I was seventeen at the time, and the mushroom, which I nearly trod on while walking up to a loch to fish for brown trout, was quite simply the biggest I had ever seen. Its dark brown cap was the colour of an overbaked loaf of bread and the size and shape of a slightly deflated football cut in half. Underneath the cap was a mass of cream-coloured spongiform pores. Overall the mushroom seemed in prime condition: firm, hard and cool to the touch. Part of me wanted to take it, and part of me wanted to hide behind a tree and wait for the gnome who obviously lived in it to come home from his afternoon walk. It looked so very toadstooly and lethal to my uneducated eye that in the end I left it where it was. The next day I went into Inverness in search of a mushroom field guide and found a copy of Mushrooms by Roger Phillips (still the best taxonomic guide there is). I was pretty sure I could identify the specimen as something rather charmingly called a penny bun (or cep, from the French cèpe). And I was amazed to read that it was in fact fairly common, especially in the Highlands. But what surprised me even more was the bold typeface at the end of the entry that pronounced judgement on a mushroom's status with regard to the risk of poisoning. It said 'Edible. Excellent.' That afternoon I returned to my mushroom and, without any further consideration for the resident gnome, filched it.
Not having an elaborate repertoire of mushroom recipes at my disposal, I decided to treat my prize catch much as I would a regular field mushroom: sliced and fried gently in butter with a little garlic, then served on toast. It was quite delicious. But more than that it was exciting, adventurous and new. Like a first kiss, or a first beer, I somehow knew it was a turning point. Life was never going to be quite the same again. I was already a keen cook, but for the first time I realised that food, and the discovery of food, could be a central rather than peripheral thing in life. There was just so much out there to find out about.
At that time, nearly twenty years ago, we were, as a nation, collectively ignorant about the edibility of our native fungi. We just about knew what a field mushroom was, and if we lived in the country we may even have had the confidence to pick and eat it. But pretty much everything else was a toadstool, pregnant with the risks that this ancient pejorative implies. That's all changed now. Wild mushrooms are no longer fiendishly dangerous, they are fiendishly trendy. 'Are the ceps fresh?' you hear besuited yuppies loudly asking the waiters in expensive London restaurants from August onwards. But there's still something maybe even they don't know: the secret, solitary pleasure of creeping through bosky woods in early autumn, the smell of leaf mould rising from the warm, damp floor, the feeling that something rather weird may be happening not very far away.
Now, as then, I find there is something intense and even spooky about mushroom collecting. It is less casual, and more committed, than other forms of food foraging. It often seems to me more like hunting than gathering: in fact it may well be the perfect way to satisfy the sublimated blood lust of those reluctant to kill for food!
Safety
But whatever the thrills of the hunt, safety first: there are some 3,000 species of large-bodied fungi growing in this country, of which most are quite harmless, about hundred are both edible and worthwhile, and about twenty may be seriously harmful, even fatal. The priority of all mushroom gatherers must be to home in on the happy hundred and avoid at all costs the terrible twenty.
The first thing to say on that score is that nothing that follows in this article is intended to be a foolproof guide to the identification, and therefore absolute safety, of edible mushrooms. I have been selective in the mushrooms I am writing about, and selectivity always rules out absolute certainty. At the end of the day, it is more important to be able to identify a poisonous mushroom than an edible one, and I'm afraid that's not something this article is going to help you with. The only foolproof field guide, therefore, is a comprehensive, fully illustrated one, as it allows you to make direct comparisons between the edible target mushrooms and similar-looking fungi that may be inedible or poisonous.
Favourite Fungi
It would be a mistake to dash into a wood armed with a field guide and attempt to identify every fungus you see, and pick all the edible ones you can lay your hands on. Better to start with a few species and slowly build up a repertoire as you gain confidence and expertise. What follows is a clutch of my favourites, all of which are fairly common, and fairly easy to identify.
For each species I offer a few simple cooking suggestions. Bear in mind that these are often little more than conceits (as opposed to receipts). All are subject to variation according to your personal whim, and many may be appropriate for species other than those for which they are specified.
Field mushroom (Agaricus campestris and others)
If you ever picked mushrooms as a child before the 1980s, they were probably 'field mushrooms'. In fact the term is a loose one, used to refer to several members of the Agaricus family. Perhaps the defining characteristics of the fungi that go by this name are that they grow mainly on pasture and grassland, and look much like the 'ordinary' cultivated mushrooms that you see in the shops, which are basically the same species. They are among the commonest wild mushrooms, and among the easiest to find, since they grow on pastureland and are about as well camouflaged as a golf ball on a well-watered fairway in May (talking of which, golf courses can be happy hunting grounds for mushrooms). The cap is generally white or off-white, sometimes buff, or grey-brown. The gills can be pale pink when the mushroom is young and fresh, changing to pale brown as it first opens, and darkening almost to black when the mushroom has opened right out and been standing for a few days.
Besides the campestris, there are two other notable and fairly common species of Agaricus: the large (sometimes plate-sized) horse mushroom (Agaricus arvensis), with its buff-coloured cap and aniseedy smell; and Agaricus bisporus, father of the cultivated mushroom, with its slightly flaking cap, beloved of compost and broken wasteground - I have even found it pushing through cracked tarmac in a London car park. It is sometimes hard to be sure exactly which species of Agaricus one has encountered, but there is only one that will do you any harm: the aptly named yellow stainer, which superficially resembles the ordinary field mushroom but whose cap has yellow streaks, deepening when handled or bruised. When cut, it smells distinctly of carbolic acid. It is not lethal but could cause a stomach upset.
Gathering field mushrooms is widely thought of as an autumnal pursuit, but the mushrooms can appear as early as July if the right combination of damp weather followed by sunshine occurs. Whilst mowing and grazing seem to encourage the growth of mushrooms, the greatest enemy of all field mushrooms is chemical farming. You are far more likely to find a good crop on organic pastureland and untreated hay meadows - sadly fewer than they once were. Like all mushrooms, field mushrooms should be checked for maggots and other parasites, but good, fresh specimens rarely need washing or peeling: simply wipe off any dirt, grit or leaf matter with a cloth.
Freshly gathered field mushrooms can be used in any recipe that calls for cultivated mushrooms - to which they will always be superior. Although field mushrooms complement many other ingredients, especially shellfish, generally speaking I like those I have gathered simply cooked, and served, so that they taste as much as possible of themselves.
Penny bun (Boletus edulis) and other Boletus
The French call it cèpe, the Italians call it porcini ('little pig') but our name - sadly, rarely used - is surely the most charming of all. These days this bun will cost you rather more than a penny - though it's still free to those who take the time to hunt it down. Whatever you call it, this mushroom is widely considered the greatest culinary prize of the fungus hunter. So much so that any known habitats to which the public have easy access (such as the New Forest) are becoming literally overrun by mushroom collectors, both amateur and professional. The result is that in some places you'd have to get up a lot earlier than I for one would be prepared to, just to stand a chance of finding a penny bun. I don't, however, condemn those who pick mushrooms and sell them on commercially. They have as much right to profit from their own special expertise as a scallop diver or lobster potter. But I don't like to compete with them either, as it's a competition I (and other amateurs) can hardly win. Luckily, for the time being at least, I have a few stamping grounds that are not yet main roads on the mushroom map. I wish you luck in finding the same. The whole Boletus family is distinguished by its round-capped, classic toadstool shape, but more precisely by the lack of gills, of the kind that field mushrooms have. Instead, you will find under the cap a mass of tiny tubes, which make the underside look like a fine sponge. In the case of the penny bun, the cap is dark brown and the pores creamy white, turning yellowish in older specimens. They grow near trees, often in grassy clearings and along the edges of woods. They can be huge - sometimes as much as 30cm across, and weighing over 500g. Other species of Boletus are just as worthwhile: the summer cep (Boletus aereus), with its toast-brown stem, is found near beech and oak; the bay bolete (Boletus badius) has a thinner stem and a chestnut-brown cap; and the orange birch bolete (Leccinum versipelle) is found near birch and has an unusually long stem. All are good eating, and make a worthwhile contribution to a mixed bag of Boletus.
There are many other types of Boletus, some good to eat, some indifferent. The only really nasty member of the tribe is the devil's bolete (Boletus satanus), distinctive for its white-grey cap with red-orange pores underneath and the flush of red veining on the stem. It is not thought to be deadly, but can certainly cause severe gastric upsets. If in any doubt, you should (as with all mushrooms) consult a comprehensive field guide.
Where possible, pick Boletus mushrooms on a dry day as, once picked, wet mushrooms loose condition rapidly. The Boletus family, and particularly the penny bun, are sadly prone to larval infestation. Check carefully in the base of the stem and the centre of the cap before cooking. Clean off any dirt with a mushroom brush. (You don't have a mushroom brush?! Neither do I, but a pastry brush does the job.) My initial preparation for penny buns and other Boletus is always the same; they can then be used in a number of ways. Heat a generous tablespoon of olive oil in a large frying pan and throw in a crushed clove (or two) of garlic. Add the sliced ceps before the garlic takes colour, and a light sprinkling of salt to help release the juices. Cook fairly gently, tossing and turning the mushrooms until the water they release has evaporated (if there is a lot of it, which there will be if the mushrooms were very wet, turn up the heat to boil it off, then turn it down again). Cook until the mushrooms are tender and tasty, and any liquid left in the pan is sufficiently reduced to be a sauce rather than a nuisance. Season to taste with salt and freshly ground black pepper, then stir in a knob of butter. Boletus cooked like this can be served on toast or, better still, on a mound of creamy mashed potato.
Chanterelle (girolle Fr.) (Cantharellus cibarius)
Happening on a patch of chanterelles is a joyous affair. One of the prettiest and best flavoured of all wild mushrooms, they look shockingly cheeky when you first encounter them - like little orange piglets hiding in the mossy grass. They are to be found in all kinds of woodland but are especially associated with pine, beech and birch. I have had my best successes in Scotland and Ireland, where chanterelles can be locally prolific in the mossy banks and grassy patches of damp woods. They can be found as early as July in wet summers, and as late as December in mild winters.
The egg-yellow, trumpet-shaped mushrooms have forked veins that are almost continuous with the stem. The caps of larger and older specimens can be ragged at the edges. They are widely, and rightly, said to smell of apricots - appropriately enough, given their colour. Chanterelles are firm fleshed and robust - one of the few mushrooms that can stand washing (not that they need it, if picked carefully). I rarely combine them with other ingredients in composite dishes, preferring to prepare them to their own greater glory and enjoy them on their own. They are good simply sautéed in butter with a little garlic and chopped wild chervil (or parsley), but my favourite preparation is to cook them gently in milk with a little salt, garlic and pepper until the liquid has reduced to a creamy, glossy coating sauce.
Chicken of the woods or Sulphur polypore Lateiporus sulphureus
Chicken of the woods is one of the fungi that make it worthwhile looking up as well as down when you are out mushrooming. It's one of only two bracket fungi that are really worth eating - the other is called beefsteak fungus. It's not that common, but when you do find one its many layers of sulphur-yellow meat may sometimes provide you with well over a kilo of excellent fungal flesh.
Chickens grow on old trees, favouring oak and yew, though they are occasionally found on willow and sweet chestnut. They may appear any time from the onset of mild weather in April until the first frosts of late autumn. Only fresh, young specimens are really good for the pot - the yellower, the better. Older, woody specimens fade to dull, pale yellow and eventually to white, by which time they have a cardboard texture and an insipid, musty flavour.
For general culinary purposes, first wipe the fungus clean and cut it into slices or cubes according to your recipe, trimming away any damaged, tough or woody pieces as you go. Chicken of the woods can then be treated pretty much like meat. Why not chicken? Slices or chunks can be simmered in a little stock or sweated gently in butter until tender, then rolled in seasoned flour, dipped in beaten egg, tossed in breadcrumbs and deep-fried. The result will be better than any chicken nugget you'll get in a takeaway, with or without a 'Mc' in front of it. They also complement real chicken (the feathered kind), as well as pork and beef, and can be added in cubes or thick slices to stews and casseroles made from any of these meats. Always add to a simmering pot about half an hour before serving.
St George's mushroom (Tricholoma gambosum)
The St George's mushroom is supposed to appear every year on the day of its eponymous saint (23rd April). In reality it will usually be early May before the first specimens appear, but it's nonetheless welcome for that, being one of the very few worthwhile fungi that can be found before high summer (others are the Jew's ear, morel and chicken of the woods). It likes pastures, meadows, grassy wood edges and road verges, and is usually found in small clusters or rings. The creamy white-brown colour of the cap makes the unpicked mushroom look like an infeasibly premature field mushroom, but the colour of the gills (the same creamy white) makes identification at this time of year fairly foolproof.
St George's mushrooms are usually very clean, and barely need a wipe. Smaller ones can be kept whole and used like button mushrooms. Larger ones should be sliced. Generally speaking, they can be prepared like field mushrooms (though they are less palatable raw). They have a particularly good texture, so I never liquidise them into a soup, though I sometimes add them, lightly sautéed, to a creamy soup made from other mushrooms.
Giant puffball (Langermannia gigantea)
A good-sized giant puffball in decent condition is one of the great fungal finds - all the better because it usually comesas a complete surprise. Although theyare not uncommon in grassy fields, hedgerows and wood edges, the effort of actively looking for them is rarely rewarded. They are more likely to be encountered while searching for other species, and most likely of all on a long, late-summer walk when fungi are far from the mind. Puffballs well over a metre in circumference have been found, but the more usual size is somewhere between your fist and your head. I found some near River Cottage with my friends, Paddy and Nick, when we were filming the television series. There were nine in all, in a circle about 20 metres in diameter, and they were all pretty much head sized. It was one of the most exciting mushroom-hunting moments I have had, and the fact that the cameras were there to record it was pretty amazing: a television first, I think? To be worthwhile, a specimen must be a clean, milky-white colour and largely unblemished, both on the outside and throughout. Older specimens will start to wrinkle and darken until they are a grey-brown, dried-out shadow of their former selves, puffing out their spores (some seven billion of them) into the autumn winds. In a good, fresh specimen, little cleaning is needed. Simply wipe the puffball clean and cut a thickish slice off the base end to check that the inside is white right through.
The texture and flavour of the giant puffball is like that of a firm young field mushroom, with no gills. Thin slices of puffball can be used as sliced field mushrooms, sautéed and served on toast, or made into risottos, sauces and soups. They are also good cooked in milk (like chanterelles - see above). But the great joy of the giant puffball is its size, and I prefer to serve it in a way that preserves the spectacle: stuffed. For the full recipe, click here.
Parasol and shaggy parasol (Lepiota procera and Lepiota rhacodes)
This excellent mushroom is fairly common and easy to identify. As the name suggests, it really does look like an umbrella. The stem is often impressively tall (up to 30cm) and the cup impressively wide (up to 25cm in diameter), with a distinctive nipple in the centre. Both stem and cap are slightly scaly, and there is a ring on the stem where the cap was attached before the mushroom opened. The shaggy parasol looks similar but the pale brown scales on the cap are rougher and more substantial, giving it a very distinctive flaky appearance. Both species are often found growing in dramatic rings. Parasols and shaggy parasols make excellent eating - firm fleshed and highly flavoured, almost chickeny - provided you get to them in time. Ideally they should be picked just before or just after the cap has opened away from the stem. Once they have been fully open for a while, they become dry and unpalatable.
Young specimens can be sliced and used like field mushrooms. When just opened and still fleshy, the caps make great fritters. Dip them in batter and deep-fry until crisp and golden.
Oyster mushrooms (pleurottes Fr.) (Pleurotus ostreatus)
A good find of oyster mushrooms can be spectacular but, like the chicken of the woods, you are unlikely to make one unless you remember to look up as well as down when you are tramping the woods. Oyster mushrooms grow on the trunks or branches of dead or dying deciduous wood, especially beech. They grow in layered shelves, rather like a bracket fungus, but they have the veins to indicate that they are a true mushroom. The colour varies from silvery grey ('the colour of a Weimaraner dog', as a friend of mine once observed) to a fawny beige. Oyster mushrooms are now being cultivated on a large scale, and can be bought relatively cheaply in the supermarket. But the cultivated variety does not have the strength of flavour of the truly wild mushroom.
Since they grow off the ground, oyster mushrooms are usually very clean, needing barely a wipe. Even in wild oyster mushrooms, the flavour is not strong, though it's certainly pleasant enough, and the texture is good. I like to fry them up in olive oil, whole or in large slices, with plenty of garlic. They are also particularly good in Oriental-style clear soups, where the distinctive texture contrasts nicely with the softness of noodles and the crunch of spring onions.
Morels (Morchella esculenta)
Morels are among the most sought after, and therefore the most expensive, of all wild mushrooms. I suspect that this is due rather more to their rarity and their very distinctive shape, which looks so good on a plate (chefs in expensive restaurants love to use them as a garnish), than to their taste. Not that they don't have a good flavour: they are pleasantly musty and distinctive. But £300 a kilo? Do me a favour. On the other hand, if you can get them for free...
Knowing the common wind line in a wood is useful when collecting many kinds of mushroom, but particularly morels, as they start to release spores almost as soon as they emerge from the ground. Mark the first morel you find with a stick and then walk away from it in the direction of the usually prevailing wind. If you don't know the wind line, you can walk around the stick in an ever-increasing spiral. When you find a second mushroom, mark that too, and walk in the line indicated by joining the two sticks.
Morels are distinctive in a number of ways, besides their price. They are strictly spring mushrooms, occurring from March to May in open woodland and other shady places, mainly on chalky and sandy soil. They are sometimes found on sand dunes, and burnt ground is also thought to encourage them (though attempts to cultivate the morel on this kind of ground have been largely unsuccessful). The cap is wrinkled and pitted like a sea sponge, 2-7cm across, and the white stem is hollow inside. Beware of the superficially similar and mildly poisonous (it won't kill you, but may make you sick) false morel. It is of similar size and colouring, but close examination reveals that instead of pitted sponge, the cap comprises tubular lobes, like a brain.
The deep pits in the cap of the morel are a favourite hiding place for tiny insects, and the priority of preparation is to remove them. A good flick and shake will get rid of some of them but there may be persistent lurkers. Morels can therefore be dropped into well-salted water and left until the insects crawl out. They are then usually cut in half - the cap and stem are both hollow - to expose the final hiding place for debris, be it animal, vegetable or mineral. The spongy cap of the morel makes it a good absorber of sauces - another reason why these mushrooms are often used to garnish expensive dishes in top restaurants. Meat and game are served with an intense reduction of juices, which the morel can nicely mop up. But if you haven't paid a fortune for your morels, you can feel liberated to use them in ways - and quantities - that a Michelin-starred chef would consider criminally extravagant: they make a particularly beautiful risotto.
Morels dry well. Thread whole ones on a string and leave them in an airing cupboard or very low oven until completely desiccated.
Jew's ear (Auricularia auricula-judae)
This highly distinctive mushroom grows exclusively on dead or dying wood, usually elder, and varies in colour from pale reddish brown to dark. It is strangely gelatinous and fleshy in texture, and does indeed look very like a dismembered ear, or collection of ears, stuck on the side of a tree. Hard and cold when young, it eventually dries out to a crisp. In mild weather, it can be found at any time of year.
It's the young specimens that make good eating, and though the flavour is mild, the texture is intriguing: pleasantly resistant to the bite. I like to cut them into fine slivers and add them to creamy sauces, especially for fish. They should first be sweated gently in butter, or simmered in a little stock, to tenderise.