THE ADVENTURES OF A WAYWARD CHEF

I awoke to the smell of toasted bagels. Plates of locally made lox, capers, thickly sliced heirloom tomatoes, red onion, and cream cheese were spread across the table. Coffee brewed. The forest beckoned. I could hardly sit still while we ate.

Gnome condos.

We parked along the side of the road, another stop without a clearly marked trail head, but David knew the way from all the years he’s been foraging. We struck out up a steep mountainside. Massive redwood trees towered above us. The forest floor was green with clover and ferns. The air smelled earthy and fresh. If ever gnomes existed, this is where they lived.

I followed David and Cathleen closely, looked where they looked, dug where they dug, hoped that maybe they’d missed a mother load of mushrooms and I’d miraculously stumble upon it (no such luck!). And as I followed them, I began to better identify on my own where chanterelles liked to live; shaded nooks, underneath pine and sticks, buried around rotting stumps and fallen trees, between spindly vines of stinging nettles.  My eyes scanned every inch of the ground, like a child on a beach searching for the ever elusive blue beach glass. The slightest fleck of peach color poking up from the forest floor required closer inspection. And eventually, it paid off. As I stood on a sloping hill, looking through the trees at the ocean far below, I thought that the spot where I stood seamed like just the place chanterelles would love. I turned around to face uphill, looked down at my feet, and pushed away a large fern frond to reveal three large chanterelles! As I knelt down to begin the fragile task of pulling them from the ground, I saw two more hidden in the underbrush. Another tree stump revealed a massive outcropping, and even one big chanterelle hidden deep inside a hole in the trunk. Before long, my sack was bulging with mushrooms. David and Cathleen had been doing quite well also. We worked our way further down the backside of the mountain towards the ocean, and then back up.

I call this mushroom the Evil Eye!

Isn't this the one the cheshire cat sat on?

Hiding under some ferns.

Thank heaven for little grills!

 We returned to the cabin with our bounty. David began heating the grill for more of his famous grilled oysters with herb-butter, and also bison rib-eye steaks. Cathleen, with the patience of a saint, delicately wiped each mushroom clean. We had all decided that the bruschetta we’d made with the lobster mushrooms the night before was the best way to enjoy the ‘shrooms. So, I sliced the chanterelles and sautéed them in a hot pan with butter, olive oil, Maldon sea salt, sliced garlic, lemon-thyme, and just a few drops of lemon at the end – and then piled the mushrooms onto thick slices of fried sourdough bread. Beneath a starlit sky and towering redwoods, we warmed our feet by the fire of the barbeque. Hands reached, plates passed, oysters slurped, wine drunk. It was a meal of Apician proportion.

I can say with certainty that I am completely hooked on mushroom foraging. It’s like an Easter egg hunt, or Christmas, only without the sugar high. It’s just a shame that Cathleen and David only do this once a year, especially when hedgehog mushrooms should be coming up in just a few weeks (hint! hint!). Who wants to be my guinea pig? All mushrooms are edible – once!