Farro with Chanterelles, Hazelnuts and Parmesan Cheese

 Barbequed Kumomoto Oysters with Opal Basil Butter

Lemon Cucumber and Heirloom Tomato Salad

 Fresh Figs Stuffed with Truffle Tremor Goat Cheese

I’m not sure how long it has been that I have been dreaming of going hunting for edible mushrooms. A decade maybe? I’ve read books and studied. I even own my very own copy of the essential book, Mushrooms Demystified (by David Arora), but until now, have never identified anything other than the standard LBM (Little Brown Mushroom), a rotting lobster mushroom, a few sulfur shelves, and one, lone morel. I’m too timid and paranoid to go it alone – to rely on a book and my own life-confirming heartbeat to determine if a mushroom is edible. But I love mushrooms and I get so excited whenever I can find them at the farmer’s market or gourmet store; pine mushrooms, miatakes (“chicken of the woods”), blue foots, hedgehogs, porcini makes me so happy. Even the common shiitake, portobello and button mushrooms have a warm place in my heart. Sautéed with a little butter and olive oil, garlic, a pinch of salt, some fresh herbs like savory or lemon-thyme, and squeeze of lemon or splash of brandy, and you have something warm, unctuous and satisfying. I even save my mushroom trimmings in the freezer, and when I have a big bag full, I make mushroom stock. It’s heartier and more flavorful than vegetable stock and perfect for gravies and soups. Mushrooms provide maximum flavor with such minimal effort. So, when my new BFFF’s (best foodie friends forever), Cathleen and David, invited me to join them on their annual chanterelle hunt in Humboldt, I jumped at the chance. And now, finally, after years of waiting, hoping, praying – I finally learned how to hunt the little bastards down myself.

The evil Doctor Jagermeister and Senior Patron nearly thwarted our plans of an early departure to the coast. Fortunately, I arrived armed and loaded with pastries and caffeine to rouse my two compatriots from their alcohol induced slumber. With pedal-to-the-metal, we made it to the Arcata Farmer’s Market just in the nick of time to rescue 17 dozen oysters from certain death at the jaws of some stranger with a far less discerning palate and not nearly as appreciative of good food as the three of us. The Wayward Chef saves the day (yet again). The farmer’s market brimmed with baskets of brightly colored heirloom tomatoes, rainbow chard, peppers and winter squash. Live music bellowed over the square as people chatted, and ate, and walked. After collecting our goods from the market, we headed off to Trinidad to check into our cabin and begin our hunt.

After our delayed departure, farmer’s market visit, and a long, relaxing lunch of wonderful cheeses, fresh figs, heirloom tomatoes, and sourdough bread, we outfitted ourselves with pocket knives, bags, and cameras and set off to begin the first of the weekend’s hunt. Pulling into a shaded spot off of the highway, David parked and led us up a path. Actually, “path” is a slight exaggeration. A machete would’ve been helpful to work our way through the brambles and brush. We came to a small clearing; a large, rotting tree stump loomed in front of us. “Chanterelles love rotting tree stumps, this area has been really good to us before”, David told me. I followed his and Cathleen’s lead, pushing aside ferns and sticks, pawing through the soft blanket of pine needles. “David, there are fresh cuts here”, Cathleen pointed out. The evidence of cut chanterelles littered the area; someone had been there earlier in the day and cleaned it out. “Found one!”, Cathleen shouted as she pushed away leaves and dirt. I hopped over to her spot, looking over her shoulder as she pulled out her pocket knife and gently pried it from the soft earth.  I was awestruck. The chanterelle had a thick, meaty top and stem. Variegated veins ran along the underside of the cap and its flesh was a pale peachy-orange. David had found a few more and pointed them out for me to pick. “If you find one, look closely because where there is one, there’s bound to be more”, he said.  But after those two, there weren’t anymore to be found and we decided to head to another spot. We worked our way back down the mountain and jumped into the car. I was excited but I wasn’t sure whether to taper my enthusiasm just incase all the chanterelles in Humboldt County had been picked already.

A short drive down the road, we pulled over to another spot. There were six parked cars and I was certain that meant that some lucky dog had gotten to all the chanterelles before us. But, per usual, the universe was out to prove my sourpuss attitude wrong. Within ten feet of the car David and Cathleen scored, big time. A ledge leading to a trail proved to be just the right combination of moisture and redwood compost to make for fertile ground. Chanterelles peaked out from underneath the ledge and just as David had said, where there was one, there were many. He would point out one and I’d set to digging it out. I’d look up from my spot and my eye would catch another, and another, and another. This is what I had been waiting for! All three of us worked our way down the wall of dirt plucking chanterelle after chanterelle. We dispersed across the surrounding hiking area to scour for more. It seemed like every two minutes either David or Cathleen would holler that they’d found one.  But to my untrained eye, finding chanterelles on my own was still elusive, so I followed closely behind and picked where they pointed. Twenty minutes into our search and we had unearthed over a pound of mushrooms. “That should be enough for dinner” David said. I didn’t want to stop looking. I tried to exercise my psychic powers, to see if I my ‘gut instincts’ would lead me to them (no luck). I dreamed of stumbling upon a big patch of peach-colored heaven and filling my bag.

There’d be more hunting tomorrow, I reminded myself. I was determined to find some mushrooms on my own! But now it was time to head back to the cabin and eat…

 All mushrooms are edible – once.
~Anonymous