I love spooky stories, and if they’re being shared around a campfire or on some winter evening, even better. But this is not one of those, it’s more about a haunting—by mushroom. Let me explain.
Once upon a time, I was at a small dinner party sometime in late fall (of course)—friends, food, different conversations going on at the same time. And somewhere in the middle of all the chatter appeared this glistening plate of chanterelles, lightly sauteed with butter, wine, and a bit of cream. So simply prepared and delicious beyond anything I’d ever tasted (mushroom-wise). We all did that polite dance of “would you like some more?…No, I couldn’t…Are you sure?…Well, maybe just a little.” And then it was gone, all of it, even the sauce. Of course, then we asked our friend if he would share how it was prepared. And it was simply a bit of this, and a dash of that—casually thrown together as one does when you’re a culinary genius. I had a feeling then that I wouldn’t be able to recreate the exact balance of flavors from that dish. And despite my best efforts, it still turns out slightly different every time; always delicious but never quite like that night.
Where I live, chanterelles are available only in the fall, so I’ll have to wait until September or October, depending on the weather. In the meantime, I scooped up these beauties:
