of wild mushrooms safely. Morels are one of them.
Hint #3: As far as habitat, I found my first two morels under a blossoming apple tree. Old farms and apple orchards are prime hunting grounds. Be sure to ask permission before foraging on private property.
Later, I found a bunch in the woods under what looked like a dead oak tree.
Morels love dead elms and stressed-out ash trees, too, I hear. Watch out for poison ivy. Since morels are associated with the roots of certain trees, you'll often find more than one around the base of the trunk, sometimes as far as 10 feet out. Mine were much closer.
Morels seem to grow all over Massachusetts, but my luck turned when I headed away from the city a bit, say 30 minutes due west of Boston. If you want ideas for trails, check out the Bay Circuit Greenway maps.
Look at this morel growing through a maple leaf. Weird.
I also found a bunch of poisonous false morels on my trek, like the one below:
I didn't touch them. They are the poisonous look-alikes that the experts warn you about. I don't think this one really looks like a morel, though, do you? I mean, something would have to be seriously wrong with that morel for it to be a morel. Like if it were growing out of a toxic waste dump or something. But false morels can look a lot more like true morels, as in this photo. Can you tell the difference? Real morels have more of a conical shape and a pitted, honeycomb appearance. False morels tend to be wrinkled (as if deflated), misshapen, and brain-like in shape. Another difference: real morels are completely hollow inside while false morels are chambered and often filled with a whitish, cottony material. Cut your morels in half, top to bottom, to double check your answers.
Finally, we come to the disclaimer portion of this post. Here it is: Don't be an idiot. Don't eat anything you're not 100% sure about. Always cook morels thoroughly—never eat them raw as they contain a toxin that is deactivated with cooking. Furthermore, some people have allergic reactions to certain mushrooms that are edible to the majority. I am one such person. So, if you've never had morels before, or any other wild mushroom, it's a good idea to start with a few bites and then wait 24 hours to see how things go digestively before you gorge yourself.
Good luck on your morel hunt! It's such a thrill to find them!
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Guess who found morels on Mother's Day? ME! It was ME!!! Seven of them!!! Can you believe it??
Actually, I found more, but it's proper mushroom etiquette to leave some behind. It was hard, but I did comply. Barely. Your next question, I'm going to guess, is where exactly I found these morels (especially if you arrived here by Googling "morels Massachusetts" or "morels Boston"). But I'm not telling you where I found them, so don't ask. If you do ask, I'll be happy to draw you a perplexing map—one you will be unlikely to decipher since my sense of direction is terrible and I can't draw for shit. However, if you do manage to figure it out, the trail will magically lead you to the morel bin at Russo's because why not just buy them from the store if you're going to have someone tell you exactly where to look. That's missing the whole point: the thrill of the hunt! You have to find your own spots. I've clocked nearly a dozen hours in the woods over the last week and a half to find these and I've loved every second of it. Except for the part where the mosquitos were biting me. I didn't love that part. But the rest was awesome and you'll love it, too. (Just bring bug spray.)
Here I am cutting my very first morel with the pocketknife Husband gave me for Mother's Day. I literally could not believe my eyes when I first spotted it. I froze for a second, then began frantically fumbling around for my camera as if it would disappear at any moment. Then I saw another one about a foot away. The rest I found in another location. Thank god nobody else was around to hear me giggling and talking to myself as I collected them. I mean, except for the jogger who came charging up behind me out of nowhere. (Dude, the next time you run up behind a woman like that in a completely isolated area, you might want to announce loudly and clearly that you're not a rapist or you're likely to get a pocketknife to the heart.)
When I brought the mushrooms home, the children were very excited and unanimously declared them to be "yellow morels, not black morels." (They keep stealing all of my mushroom books.) Husband insisted that I get a second opinion about the edibility of these mushrooms before I cooked them—a second opinion besides the children's. I thought I might as well set a good example for you guys for a change, right? So I grudgingly returned the stick of butter in my hand to the refrigerator and proceeded to contact Russ Cohen, local wild edibles guru. He confirmed that they were, indeed, yellow morels. Huzzah! I'll let you imagine the seven-bite feeding frenzy that followed!
In my next post, I'll share some tips for finding your own morels as well as my favorite mushroom books. And, yes, I'll get that post up this week, keep your pants on.
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My, my, my, would you look at that? A whole week has gone by since my very exciting collard greens post. What the hell have I been doing with myself, you might ask? Well, I can tell you what I haven't been doing. I haven't been spending all of my time in the woods looking for morel mushrooms. Nooooooo. Of course not. I haven't been looking under every apple tree, dead elm, and rotting stump in a 20-mile radius. No detailed topographical maps of local conservation land have been printed out and plastered across my office wall. No private strategy meetings have been called with myself, or Googling of terms like "forest fire Massachusetts 2010" just because morels tend to like burny places. Don't be silly.
Another thing I haven't been doing: driving around various neighborhoods scouting out logs for my cultivated mushroom garden. I definitely have NOT been knocking on strangers' doors, harassing them about the status of their woodpiles and haggling over prices that are anything more than free. Are they SURE the logs are oak and not maple because maple really doesn't work as well for shiitakes? Also, how long ago were they cut? Because it actually matters. You don't remember? Think! THIIIIIIINK!!!
And I certainly haven't been making little mushroom sculptures out of rocks as placeholders for where actual mushrooms should be.
I mean, do you know how hard it is to get two rocks to balance on top of each other like that? With the wind and the wild turkeys tromping all over them? What a ridiculous waste of time.
At least that's the story I'm telling Husband.
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It's almost spring foraging time! But while I'm waiting for things to start poking out of the ground, I'm still working on the remnants of last year's fall forage—namely, black walnuts.
I've been wanting to blog about black walnuts for a good eight months—since last July. That was when I first located some walnut trees in a variety of secret locations. I used my powers of observation to note the very obvious presence of lime-sized, lime-colored balls high up in the trees. See?
They were not limes, however. This isn't Florida. They're walnuts!
I monitored those trees all summer long and into the fall to make sure the nuts didn't drop without me, which they did anyway. So then I had to fight the squirrels for my (un)fair share, scooping up any and all walnuts I could find on the ground as the sun set one September evening when I was supposed to be at a school PTO meeting. I arrived to said meeting late with scratches on my arms and twigs in my hair and a pocketbook full of odd-smelling green nutballs (I'm very popular in case you haven't already guessed).
The next day, I dumped the walnuts onto the ground and stomped on them with old shoes to remove the green husks. The oily insides of the hulls stained everything they touched dark brown, including the cement walkway and the rubber dishwashing gloves I wore.
I scrubbed the nuts in a bucket of water to remove the remaining stainy husk material, keeping the nuts that sunk to the bottom and tossing the ones that floated (floaters indicate insect damage or otherwise shriveled-up nut meats). I didn't compost the hulls, but rather threw them in the trash because they contain juglone, a compound that kills other plants. I don't need any additional help in that department, as you well know.
Finally, I cured the nuts by drying them on trays indoors. Every few months, I'd bring some outside and shell them with a hammer (eye protection recommended). It takes quite a few whacks, and the inner nut chambers are so labyrinthine and the nutmeats so small compared to your average walnut that you end up with just a handful of fragments. The yield was meager for the amount of time and work involved, but I was very, very excited to try them!
Here's the thing, though—I don't think I like black walnuts. When I got it in my mind to collect them, I just assumed I would like them because I love all nuts passionately (Husband to insert joke here). I had heard that black walnuts taste much, much stronger than your typical English walnuts, but I didn't think they'd taste THAT different. They're stinky! Like a super-sharp cheese aged in the musty basement of an industrial factory. Am I selling this for you? The best I can describe the flavor is eau de Home Depot. I like the way hardware stores smell, but I'm not sure I like that in a nut. They're pretty good in salads, I will say, in the same way that something powerful like blue cheese is good in a salad. However, I find them borderline blasphemous in fudge. My Virginia-bred grandmother has a recipe for chocolate pecan pie with a variation that includes a lesser amount of black walnuts. I thought about attempting it, but that's a lot of man-hours for what I can only imagine would be a disgusting pie.
Still, I keep eating them. Maybe I DO like them? Or maybe I just like the idea of gathering my own wild nuts. If you've ever had black walnuts, or get the chance to try them, let me know what you think.
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I was invited to tag along on a mushroom walk with the Boston Mycological Club last Sunday. It also happened to be my birthday. Coincidence? I think not.
A group of about 30 fungiphiles convened at that week’s meeting spot in Lincoln, then quickly disappeared into the woods, reappearing an hour and a half later, baskets full, to discuss their finds. I stuck close to the one who seemed to be the leader. He was rather casual about taking bites out of strange mushrooms as part of his identification process, spitting them out like a wine-taster. I had to remind myself not to get any ideas.
Before I left the house, I had promised Husband I wouldn’t collect anything on my first outing for everyone’s safety. I brought no basket so I wouldn’t be tempted. Good thing, too, because there were mushrooms everywhere: honey mushrooms, colorful russulas, turkey tails. I found I have a knack for honing in on the deadliest mushrooms in the vicinity. Why am I not surprised? Eight out of 10 cool mushrooms I found were amanitas. This will come in handy if I ever need to poison myself in dramatic fashion. I also found what was declared to be a tiny rose-colored Mycena pura. Again, poisonous. So if you ever need to be laid out flat in a hurry, I’m your woman.
I met lots of nice people, but there was one person in particular with whom I felt an immediate kinship. A grandfatherly gentleman with an unmistakably Italian name. Maybe it was the patient way he fielded my dumb questions or the fact that some of his relatives were from the same area of Italy as some of my relatives or that I shared a birthday with one of his daughters, but I felt like I could listen to his mushrooming stories all day. Like the time he found a giant 30-pound sulfur shelf growing 10 feet up in a tree. He did what any self-respecting citizen would have done. He brought back a ladder so he could cut off one section at a time and escort the unwieldy chunks downward, rung by rung, like a dedicated Sherpa. I assumed he was just being a typical Italian, exaggerating all the important details, but another club member corroborated his story so either he was telling the truth or they’ve all been eating too many mushrooms if you know what I’m saying.
I left the foraging site empty-handed, I swear. On the way back to our cars, my new friend showed me his collection of recently-foraged mushrooms in his trunk. He keeps some shallow crates back there because you never know when you might need to pull over and mushroom! They were all different shapes and sizes, but the one that jumped out at me was the rather large and ruffly hen of the woods, a dusky and delicious edible also known as maitake and Grifola frondosa. You may recall that I’m trying to grow these on oak logs, but I’ll have to wait a year or two to see if they take.
Well, he must have seen the look of rapture on my face because, the next thing I know, he wrapped up the nearly-2-pound specimen in a paper bag and presented it to me. Can you imagine that? I think I was supposed to say, “Thank you, sir, for the kind gesture, but I must politely decline,” but what came out of my mouth instead was, “I’M GOING TO PUT THIS IN A LASAGNA!!!”
If I didn’t believe in such things, I might think my deceased mushroom-foraging grandfather arranged this meeting from the beyond. If so, thanks, Poppi! What a great birthday present! And knowing that this mushroom doesn't have any poisonous look-alikes meant that I could rest easy eating it. (Convincing Husband was another matter.)
After painstakingly cleaning the hen, I sautéed the pieces in butter and Marsala, then folded them into an earthy white lasagna with sweet Italian sausage, celery root, leeks, fresh local mozzarella, and lots of grated Parmesan cheese. I was working off of this Food & Wine recipe by Marchegiano chef Fabio Trabocchi. And it came out so good, even my mushroom-suspicious Husband agreed it was worth the risk of possible death.
(Many thanks to the Boston Mycological Club for having me and, hopefully, letting me join.)
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Copyright © 2006-13 Tammy Donroe
