I stumbled across an unexpected boon this week, as I was walking up the path running between our house and our daughter and her family’s house. It is an uphill climb threading through green leafy trees and thick undergrowth. Maybe because my eye isn’t trained to see morel mushrooms in New England or I just hadn’t been paying attention, I probably walked by the swath of yellow morels twenty or more times before I realized what I was seeing. A sliver of the hillside sloping down from the retaining wall - the rock wall that supports all the fill this house was built upon - was host to dozens of morels ranging from an inch to 3 inches tall. Final count, once harvested, netted about 120 +/- in a small compact slice of earth between two dead ash trees.
Trust me, I didn’t harvest them right away. I could not believe what my eyes were seeing. I’ve lived in New England for over 30 years and have seen a only handful of morels. Unlike, when growing up in Iowa many, many years ago, my dad and brother would come home from a day of traipsing through the timber with a burlap bag full of morels. Not so much anymore; check out this fun article from the Cedar Rapids Gazette - https://www.thegazette.com/sports/the-mushroom-hunt-is-on/ - that my friend sent me today after I shared my bounty with her and her boyfriend last night. The mushrooms I discovered looked like the mushrooms of my younger days, they smelled like them, they felt like them. They were hollow and the cap was attached to the base, but I couldn’t trust myself to eat a mushroom that I hadn’t seen in this area before. I googled, I sent pictures to my nephew and sister-in-law; I brought in a local forager who came with her thick mushroom bible along with her expertise. Though I had pretty much convinced myself I had found the real deal, I still felt better when the expert confirmed. Even she was thoroughly amazed at the sheer number of them all in a relatively small area! “You just never find anything this plentiful growing all together in nature.” We set about using her foraging knives to separate the caps from the stems and in about 15 minutes were rewarded with this bounty.
Mind you, I grew up eating this delicacy; but I have never cleaned them, stored them or cooked them. I had only been the lucky recipient of someone else’s hard work! Well, I got my comeuppance! Granted, I sent the contents of the basket with the forager and another friend, so I only had to deal with the mushrooms on the counter. I soon found out the amount of work that went into handling morels. I worked from rote memory of my mom in the kitchen sink rinsing, soaking, rinsing some more, soaking with salt to get the ants and bugs out, culling through each one to look for bad spots, rinsing yet again before drying them thoroughly. She cut them in half lengthwise first so had double the quantity to handle. To think of all this effort and she didn’t even like them. She didn’t even eat them! Then there’s the mess of frying them up! She handled each mushroom half gingerly as she dredged them in seasoned flour and dropped them in a hot cast iron skillet with lard or Crisco or butter. She’d turn each one individually, as they are fairly fragile; rough handling would disintegrate them. She’d fry not one skillet full or even two but many; my dad himself would eat a tremendous amount of them in one sitting. Then there was the splatter from the frying to clean up. An inordinate amount of work went into handling these for not eating any of them. As I repeated her steps, I felt how much a labor of love this was for her. God love her for that. At least, I reaped the benefit when we fried up three skillets full last night. Yum, just as delicious as I remembered.
There are about two skillets full left in the fridge. I’ve invited my son and his family to come share them tonight - to experience yet another tie to his Iowa connections. I flittingly thought about calling our other son but he favors my mom when it comes to mushrooms. I’d love to share some with my daughter and her husband who witnessed the disbelief and marvel at my discovery, but they are out of town this weekend. And I’d really love to share some with my nephew in Iowa who was pretty much shut out this year despite inheriting ‘the mushroom stick’. Thinking of you, BJ! Thanks to my sister-in-law for affirming my memories were correct in the handling and cooking of these beauties! Wish you were here, too! I do know that my brother is appreciating all of this!
It’s pushing time to go get this last mess of mushrooms ready for frying, so I gotta’ go. I’ll leave you here to revel with me in my glorious unexpected abundance. Thanks for hitching a ride with my excitement!
Remain curious. Be Kind. As Always, With Love
I got to enjoy them with our friends over the hill. Thanks Hon!
That's so awesome! I've never seen them growing in the wild. Only once at a specialty shop years ago.