The Mommy Mushroom Club

I don’t really know what other mother-daughter relationships are like. Some of my friends, when their mothers come to visit, they go shopping together, or get manicures, or even organize their cupboards (seriously). When my mom visits we don’t do any of these things. There was a time in that painful mid-teen phase when I tried to get my mom to take me shopping, but she never enjoyed it. As I’ve grown older, I’ve realized I don’t enjoy shopping either.

Instead, when my mom comes to visit, we eat mushrooms.

To be honest it’s only been twice, but I think we’ve got the start of a nice little tradition going. Earlier in the year mom came to visit in the middle of the morel season (say it with me now: morel season, then swoon; at least that’s what I do). We bought a bag of them at the farmers’ market, from the guy who forages in the forest, and we spirited them home feeling like we were getting away with something.

Getting away with a bargain is what we were doing—those morels were less than half what they are in San Francisco. When it comes to mushrooms, living in the Northwest is just lovely.



I had been dreaming about morels ever since Molly wrote her swoony ode to them the year before, but they hadn’t been in season. Now they were back and I sliced them open—little brains is what they always look like to me—and sautéed them with cream and butter and we ate them on whole grain toast with a glass of red wine and felt very fine indeed. I don’t know about you, but a plate of sautéed mushrooms and a glass of wine is one of those things that make me feel rich in life. Emma Goldman once said, “I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck.” I’d rather have mushrooms on my plate.



Two weeks ago, when my mom was visiting for Thanksgiving, chanterelles were in season.

Chanterelles, oh dreamy chanterelles. Just the sight of them makes me happy, all caramel golden ruffled goodness. I don’t believe in having favorites when it comes to mushrooms, but if I did chanterelles would be a serious contender. They are silky and supple, at once delicate and substantial. Chanterelles are a warm soft quilt I want to crawl under, the one you take home to meet the parents, a plush and buttery bite.

But again, I don’t have favorites. I am an equal opportunity mushroom lover.



I do have favorites when it comes to people, however, and some of my favorite people don’t like mushrooms. This is something that pains me. Two of my dearest friends can’t stand the things. “Why would you want to eat fungus?” my friend Violeta says with disgust. When we lived in Japan, I repeatedly failed to convince her and my friend Karen to join me in ordering the special mushroom stew at our favorite traditional restaurant in the mountain town where Karen and I lived. It had to be ordered for two people, and while I suspected I could rise to the occasion and eat the whole thing myself (we're talking Japanese-sized portions here), I wasn’t willing to horrify the locals by doing so. I had to wait for my mom to show up for a visit and help me out.

It’s good to know she’ll always be there for me, especially where mushrooms are concerned.

I don’t know if my brother likes mushrooms, he never really talks about them. His wife is a mushroom hater, and since they do everything together this pretty much disqualifies him from our mushroom club. Mushroom haters are not allowed in the club, not even on an observation basis. Wouldn’t want to make the members nervous.

But mostly this is a club made for two—my mommy and me. She arrives tomorrow for another visit, which means that it might just be time for another meeting of the mushroom club.

Forget manicures and clean cupboards—I think we’ve got a good thing going here.



FRESH CHANTERELLES AND THYME, FOR TWO

This is barely a recipe, really—just fresh mushrooms, a bit of butter, and some chopped herbs from the garden, one of the few that are still going strong. Use the recipe as a rough guide, but follow your taste. If you love mushrooms, you can’t go wrong.

1 lb chanterelle mushrooms
1 tsp butter, more if needed
1 tsp fresh thyme, chopped
generous pinch of salt and grind of black pepper

Clean the mushrooms and cut into 1/4 inch strips. Melt the butter in a large pan and add the mushrooms. Turn to coat with butter, adding more if needed. Cook over medium high heat until fully soft (10-20 minutes, depending on the size of your pan and how many mushrooms are in it). Sprinkle with salt and fresh thyme. Taste and adjust seasonings. Serve on toast or eat out of a small bowl with a glass of white wine and someone you love, who also loves mushrooms.