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“Brown Face”
By David Campiche
A mushroom ten inches high,
Hidden in clumps of saw grass.
Stem thick and fl eshy as a child’s forearm.
The top — fl esh of another color.
A tawny shaman’s face,
Craggy ancient skin.
Hard weather has cut them both.
Knife of surgeon’s steel
Slices porcini stem, exposing
Tender fl esh, white and pure.
Mind already coupling mushroom mustiness
With olive oil and brandy,
Basil from the garden,
Sea salt and cracked pepper.
Searing heat of sauté pan
Alters texture from fi rm to supple.
Salivating now.
From the deep green forest
Shaman face returns.
His ebony eyes are upon you,
Judging your every move.
Quickly,
Dig a hole in the dark and musty duff.
Lay the mushroom in the hole. Take care,
So that those who have been here before
Can return.
Cover fl esh with needles and loam.
Wind pushes hard out of the north,
Cold on your face.
Turn deftly to the south.
Never look back.
Disappear
Into the green forest.
Go. Go.
Wild is upon you.
Continued from Page 9
Sublime and
mysterious
I fi nd much mysterious
about mushrooms, some-
thing that pulls the imag-
ination like a well-crafted
story. As fall approaches,
a sort of anxiety overtakes
me. I begin to take walks,
some deep into forests, and
some as close as the back-
yard. A week or two after
the fi rst heavy rain of the
fall, one discovers reveal-
ing signs.
One of the fi rst mush-
rooms to expose its cap is
a small Boletus called a
“slippery jack.” Though not
a favorite mushroom, it is
de-
cent when picked
dry (they turn
slick and
mushy
when
wet)
and
about
the size
of a quar-
ter. Its un-
derbelly is pale
yellow and features
more of a sponge-like
belly than most varieties.
This Sponge Bob identity
characterizes a Bolete. The
favorite sought-after Bolete
is the porcini or Boletus
edulus (“King Bolete”). Life
is always better when a cou-
ple of the fat-belly mush-
rooms rest on the chopping
block.
PHOTO BY LAURIE ANDERSON
Harvest season would not be complete in these parts without a plentiful selection of local wild
mushrooms.
The porcini
Thick as your wrist with
a cap that can approach
twelve inches, the Boletus
edulus is beloved around the
world, particularly in France
and Italy. Its color is tan and
the fl esh intoxicating when
sautéed slowly with olive
oil or grilled with a swipe
of that virgin oil and topped
with Kosher salt and cracked
black pepper. In this case,
simple is good.
The porcini is superb
over steaks, in stews or
atop a sandwich with fresh
tomato, and on my wife’s
sourdough rye. The meaty
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mushroom loves spruce trees
and moss, but sometimes it
grows in sedge. It’s a sneaky
mushroom.
Exploring
START
YOUR PATH
PHOTO BY LAURIE ANDERSON
A porcini near a log
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One day, deep in a
marsh, pockmarked with
green moss-backed knolls, I
happened upon a half-dozen
perfect King Boletes. I lay
on my belly trance-like, just
staring at my lucky fi nd, but
a sixth sense told me I was
being watched. I ran my
eyes back and forth across
the hummock, until, on the
third pass, they stopped
and focused on a four-point
buck.
He watched me cau-
tiously, standing plumb
PHOTO BY DAVID CAMPICHE
A rich haul after mushroom
hunting
straight without the slightest
movement. I thought this a
perfect moment. Hunting
mushrooms, things happen,
and they can be notable, if
not magical.
And if you get caught in
a rainstorm or submerged
up to your waist in ditch
or pond, remember: Back
home, a great meal may
materialize. Pour a glass of
fi ne Washington Cabernet,
and slice the butter-sautéed
Porcini into bites that melt in
your mouth. Indulge in the
sublime.
Remember, we are graz-
ing animals but the luckiest
of hunters. CW