'Shrooming at The End of Nowhere

My caller was a neighbor, the voice was familiar, so -- instead of turning over and pulling the covers up -- I rousted myself and took care of my usual morning routine (first, checking my blood sugar; second, doing something to raise it and help me wake up; third, checking my weight, blood pressure and oxygen saturation -- all normal -- and then answering the day's questions on my medical monitor) before taking my morning meds and getting dressed.

The promised "little bit" turns into a half-hour or so before Dwayne knocks on the door, carrying a large, brown paper grocery bag.

"Mushrooms?" I decide, peering into the sack. "What kind? You've been 'shrooming, right?"

"Parasol mushrooms," Dwayne declares, starting his "sales" spiel. No, he's not trying to sell me anything -- not for money, anyway -- but it's still a sales spiel. "Lepiota procera! Imagine your favorite beefsteak with all the flavor condensed into a few bites. They're wonderful. You'll love them."

First thing, I'm instructed, is to cook one of them and taste it. And to have Mary taste it, too. That's to make sure that neither of us are allergic to this variety. (And to ensure that Dwayne hasn't slipped up and picked something less than wholesome?)

I'd always said that my ideal mycologist should be old and fat -- i.e., proof of accuracy and knowledge evidenced by survival. Well, Dwayne doesn't meet both criteria but I do know that he's been 'shooming for quite a while and he hasn't died from his endeavors. For that matter, as far as I've heard, he hasn't even gotten sick so, maybe, he's an acceptable guide in such matters.

Dwayne Worthington, 'Shroomer

"And you've been up before dawn to gather these?" I hazard -- this is what I hear from fishermen, maybe 'shroomers are like that too?

"Picked 'em yesterday," he corrects me. "Was hoping to find some matsutakes but they're scarce this year. But you'll love the proceras."

The dozen parasol mushrooms are each about the size of a hamburger bun but thinner and, on top, very shaggy, almost like soft scales. The undersided show the usual gills (white) and a relatively thin, almost woody stem. According to the mushroom guide which Dwayne is anxious to show me, until they mature, the proceras look like drumsticks but have a superb flavor.

They're also somewhat spongy (that is, they'll sop up tons of water ... or butter, so that's not all bad) and, like most mushrooms, cook down quite a bit in bulk, tuning dark brown -- almost an inky black -- in a few moments in the pan.

And they do taste a bit like a good sirloin ... maybe not quite as enthusiastically as the sales spiel but quite tasty. And, if there are no ill effect in a couple of hours, well ... definitely worth my attentions.

"Couldn't find any," Dwayne bemoans. "Now those -- I wish they could grow all year long."

And the conversation turns to mushroom farming for a bit. The button mushrooms (the common browns or whites you find in the grocery store) are farm raised, growing on a mixture of oatmeal, sawdust and nutrients (to avoid disturbing any appetites, we won't be too explicit about the origin of some of the nutritional elements).

Note: portobello mushrooms are a large mature variety of the common button mushroom and are also grown commercially.

Others, such as tree-oysters (love 'em) and shitakis are also raised in captivity, grown on oak logs by drilling holes, adding spore and keeping them damp and cool until they're ready for harvest. (In some cases, these farm-raised varieties are milder than their wild counterparts and, unless you're an absolute purist, this can be an improvement ... but it's all a matter of tastes.)

Still, many of the mushrooms which you see in the stores -- or maybe don't see, depending where you live -- and especially the pricier ones, only grow in the wild. (Well, there are stories ... but there are always stories. Just like the Lost Dutchman Mine and the water carburetor and the philosopher's stone.) In any case, these more exotic varieties grew wild, were gathered by 'shroomers (and they all have their "secret" locations) and, sometimes after changing hands several times in less than 24 hours, appear in the supermarket with less markup than you might presume since successful 'shroomers can command very handsome prices for their forage.

Of course, the problem with wild 'shrooms is that they may not travel well. In some cases, they barely manage to travel from the cool woods to the market intact so, if you live too far from where they grow, you're unlikely to see many of these varieties except in dried form.

A little background: when you encounter a mushroom, what you're looking at is the fruiting body of a much larger plant. This larger plant, however, is not one you're going to "see" even in the wild. Called a mycelium, this part of the fungi grows underground or spreading though the fibers of a log or as a network of threads spreading though a bed of oatmeal and sawdust. The mushroom proper -- the part we consume with relish -- only appears for a short time, when conditions are optimum for fresh spores to take root, and then very quickly collapses and rots. Thus, while it may take years for the mycelium to develop, the mushrooms themselves appear quite quickly, developing and maturing in a very few days and then disappearing almost as quickly after releasing clouds of tiny spore. (One mycelium covering several acres has been reported as the largest single organism known on this planet while a fairy ring in a pasture may actually be the edges of a large, circular mycelium.)

Here in the northwest, the rains of September begin to prepare the world for these mycelium to fruit but it's usually the cooler days (and heavier rains) of October which have the 'shrooms pushing aside the leaves, pine needles and forest debris to achieve their statuesque heights of mere inches. And, of course, this is when the 'shroomers don their boot and jackets and begin travelling to their secret places to see what this season is going to provide for their tables.

And, of course, since this is a season bounty, the average 'shroomer returns from forage laden with quantities well beyond their personal (or family) consumption and, unless they're doing this commercially, that means that friends share in the crop ... which can be much more welcome than the summer's over abundance of zucchini.

Speaking of rumors -- the philosopher's stone aside -- I've also been hearing mention of a "blue ring" mushroom which -- reputedly -- is psychoactive (i.e. hallucinogenic). On the other hand, I've also discovered references to two distinct varieties: one a pale cream cap with a blue ring around the edges and the other with a blue ring about the stem. Under the circumstances (and with a distinct lack of personal interest), I've decided to avoid both.

Just as a rule of thumb: always be sure you know what the mushroom you've found is. And be sure, as well, that the source of your information reliable. Mistakes in identifying varieties can be painful ... or terminal.