Market share: foraging for mushrooms

TRIPPING ON ‘SHROOMS: When you don’t trust yourself to forage, get someone else to do it
Photos by Stacey De Wolfe

These days, foraging is all the rage, appealing to urban foodies, rural survivalists and seemingly everybody else in between. And why not? What could be better than going out into the woods, the local park or your own backyard, and coming home with a bounty of edibles?

In addition to blueberries and amaranth, my friends in Maine pick sumac berries to make an unusual lemon-free lemonade, and bee balm for teas and tinctures. In Vermont, the harvest of wild leeks (or ramps) is a covert affair, as otherwise law-abiding citizens smuggle these illicit wares begging to be pickled back into Quebec.

Here, in Montreal and its environs, there are manifold of foraging finds, and if you do the work yourself — instead of, say, flying to Denmark and feasting on the foraged spoils that make up much of the menu at René Redzepi’s Noma (the Best Restaurant in the World, and one that employs dozens of foragers) — it costs absolutely nothing.

But there are dangers as well. Pop the wrong mushroom into your mouth and the consequences can be severe, and it is this anxiety that makes it so hard for me to trust myself when foraging.

I have good reason to be concerned. When I was a teenager, I worked as a park interpreter in Alberta, a job that required me to “interpret” nature for city slickers. My go-to phrase that summer, given to me by my boss when he realized it was far too late into the season to replace me, was this: “I’m not sure what that is — moose/elk, grizzly/black bear, edible/poisonous, but I am happy to ask someone who does when we get back to camp!” Fortunately for those who accompanied me on those nature walks, we did not run into bears or poisonous fruits.

So while the closet doomsteader in me might want to learn how to survive in the wild, I am for now dependent on folks who can say without a doubt that what I am about to put in my mouth is not going to kill me. Or better yet, I can take leisurely strolls in nature, musing on the possibility that I am surrounded by dinner, and then go to the Jean-Talon market and buy something delicious from the trusted folks at Les Jardins Sauvages.

The first thing that you notice when you approach their stand is that you don’t recognize most of what they have for sale. Aside from the wild blueberries and fiddleheads that are common to Quebec eaters, they specialize in wild mushrooms and an array of salty sea grasses.

On this last trip to the market, I was less adventurous than I could have been, going for a mushroom that is somewhat familiar to me: the chanterelle. Like many foraged goods, the chanterelle is a pricey creature, but one that can be easily found if you know what you’re looking for. And though there are actually many different subgenres of chanterelle, the most familiar is average in size, with a creamy egg-yolk yellow colour and fan-like shape.

Because of their cost — at Les Jardins Sauvages, 100 grams, which is enough to satisfy two eaters, will run you seven bucks — chanterelles are often used to make decadent dishes even more decadent. You will see them gussied up with butter and cream and dolloped onto beef tenderloin, or served alongside lobster. But for me, if I am going to splurge, I don’t want the cost to dictate the way I consume them.

What matters is that the mushrooms are lightly rinsed and patted dry — unless you’re one of those gourmets who think that mushrooms should never be washed — and that they are sautéed until cooked, as their flavours don’t truly shine when raw (you can tell they’re done when they soften and begin to sweat). I like to use butter when sautéeing, but you can also use olive oil. When they are close to being done, I splash them with a little wine, bourbon or tequila, squeeze on some lemon to brighten the flavour, and salt and pepper to taste.

Because our long weekend was a meaty affair, I was craving a vegetarian meal, and so piled the mushrooms atop a mountain of steamed quinoa and peppery sautéed tatsoi — another of the Birri Brothers’ unusual greens that is most reminiscent of bok choy — and served them alongside some avocado, cherry tomatoes, chunks of feta and a seasonal favourite, corn on the cob. ■