All about mushrooms

On Sunday it rained. And rained. And rained. And in the afternoon, it cleared. The fungi season has come late upon us, due to a prolonged dry spell. We were keen to see if recent wet weather had persuaded any mushrooms or fungi to sprout. There were some, but not as many as we are used to. and mostly of the 'dull' beige-brown variety which blend in with the fallen leaves.

We did discover a new, prolific corner of the woods, which was crammed with goodies. To his delight, Andy found a 'Penny Bun'. If you watch Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, Valentine Warner and the rest of our lovely hunter-gathering TV chefs, you might believe that all you have to do is walk into a field and Boletus/Chicken of the Woods/Truffles/Morels/Chanterelles will be growing in abundance, conveniently within camera shot and almost leap-frogging into your picturesque basket. Sadly, despite many years of fungi hunting, I have yet to find such happy hunting grounds, and this is the very first we have found, anywhere. See the little knife? It belonged to Andy's grandfather. We always cut the stalks, to avoid pulling up the root system. Remember this knife; it makes another appearance, later on.

This part of the woods proved to be a treasure trove. It was also Someone Else's pet puffball patch; there were white cut stumps, evidencing another fungi gatherer. We found plenty of others.

I was particularly interested in a colony of what looked like Shaggy Parasoles, but were browner than any I had ever seen. I didn't trust my judgement enough to pick any.

Bliss it is to shuffle through autumn leaves, ducking under branches, hunting for mushrooms to photograph or pick. It got dark all too soon, but we were partly compensated by a lovely sunset. We headed home with our foragings.

Supper was rather inevitable, with homemade bread. Earthy tasting goodness.

Today I found myself in the woods again, and being on my own, did a little 'off pisting'. I pretty much know where things grow along the footpaths, and was looking for new spots. I dived into the undergrowth, following deer paths.

At once I found some wood blewits, already feasted on by some woodland creature, but there were enough for me to gather.

Back to the new puffball patch. Sure enough, since our last visit, more had popped up.

Some had gone over; only ever eat the white fruit bodies- if the interior is anything other than pristine white, discard. I learnt this the hard way when I was eleven and gave myself a very nasty upset stomach, eating a slightly yellowing specimen. This one is already at the 'puff' stage, exploding to let loose powdery spores.

I revisited my 'are-they-aren't-they' possible shaggy parasoles. They had grown pretty fast and were looking more familiar. Here they are, on Sunday -

And today -

I picked one close by that I was sure was 'right'.

Looking at this fallen one, it has all the characteristics of a shaggy parasole. But I would need to get home to double check.

Further on I found a wonderful city of fresh Birch Polypores, or 'razor strops'. They are inedible, but look so pretty growing together. My fungi bible, 'Mushrooms' by Roger Phillips, records that Otzi, the 'Iceman' mummy found in the Alps, was carrying some, possibly for antibiotic use.

Now I wanted to see how the large fly agaric that we had found on Sunday was faring. First of all I located its baby brother. The other day it had looked like this;

Today it was missing most of it's white spots, but had survived fairly well.

Cheek by jowl were also growing wood blewits (top left corner) puffballs, (centre right) and there is our rotting agaric friend lying in the leaf mould (bottom right corner). A little more cropping to be done.

Reaching in my pocket for the knife I found - nothing. Well, my gloves, my mobile, assorted bags and various other gubbins, but no knife. Oh, how many times had I nagged poor Andy about looking after his Grandfather's knife, and 'give it to me or you'll lose it'...

With my heart beating faster I followed my route back to the last place I might have left it - the maybe-parasol patch. Did I carelessly put it down while I was taking shots of them? Yes, I had. Oh happy day! There it was, blending in rather too well with the woodland floor. Can you see it? Look closer...

I felt a huge wave of relief at not losing a precious family heirloom (and not mine either). Back it went to the safety of my pocket.

I retraced my steps again, harvested a few Blewits and puffballs, and found the large Fly Agaric Andy had found on Sunday. Then it looked like this -

Today it is decaying beautifully; the red skin must be particularly delicious to slugs, although the whole thing is, of course, poisonous to humans.

I returned across the fields to my bike, pondering that I was sure I had found parasoles along the edge here before, and sure enough, as if prompted - can you spot them?

The little darlings. And their big brother growing in splendid solitude nearby;

Out came the nearly-lost knife and into my bag they went. A good haul.

Back at the cottage, I checked my bible, and confirmed that I had indeed picked two types of Parasole Mushrooms. The flesh turns pinky red when it is cut or bruised and the not-quite-sure one with the browner cap was already blushing. I cannot emphasise enough that you should check, check and check again when identifying mushrooms to eat. I always do, even though this has been my hobby since I was 10. I will eat nothing if in doubt; use a guide to see early fruiting stages, read about the habitat, whether it is rare, what it can be confused with. Google image search is a very good way of seeing various specimens and finding useful websites.

I am pleased to relate that the blewits, puffballs and parasoles provided an excellent lunch, with no side effects.

All in the name...

Another mushroom hunt, on a dull, damp Sunday afternoon, with the woodlands glowing softly against the grey sky in shades of saffron and mustard. It began to rain. I found an old tube of extra strong mints in my anorak pocket. Even less fungal activity than before, but the pine enclosure did not let us down - a beautiful lavender crop of Wood Blewits, which should last for a few days...

And nearby, a large congregation of these fellows. Yet again my trusty mushroom book seemed to have the perfect match - Clitocybe Inversa. Description - tick. Picture match - tick. Growing in spruce land - tick. But we have never eaten this before. Back home with a healthy pink glow and mugs of hot chocolate, we got out our other fungi books and Googled. The first thing we do before trying a new species is to check, check and check again - and to make sure it can't be confused with anything poisonous.

Now a little confusion set in. It probably was Clitocybe Inversa, but another book had an identical looking picture labelled Clitocybe Flaccida. Googling almost made the situation worse - it also looked identical to Lepista Inversa, which also ticked the right boxes? Oh, hang on, apparantly, Clitocybe Inversa has a variant called Clitocybe Flaccida. But Wiki says that Clitocybe Flaccida is the new name for Lepista Flaccida...and they all look the same...ah, that would be something to do with there being a 'generic revision' between Lepista and Clitocybe - so they used to be different but now they are the same. According to the boffins.
But the good news was whatever you choose to call it, they are edible. Conclusion - much easier to call it by its common name - Tawny Funnel Cap. Cuts to the chase and tells it how it is; it's tawny. It's funnel shaped. And very nice when fried, and served with meatballs and gravy. Andy said they were a bit tasteless. I said they were free.

The calling

The mushroom season is late. No rain, just heavy autumn mists. But at last, something called from deep within the woods...

...it might have been the death groans of this monstrous Earthball...a grotesque behemoth, and sadly inedible.

It could have been the trilling of this little dandy chap, an Orange Peel fungus, from the Elf Cup family. Lovely to look at, apparently edible according to this site, but not to our guide books - and more fit left as a jewel in the grass than fried in the pot...

... or was it the bellowing of a big shambling herd of Shaggy Parasoles, caught by Andy in a clearing, and quickly harvested before they could escape?

Perhaps it was the thin and reedy keening of the Sulphur Tuft, sickly yellow, and horribly poisonous - unless you are a woodland creature. Under the pine plantation, where the badgers thrive in their underground metropolis, they are nibbled and uprooted beneath the November moon.

But no, the call was the joyous song of our first Wood Blewits; a perfect match in the book I have had since I was eight. Lavender in colour, meaty in texture, and just waiting for my little knife to cut them free from the bonds of the piney earth.

Every cap is checked for internal inhabitants, wiped clean and fried - especially the dear little Wood Blewits, which need to be cooked thoroughly to avoid the mild allergic reaction they can produce in some people. Puffballs are examined for the slightest sign of yellowing, and discarded if not pristine white inside. The only time I gave myself an upset stomach from a wild mushroom was by eating an aging Puffball when I was eleven. Never again.

Into the pot, with five roasted chicken thighs, a tin of black eyed beans, sauteed leek, various bits of This and That, garlic, herbs, gravy...left in a medium oven for a couple of hours...and eaten before anyone had time to take a photo...

There is so much studio work to be done. But at this time of year, when the calling is strongest, half of my heart lies here...