Stalking the Wild Mushroom

It’s a mushroom year here in Normandy, there is no doubt about it. Louviers is perfectly placed at the center of three woods that have been well tended for centuries, the trees standing thin and tall, the undergrowth a vibrant mix of ferns and moss, brambles and sweet anemones. Within the woods the humus is a perfect culture for coulemelles, chanterelles—both the common chanterelle called girolle and the chanterelle en tube or girolle grise—and the queen of all autumn mushrooms, the hearty brown-capped cèpe and its equally hearty cousin, the bolet bai.The Italians call this meaty fungus porcini; I call them heaven on a plate.

Just a few weeks ago a group of students and I, led by mushroom master Louis Garcia, strolled to one of his favorite mushroom spots. He didn’t demand that we wear blindfolds; indeed, he was happy to share. “I always share my mushroom grounds,” he said as we walked along, he with a long, narrow stick that he used to carefully lift leaves and other detritus out of the way as he searched. “Here, look, this is a clitocybe améthyste,” he said, showing us a small stand of thin, tall, delicate violet-hued mushrooms. “They’re edible but of little interest. We’ll take one to try.” He leaned down and carefully separated it from its forest duff, leaving just the tiniest piece for next year.

We rounded a bend and Louis started off into the undergrowth, leading us to a clearing. There, illuminated by a shaft of light, was a tall mushroom with a cap the size of a dinner plate—a coulemelle, (sometimes called columelle) or parasol mushroom. “It’s a lépiote élevée,” said Louis. “We’ll take it and bake it for lunch.” He carefully snapped its stem, just slightly under the earthy surface, filled the resulting hole so that any spores left behind could grow, and carefully set the treasure in his basket.

It’s taken me many years to appreciate the forests around Louviers. I hail from the Pacific Northwest where the forests of the Cascade and Olympic mountains are virgin; the fir trees are tall and bluish, the undergrowth so thick and lush it’s almost impossible to navigate through it. Here, the trees are planted, well spaced, the result of years of management; the lanes are tended, the little natural ponds built up. When I first arrived in a French forest I found myself looking around in confusion. “This, a forest?”I asked myself, hearkening back to the wild, woolly, old-growth versions I knew.

On the hunt

I’ve come to love these pristine, orderly forests though. They smell rich and delicious, they offer lacy vistas and long, wide avenues for strolling and musing. They’re populated, by people and their dogs, delicate deer that freeze then bound away, wild boar who leave snuffled messes in their wake as they use their noses to root out lunch, dinner and snacks.

I love the forests most right now, from September through November, when they pop—almost audibly—with mushrooms, from cèpes and chanterelles to a dozen other lesser varieties that are nonetheless lovely to discover. Every single week it’s possible to collect enough edible ones for at least an omelette, sometimes for an entire tart, or a rich pot of soup. Some years, like this one, there is such an abundance that cèpes in particular can be sliced and hung to dry, then used throughout the year.

There are no real tricks to hunting mushrooms, except one: being observant. Of course, some varieties, like the clavaire dorée (Ramaria aurea) with its bright orange spikes that poke through the duff like alien antennae, shout out their presence. But the ones we covet and lust after are well hidden, camouflaged to thwart our efforts. It takes concentration and close attention to find those you really want to take home.

Louis has it right—a long stick helps enormously, because as you walk you can casually shift away leaves to disclose what they hide, saving your back. We walked through clearings, clambered over logs and looked around and under them—logs make very propitious mushroom grounds. Our hunt was successful, our baskets grew heavy, our appetites raged.

After a mushroom hunt, back in the kitchen, there is work to do. In the case of cèpes, the stems often need peeling. The spongy gills under the cap are edible, but if they’re filled with moisture they need to be carefully peeled away. Then a moist towel works wonders to wipe away any soil or dust clinging to the caps. For our huge columelle (Lepiota procera), Louis snipped off the stem, brushed away the dirt, set it on a baking sheet and instructed me to dot it with butter and minced garlic. It baked for 20 minutes and emerged succulent and juicy, like a big, buttery, garlicky pizza.

We sliced the cèpes, sautéed them with garlic, parsley and walnuts, wrapped them in pastry and called our creation a Mushroom Tatin. We made a mushroom omelette, and used some in a creamy mushroom soup. I had some dried cèpes that I ground into powder, which we dusted on duck breast before searing it in a pan.

Looking for mushrooms is the best treasure hunt I know. It is filled with the sights and scents of autumn, the invigorating colors and temperatures that come with the season. And each mushroom gives its all for our pleasure—first, in the hunting, then in the cleaning and cooking, and finally in the enjoying.

WILD MUSHROOM & WALNUT TARTE TATIN

TARTE TATIN AUX CHAMPIGNONS ET AUX NOIX

This is a savory variation on the Tarte Tatin, traditionally made with apples. It’s a perfect first course for an elegant meal, or a simple main course accompanied by a green salad. Serve wtih a chilled white wine, such as Jurançon sec from southwest France. Serves 4 to 6

3 tbsp goose fat or extra-virgin olive oil

2 lbs (1 kg) large cèpe or porcini mushrooms (or substitute chanterelle, cremini, portobello or button mushrooms), cleaned, trimmed, and cut into thick slices

Sea salt

3 tbsp flat-leaf parsley, minced

1 tsp fresh thyme leaves

3 cloves garlic, minced

1/2 cup (50 g) walnut pieces, lightly toasted and minced

Freshly ground white pepper to taste

Pastry for a one-crust pie, rolled into an 11-inch (27.5 cm) round, placed on a parchment paper-lined baking sheet and refrigerated

1 tbsp walnut oil vinaigrette (below)

 

Walnut Oil Vinaigrette:

1 tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice

Fine sea salt to taste

1/4 cup (60 ml) best-quality walnut oil

 

1. Preheat oven to 425° F (220° C). Heavily oil a 9-inch (22.5 cm)Tarte Tatin pan or heavy ovenproof skillet.

2.  Heat the goose fat in a 12-inch (30 cm) nonstick skillet overmoderate heat until hot but not smoking. Add mushrooms, season lightly with salt, and sauté just until they wilt and begin to give up their juices, 2 to 3 minutes.

3.  Reduce heat, add thyme, garlic, half the minced parsley and halfthe minced walnuts. Cook, stirring and shaking pan, for about 1 minute more. Season with salt and pepper and remove from heat.

4. Transfer mushroom mixture to Tatin pan and place it on abaking sheet. Remove pastry from refrigerator and place on top of mushroom mixture, pushing edges of pastry down around edge of pan. Return to oven and bake until golden, 20 to 25 minutes.

5. While tart is baking, prepare the vinaigrette: In a small bowl,combine lemon juice and salt and whisk to dissolve salt. Add walnut oil, and whisk to combine. Taste for seasoning.

6. Remove tart from oven. Immediately invert a serving platterwith a lip over skillet. Quickly but carefully invert tart on top of serving platter so mushrooms are on top. If mushrooms stick to the pan, gently transfer them to the top of the pastry.

7. Sprinkle remaining parsley and walnuts on the mushrooms.Drizzle with walnut oil vinaigrette, season with fleur de sel, and serve.

 

Susan Herrmann Loomis teaches cooking classes in Normandy and Paris. Her latest book, Nuts in the Kitchen, is published by HarperCollins.Find it in the France Today Bookstore

Originally published in the December 2010 issue of France Today.