Read the mushroom
I read, “In Search of Life Below” (Sept/Oct ’23). My family has always foraged for mushrooms in the woods around our cottage. My parents, who were Latvian immigrants, picked mostly slippery jacks. Fried up with onions and butter, they lived up to their name. My husband never eats the mushrooms—someone would have to drive us to the hospital if we were accidentally poisoned.
When my sons became interested in foraging, things changed. We are always looking for mushrooms wherever we walk. But ever since my son experienced abdominal pains after eating foraged mushrooms and had to visit the ER, we stick with readily recognizable varieties. We forage for chanterelles, boletes, hedgehogs, and black trumpets, and we occasionally get lucky and find chicken of the woods.
I was surprised to see only the little mushroom recipe in your
