Mushrooms are popping up everywhere. In parks and gardens, you can find them under trees and sometimes out in the open fields. There are quite a few types I have noticed. Some that look like the edible field mushrooms, others that are brown and crinkly and others still that look like orange peel. There are also plenty of signs warning people of the death cap mushroom which is prevalent in Canberra. It is the world’s deadliest mushroom, with a mortality rate up to 50% for those who have consumed it.
I have become wary of foraging for mushrooms but this has not always been so. As a child, living in the Vienna woods, I learnt to distinguish edible from inedible mushrooms. My guide was an old stick of a man called Poldi, who spent much of his day sipping beer at the train station kiosk. I’d pick all the mushrooms I could, carry them to Poldi and spread them out on the wooden table where he sat. He would patiently sort through them and teach me what to look for. In a short time, I was a competent mushroom forager. I had to be.
There was never much food on the table at our house and in late summer and throughout autumn, mushrooms became our staple diet. It was my job to find them. I would head into the woods with my trusted dog Rigó and keep my eyes to the ground. It was rare that I’d go home without a full basket; the consequences meant going hungry. Oddly, I don’t remember these times as drudgery or deprivation, no, I remember them fondly through the rose blush tint of nostalgia.
Ten years ago, I went back to those woods and looked out for mushrooms. I was trying to recapture my childhood but soon came to understand the futility of this venture. It was lovely walking through the woods and I even recognised some of the paths I used to take. The mushrooms, however, were foreign to me. I could no longer distinguish the edible from the poisonous. I even went to a farmer’s market to buy local mushrooms only to find them chewy and far too strong for my taste.
Strangely, I still love mushrooms. I now tend to stick to the ubiquitous supermarket variety which I could eat daily cooked in a variety of ways. You’d think I would be sick of them after my childhood years but they have stayed a comforting staple of my diet. Despite evidence to the contrary, I still look back to that time as my golden years. And perhaps, viewed through the eyes of a child, they really were.
From Quill to Quote 