We saw leaves go to glory,

Then almost migratory

Go part way down the lane,

And then to end the story

Get beaten down and pasted

In one wild day of rain.

 

So wrote Robert Frost, in his poem "November." And to be sure, we've had those days here. On the heels of a killing frost last week came a smattering of snow that turned into icy rain before ushering in warmer days. A little green still clings on in the garden, as you can see above. I just harvested lots of mint and sage, both of which are drying now and will be used in my big batch of garden tea: lemongrass, lemon verbena, lemon balm, mint, anise hyssop, scented geranium, lavender, sage, chamomile, calendula and rose petals.

 

Dear friends and supporters, if you have not yet heard, I have relinquished my role in Fish &  Bicycle. The official language is this: 

 

Laura Silverman is leaving Fish & Bicycle to pursue other projects. She is proud to have helped create the vision and fully endorses Juliette Hermant as she brings this much-needed Catskills venture to life.

 

It's all true and yet says nothing of my heartache. I fear disappointing you, but I trust you to extend your kindness and compassion when I need it most. I hope whatever other projects I pursue allow me to do the things I love and share them with you.

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When the weather is rainy and the woods become damp and funky, I hear the siren song of the mushrooms. They beseech me to venture deep into the understory on a thrilling quest full of promise. A good day means they are everywhere, in so many guises—popping up alongside the path, jutting out from tree trunks, spreading on the underside of rotting logs. They are red and brown and purple and neon yellow. I've always been a good spotter, known for my eagle eye, but I chock it up to a very simple technique: I seek out anomalies in the landscape. I soften or almost blur my vision, allowing my eye to catch upon whatever sticks out as different in the vast sameness. Along this journey, I absorb the deep stillness of the trees; hear the melancholy song of the wood lark; follow old trails and trace new ones; and feel a rich peace settle over me, a profound sense of contentment to be out in the natural world, where beauty knows no bounds.

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Fall has arrived, right on schedule. The nights are crisp and clear, making for excellent sleeping weather. We like the windows open and the duvet pulled up around our ears. The days feature those intensely blue high-pressure skies, a perfect showcase for the brilliant hues of the turning leaves. The woods beckon, still fresh and mossy, with pockets of green and the promise of mushrooms. I want nothing more than to be outside right now...unless I am curled up in front of the fire, feet toasty and a good book open in my lap, a cocktail close at hand. The pantry is stocked, the freezer is full and I am holding fast to these last days before the weather turns.
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Ah, August. A month whose name alludes to its impressive stature. It looms large, shimmering in the heat, revered as the last great beacon of summer. It's over now and September stretches ahead in the golden light, the first leaves smoldering red, the school bell ringing in the distance. Summer is so fleeting but I'll hold tight to my memories of Cape Cod, a place that with its salty air and sun-bleached shingles seems to encapsulate this season better than any other. A few days with dear friends in their beautiful home near the beach in Truro left us relaxed and rejuvenated, determined to go barefoot more often. We strolled, swam, cooked, lingered in the screened-in porch and slept soundly, dreaming of childhood.
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Oh yes, more mushrooms! And it's raining like the devil in these parts, so probably more yet to come. I'm still not complaining. G found a brilliant orange chicken mushroom growing on the split trunk of the oak tree that crashed through our back fence during Irene and it went right into a pot of soup. I have so much maitake (aka hen-of-the-woods or grifola frondosa) in my freezer—and dried, too—that I'm set for hot pots for the rest of the winter. All this bounty has led me to invent a delicious soup: wild mushroom made with wild mushroom stock. The only other wild thing I had on hand (other than my imagination, of course) was some wild rice, so I threw that in, too. It turned out wildly earthy, nutty, chewy—more of a stew, really. Perfect for these days of incipient fall, and for October 1st which is World Vegetarian Day. In fact, I think I read somewhere that October is Vegetarian Awareness month. Meaning that we're supposed to notice they exist? Whatever, it seems like a good excuse to whip up lots of vegetable-centric dishes. Hey, flavor them with bacon, I don't care. But let's explore a few we may not cook on a regular basis: kohlrabi, parsnips, mung bean sprouts, jerusalem artichokes, turnips, puntarelle. It's a wild world but somebody's got to eat it.
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Enough with the mushrooms! Or is it? I have felt myself becoming obsessed this past week. Any free moment I have, I'm stealing into the woods to search for black trumpets, chanterelles, hen-of-the-woods and chicken mushrooms. And I've been richly rewarded! We're supposed to get more rain this week, and I think by Friday a new crop may be sending out its siren song. I found so many maitakes that I gave half of them to my friend Tomo, who is connected to many of NYC's best Japanese chefs. Apparently they're all excited to cook with them! (I'll try to parlay this into an interview, or at least an interesting new mushroom recipe.) By now we've eaten mushrooms on toast, mushroom risotto, mushroom tempura and mushroom soup. I've frozen and dried enough to see me through the winter, but I still fantasize about what might be around the next tree! What's wrong with me??
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More maitake madness! The second hen-of-the-woods mushroom I found was even fresher and more delicate than the first. Having already eaten them sauteed in butter and spooned over toast, and then over gnocchi, I decided to follow my Japanese friend Tomo's advice and try my hand at maitake tempura. It was kind of a bold move, since I've never made tempura before, but I've grown much more comfortable with frying these days. Aside from being a bit messy, it's just not such a big deal. And the rewards, well, I don't have to tell you how wonderful it is to eat something hot and crispy and virtually greaseless. It's a taste and texture revelation. It turns out that tempura is a fantastic way to eat hen-of-the-woods. The crackling exterior perfectly complements the firm, meaty mushroom, which remains sweet and juicy. The flavor is mellow but very savory. While I was at it, I also fried up some zucchini and shishito peppers from our garden, and a few pieces of sweet Vidalia onion.
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I've caught the bug. My latest obsession is foraging for wild mushrooms. At this point, it's really not about eating them. I need to know much more about these fascinating fungi before I bring them to the dinner table. For starters, there are thousands upon thousands of different varieties! And you have to learn all the finer points of identification to be truly certain before popping one in your mouth. As the saying goes, "When in doubt, throw it out!" But with all the rain we've been having, the woods are fairly teeming with shrooms of all shapes and sizes and, after a recent gift of wild black trumpet mushrooms foraged by my friend Tomo in the woods near her house, I am hell-bent on finding my own mother lode of something, somewhere, sometime. In the meantime, let me just share with you a few of the gorgeous specimens I collected after (and during) the recent downpours.
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