The Great Mushroom Hunt

It was time to harness my inner hunter-gatherer. I’d been waiting for this day all summer long. In fact I was so excited for the mushroom hunt that when I saw two old posters classifying Trentino mushrooms at a farmer’s market in Trento, I bought them.

Upon my first visit to Lavarone, the family told me that Nonno (grandpa) Gino was a wild mushroom expert. Someone suggested that Gino take me with him for the harvest later in August when the mushrooms would be ready. My eyes got big and I begged Nonno Gino to take me with him. Wild mushroom gathering in the forests of Italy? I could not let that pass me by! Gino assured me that I was invited.

When it rained in early July, Francesco smiled and told me that the moister was good for the mushrooms. I crossed my fingers and toes that the forests in the mountains near Lavarone would get plenty of precipitation and fungal growth. Every time it rained that month I thought of two things: God loves me, and mushrooms. (If you know, you know.)

This morning we piled into Francesca’s Tesla and navigated the winding, turning, sickening, twisting road up and up to Lavarone. The sky was cloudy and ominous. The closer we got to our destination, the denser the fog became. “Sembra un film ‘orrore. (It looks like a horror film),” muttered Francesca, Maria’s sister. I smiled. How perfect for a mushroom search in the woods.

Nonno Gino and Nonna Cristina waved at us as we pulled into the driveway. Francesca rolled down the window and shouted one pleading word to her mom, “Café!” Cristina nodded vigorously and dashed inside to prepare the absolutely necessary beverage.

As we sat around the little kitchen table, Andrea stirred sugar into her cappuccino and I munched on biscotti. Nonna Cristina began to explain that we would be going to a museum of taxidermied animals.

“But are we going to look for mushrooms today?” I asked. They admitted that it had been the plan but because of the inclement weather, we were resorting to the museum. It looked like rain. “Oh,” I smiled, “Io non ho paura di essere bagnata! (I’m not afraid of getting wet!)” Andrea agreed emphatically and the energy in the room hightened as everyone decided on the mushroom hunt.

“Yay!” Francesca cheered, “We don’t have to go to the museum!” Andrea and I laughed; we had seen our fair share of dead animals behind glass in the anthropology building at the University in Bologna.

Into the woods we would go.

We grabbed baskets and followed Gino on a little path from their backyard into the forest. I couldn’t help but sing under my breath.

I wish
more than anything
more than life…
Into the woods! …
The way is clear, the light is good I have no fear, nor no one should The woods are just trees, the trees are just wood I sort of hate to ask it, but do you have a basket? …
Into the woods!
To find the mushrooms!

And so the hunt was on! At first I didn’t know what I was looking for. Gino said that some mushrooms are edible and others are not. “How do you know which mushrooms are good?” Andrea asked.

“By experience,” Gino stated.

“I mean what do the good ones look like?” She pressed. I was eager for the same answer.

“You have to know what they look like,” Cristina insisted, “Years ago there was a man who knew all the mushrooms of Trentino. He brought Gino and one other man into the forest and taught them all about the mushrooms, which kinds are good, and the best places to go to find them.” He passed his wisdom on to Gino, and now Gino was teaching us and his grandchildren.

Gino nodded, “You can try to look at pictures in books, but it’s not the same. You have to see them in the forest with someone to teach you which ones are good.” I wished 🎶more than anything🎶 to learn the art of mushrooms in the woods.

Then Andrea asked the question we all knew was coming, “Are there hallucinatory mushrooms here?” Ahh, ‘shrooms. The center of many a fungi joke.

“No, not in this forest,” Nonna Cristina shook her head and laughed.

As we began collecting mushrooms, Gino told me which ones to keep and which would not serve us. At first it seemed that every fungus I found was inedible. Much like dating boys, it was easy to find plenty to leave behind, and the really good ones were few and far between.

Of the inedible mushrooms, the blood mushroom was my favorite. I plucked one and confirmed with Gino that it was no good. As I examined the mushroom, I was thrilled to discover that my fingerprints had turned the red flesh of the underside of the cap a deep shade of blue. I ran my finger across the tissue and observed in amazement as the bright red turned color before my eyes. I snapped the thing into pieces and delightedly watched the insides of the mushroom change from red to blue, like a nature-made mood ring.

Another beautiful, useless fungus was the night mushroom. These prolific, fun guys sprang up everywhere. They were tall, thin and had shiny, slimy tops. They looked like the mushrooms of fairytales.

The real dopamine shot came whenever we found a good one- the kind you can put in your basket and take home to eat. I was amazed at how many different kinds of edible mushrooms we found in the small area of forest we covered that morning. I didn’t know that wild mushrooms came in so many shapes, colors, and sizes!

The forest had more to offer than savory sporous organisms. We gleefully plucked and snacked on wild strawberries and raspberries. Little purple flowers, Cyclamen, littered the forest floor and gave a lovely perfume.

I wanted to find some big mushrooms to add to our baskets. I asked myself, “If I were a mushroom, where would I grow?” I assumed at the bases of trees or near rocks or ditches, but I couldn’t seem to find a pattern to their growth habits.

Just as I thought I didn’t know what I was doing, I spotted a creamy light green color poking out of the moss near tree roots. I carefully tore the moss away to reveal a verdone mushroom!

The real victory came later as I followed the group back to a path. I spotted a mushroom with a brown top right by where the others had been stepping. “This isn’t a good one, is it?” I called to the others. Caterina turned and saw what I was pointing at from a distance. Her eyes got huge and she broke into a smile. “Un porcino!” She exclaimed, “That is the best kind!”

The others reacted with equal excitement and congratulated me on the special find. They said it has such a distinct flavor that we enjoy it best raw with a little olive oil and salt. It was the only porcino we came across, so I’m glad I didn’t assume it was a bad one the others had passed intentionally. Sometimes the very best things are right in front of us. If we aren’t careful, we will walk right by.

We returned home with a colorful assortment of edible mushrooms. Gino was especially happy about the massive ones: mazza di tamburo (bat of drum). He prepared them with our lunch, breading and frying them.

Just as fun as searching for the mushrooms was eating them. While only a handful of us went on the search, everyone joined us for lunch. We ate some of the mushrooms we had gathered moments before, including my raw porcino! I was impressed by the unexpected flavor: dark and woodsy. It tasted like October feels. I could see why we didn’t cook the porcino- it was perfect.

This pranzo was one of the most colorful, flavorful, really truly best lunches of my life. Mushroom risotto, fried mushroom, raw porcino, sliced salame, raw veggies and cooked veggies, cold stuffed tomatoes, and cantaloupe.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, they pulled out apricot marmalade cake. It is a family recipe that we’d had before, but this one was something else. It was filled with generous apricot jam and the charred edges only added to the flavor. No one mentioned that it might be burned, so I wondered if it was intentional or not. Either way, I loved it. I asked who made it and when Nonno Gino claimed ownership, it all made sense.

I practically worship Nonno Gino. I love the old man. I think we have a funny but special connection because we take pride in our ability to communicate. Nonno Gino doesn’t know a lick of English, but I understand him just fine. I’ve never had a problem conversing with Nonno. His trick? He speaks to me really really slow. That’s it! I love how patient old people are. They always have time to talk, usually too much time.

As Nonno Gino was washing the big risotto pan in the sink, I thanked him and remarked, “Sei il migliore cuoco! (You are the best chef!)”

“Hey!” Francesco shouted jokingly as he reentered the kitchen.

“Dopo (after) Francesco,” I clarified.

Gino laughed and said, “You really have become Italian now!” I like to think he is right. I know just what to say.

The remaining mushrooms were carefully washed and prepared by Nonno Gino, ready to be frozen for later or tossed into the next risotto. The mushroom hunt was a success and I feel absolutely fulfilled… not only because my tummy is literally filled.