"On
mushrooms?!" - you'll say. And I'd respond: "Why, yes, yes,
on mushrooms, 'cause why the heck not?!" Aren't
you tired of politics? I don't care what continent you live on right
now, you must be weary of this political stage the world is keeping
us on nowadays.
So,
we'll talk about mushrooms today just to change things up.
A couple
of years back, I went to a Kathy Griffin stand-up show. As usual, it
was hysterical, but aside from that, she told a story about she and
Cher, the legend. Apparently they are good friends and one night
Kathy was visiting Cher and they got hungry. So Kathy told Cher to
order a pizza. Allegedly, Cher asked: "I don't know how pizza
happens, Kathy! How does pizza happen?!"
And that
bit just stuck with me.
Last
week, I bought this huge carton of mini portobello mushrooms and I
was washing them in a pot, in the sink. I know Rachel Ray tells you
to never wash mushrooms, but just to brush them with a wet paper
towel, but I don't buy that. I wash mushrooms the same way I have
washed them ever since I was 6 years old and I picked them in the
woods myself.
My American 'convenience' mushrooms
Washing
that huge pot of mushrooms in my sink took me right back to the days
when my sister and I came home from a whole day in the woods with
bags full of mushrooms (most of them looked like mini portobellos ).
Washing the mushrooms was us, kids', job. We had to put them in
buckets and sink them in water – they don't really sink, the
suckers, they mostly float. But what that does is make the dirt and
the pine needles float, as well, so you can scoop that out.
Washing
mushrooms is a thankless job, because you never feel like they are
ever clean. All those little folds under the hat are full of dirt and
needles and they stay pretty much that way, regardless of your
efforts. You can change the water in the pot 100 times, and I
guarantee you that you'd still have dirt floating at the top.
For a
moment there, I relived so many wonderful childhood memories. My
sister and I and all of our friends, wandering the woods of Northern
Carpathians in search of mushrooms. The smell of the woods came back
to me. The slopes, steep with almost no trails. The sore calves
trying to stay up-right and trying not to squish the bag full of
mushrooms under us, when we did fall on our butts. The smell of sweat
in the summer crisp mountain air. The sting of the bug bites we got
and the acid burn of the cuts we got while making our way through the
brush.
The
sharp pain shooting straight into our brains from the freezing
mountain stream water pouring over our hands as we were washing the
mushrooms when we got home. We would run our fingers through the
mushrooms in the ice cold water to make the dirt come off of them.
The voice of the parents threatening us that there won't be no dinner
if they'd found one spec of dirt in the mushrooms before they'd cook
them for us. The weight of the stack of wood we would bring from the
shed to make the fire to cook them on the stove.
This was
more than a childhood adventure, this was our dinner. We would have
gone to bed with milk and a moldy piece of bread if we didn't bring
home mushrooms or berries from the woods. Trust me: we knew how
mushrooms happened! In dark woods, in the shade (they love shade),
sometimes under roots and moss, this is where they love to grow. The
darker, the better and the bigger mushrooms. With lots of help and
lots of work to bring them home, get them cleaned and then cooked.
This is how mushrooms happen.
Although
we were kids, we knew the good ones from the "crazy" ones
(the ones that make you crazy, not the ones that behave crazy). We
also knew the different tastes – the yellow, small ones were sweet
and full of flavor, but you had to find tons of them to make a meal
and they are not easy to find. The mini portobellos were the easiest
to find, and the huge portobellos close to impossible. Dry years were
the worst, because they hate drought. It gave us purpose, and
knowledge into the way the world works, something that kids nowadays
... well, don't get me started.
Now, 30
some years later, in my kitchen, I was wondering as I was cleaning
and cutting these beauties for my dinner: "I wonder if kids
nowadays know how mushrooms happen?! I wonder if they just think
Costco makes them." They probably do.
To this
day, mushrooms in gravy and garlic sauce is one of my favorite meals.
And every time I make it, I relive those far away days when my sister
and I would scour for food. I am grateful for such simple memories
for they are anything but simple.
