Mushrooms

........When I was young, I really loved the American author Ruth Chew who wrote about magic and mysterious people. One of my favourites was Earthstar Magic, a story about an Earthstar mushroom with petals that was magic but unpredictable. Such is the allurement and magic of mushrooms in folklore. Aside from the hallucinogenic and poisonous properties, cooks find much to love in mushrooms also. 

Perhaps the most luxurious of all the edible mushrooms are the Porcini (or cep) and Morel. Available dried or (rarely) fresh, they are earthy and highly perfumed, to me the scent and flavour very reminiscent of that elusive fifth taste umami, like Marmite, soy sauce or steak. I have seen recipes for fresh porcini, but have only ever seen them for sale at a New York City market, extortionately priced. Morels I often see fresh. I have cooked them stuffed with Taleggio cheese, grilled until it oozes out of the top and sliced finely in a creamy port sauce for steak, the meaty, mealy flavour a good match for any meat. Even these prized specimens are highly toxic raw and must always be cooked. Maybe this adds to their appeal, like that other Russian Roulette food: puffer fish or Fugu.

Of course, there are lesser varieties abundantly available: Field, potabello, crimini, chanterelle, bluefoot, lobster. The names as alluring as the taste and evoke the romance of mushroom hunting in deep, dark woods at daybreak with the adrenalin rush of the hunt and the chance you may pick the wrong one. Not that I have ever had the courage to pick my own, even with several fine 'expert' identifying books,  I would never have the audacity to take on Mother Nature unless an expert human being came along with me.

I add mushrooms to many dishes like stews, curries and casseroles where their firmness and bite lend a nice meaty element. (I once read that snails have a similar texture - but I haven't tried this yet). But, I also applaud the mushroom's ability to stand on it's own merits or play second fiddle to a main dish. 

A large Portabello, fried or baked with butter, either eaten like a burger between a floury roll or stuffed with a mixture of breadcrumbs, bacon, cheese and cream. A dish of Chanterelles, fried until shrunk into intensity, seasoned with some cream, lemon and parsley. A plate of chestnut mushrooms, fried with garlic, cream, sherry and some chicken stock, maybe to be served with pasta or stirred into a mushroom risotto. 

My mum makes a red wine and mushroom sauce to complement lamb, using the pan drippings and juices for her base, allowing the wine to mellow as the lamb rests. When I was in college, the local fish shop sold battered mushrooms, crispy on the outside and juicy enough within to burn your tongue or squirt into your eyes as you bit into them. 

During my short time as a chef, there were two mushroom dishes that I remember well. The first was an appetizer called Wensleydale mushrooms, which, as a commis chef, was my job to prepare. Two pieces of toast were smothered with fried mushrooms mixed with a sachet of creamy wholegrain mustard sauce. A large handful of Gorgonzola or Dolceletta would be sprinkled on top and the whole dish grilled (broiled) until the cheese was melted with golden brown patches and the mushrooms and sauce bubbling. The blue cheese provided a welcome tang and savouriness to the sweet, earthy mushrooms and the crusty toast provided contrast and crunch. 

The other dish was the soup I occasionally prepared. Using ordinary mushrooms and white wine, I would sneak in a spoonful or two of the very expensive wild mushroom paste for pasta that was used for entrees and off limits to me. Nobody ever noticed except the customers who would often pay their compliments to the soup chef.