Edible Fungi Interview with Joe (mushroomjoe)
How did you get into foraging for mushrooms?
I grew up in Southern California where as a whole people are generally both misinformed and afraid of mushrooms. I like to believe I’m fairly open to uncommon ideas, so I didn’t want to disregard mushrooms just because my culture shunned them. I was especially turned on to them when a friend introduced me to the lectures of Terence McKenna, who often used the topic of mushrooms as his focus.
A few incidents involving mushrooms early in my childhood stand out. The first occurred when I was in diapers frolicking in my family’s backyard lawn, admiring a little white object projecting from the soil. My father came over, sprawled on his stomach, and picked up the little white object. He carefully explained to me that it was something I should never put in my mouth. For all I know, that mushroom could have been a lovely Marasmius or a baby Agaricus, but because he was clueless of its identity, he assumed it was harmful. Still today I think that’s a healthy stance. He was right — better safe than sorry! And today I run with that same advice: if you don’t know what it is, don’t risk your body’s health. My dad’s an intelligent guy, so he obviously understood that perspective at the time. Two decades passed before I finally put a wild mushroom in my mouth.
My father also loved watching episodes of Huell Howser’s “California’s Gold.” During his shows, Huell walked around with a microphone and interviewed people concerning that show’s topic. Huell was a benevolent man who had an endless curiosity for all things, without discrimination. One episode that especially caught my attention was about the Los Angeles Mycological Society’s Wild Mushroom Fair. In it, Huell walked around and talked to all the interesting and zany characters who converged to display their affection for mushrooms. “Wow!” I thought, “A whole group of people who love mushrooms?” That was such an odd yet interesting thing to me, that people cared enough about mushrooms to gather and discuss them.
The final incident was a story my dad told me around the time I was leaving for college. The story was about an extended family member, of German origin. My dad explained that while this relative was visiting the family he went into the woods and foraged a great number of mushrooms. Upon returning with the mushrooms, he laid them on a table and explained which ones were edible and which ones were not. My dad shared with me how miraculous he thought that was and how we Southern Californians have absolutely no understanding of these wild things.
I was intrigued by this story. I figured if someone out there knew how to both find and identify mushrooms, then the information to do so is available and that in time I too could learn. Since I was generally broke, the idea of eating wild foods that are nutritious and free — not costing a single dime — was appealing. That story was the beginning of a shift in my mind toward a desire to return to nature. This was also the same time the “organic” movement was catching steam. But “organic” only mimics what already occurs in nature. Nothing is more “organic” than wild food. I realized, too, that there was an extremely long period of our history as humans during which we depended solely on wild foods. Foraging and eating wild mushrooms is homage to our ancestry.
While I lived in Santa Barbara my buddy and I would go on long bike rides. We once biked through a forest that seasonally housed thousands of migrating butterflies. On the ground along a tight path in the forest I spied a blue-and-magenta-capped mushroom. It was one of the most miraculous and colorful objects I’ve ever spied in nature. I picked it up and when I turned it over was surprised to find a bright yellow porous underside. We were mesmerized — it was nearly as colorful as a rainbow! At the time I had no idea what its identity was, but I now realize it was some Bolete. It was the first mushroom to really capture my attention enough to want to foster and learn more about it.
My buddy and I took the mushroom back to our disheveled college bachelor pad and devised a method to cultivate it. We knew nothing about mushrooms or their lifecycle. We assumed, based on myths, that mushrooms have certain preferences we should appeal to, such as for dark areas and soil. We also assumed it grew like a plant, and that we could transplant it and expect it to grow. Since we didn’t have any unused planting pots lying around the apartment, the only available empty vessel we could find was a paper Dixie cup once used to hold vodka-spiked jello. We packed the Dixie cup full of wet soil and drove the mushroom into it until the cup could stand on its own. We wanted to house it in a dark area where our other rambunctious roommates wouldn’t find it, so chose to leave it in the seldom-used cabinet above our refrigerator, which required stretching on tippy-toes to access.
Time went on, and because of homework, parties, and biking, we generally forgot about the mushroom we were cultivating. At one point while my buddy and I were telling jokes in the kitchen, we remembered to check the status of our growing mushroom. I opened the cabinet, stretched my arms, and slapped around inside. I landed on the Dixie cup, but didn’t feel the mushroom. Flies buzzed out from the cabinet. As I pulled the Dixie cup down, dozens of maggots crawled from the rotting mess onto my hand! What remained of the mushroom stank. That was my first lesson with mushrooms.
Years later I moved to San Diego for work. I wanted to learn more about mushrooms, but was worried I wouldn’t find any in the drier climate. Once in awhile I found roadside mushrooms, but had no idea how to identify them. I searched “mycology” and “San Diego” and discovered the San Diego Mycological Society! After a couple months frequenting the meetings, a dozen or so of us from the society went on a foray in January with Daniel Winkler (of mushroaming.com) in the mountains east of San Diego. Daniel was visiting the mycological society to discuss his studies in Tibet concerning the natives who forage for a medicinal mushroom, Cordyceps, that grow from the body of caterpillars.
The dozen or so of us foraging that day found a true bounty of mushrooms! The mushrooms filled the span of an entire table! Of course, the jovial Daniel Winkler found the most delicious and highest quality ones. He glowed over his basket of Blewits, Lepista nuda, and an oak-loving Bolete, Boletus dryophilus. I was lured by the purple luster of the Blewit and mentioned to him I had never tried one before. He was kind enough to give me a few for dinner that night. That was the first wild mushroom I ever ate.
What is your most fond foraging experience?
Returning to nature to forage is always a relaxing experience. Each foray has its own distinct character, based on the weather, the people I’m with, and whatever’s on my mind.
I think any situation where I find a mushroom for the first time is a fond experience. I can recall every experience in which I came across a species new to me. One experience in which I found three substantial species comes to mind.
After the Telluride Mushroom Festival of 2011, my buddy Davey and I drove north through Colorado to reunite with friends in Fort Collins. Along the way we stopped in a National Forest at the suggestion of some participants of the festival. We embarked on an absolutely beautiful Rocky Mountain day. We intentionally split up to find as many mushrooms as possible. The only vessel I brought with me was a few brown paper lunch bags.
At first I found bounteous patches of Shrimp Russula, Russula xerampelina. During the festival, Gary Lincoff shared a story that during one of the mushroom festivals the cooks made a huge batch of shrimp russula stew. Someone accidentally added a similar looking Russula (likely Rosey Russula or Emetic Russula) to the batch. Due to the revoltingly intense bitterness of that imposter mushroom, they had to throw out the whole batch. After hearing that story, I wanted to make sure every mushroom I picked was the proper one, so I ID’ed each one on the spot. I scratched each stem to observe an olive-colored reaction and deeply sniffed the crushed gills for hints of shrimp.
After harvesting a considerable amount, I climbed, climbed, climbed the mountain, desperately in search of the elusive Colorado gold, the Chanterelle. We had heard they prefer flatter areas covered in moss, again possibly a clue, possibly a myth. I happened upon a brilliant green area that looked like a scene from a fairy-tale. Sun shined in a perfect pillar onto the opening, and upon it were tiny golden Chanterelles. Now, looking back, I realize the characteristics of summer chanterelles in Colorado are far different from the ones I found in the Olympic National Park in Washington. These Colorado Chanterelles were much smaller, drier and tougher compared to the larger, wetter and more trumpeted variety that grow in the Pacific Northwest. Although I’d admired hundreds of photos of Chanterelles, I had never seen one in the wild before. Since no one was around, I sat close to them, sniffed their potent apricot scent and went about harvesting a good many. I picked each one and cut off the dirt, one by one. As I climbed the mountain I found more and more.
At one point I thought I heard someone coming! I had heard stories of ravenous hunters who compete with people for territory. No way was I going to let someone else clean up my Chanterelle patch! I hurried to pick them all, and in doing so, stopped cleaning the dirt from their bases. I tossed each one into my brown bags, crunchy dirt landed and settled into the Chanterelles’ ridges. I so desired to pick every one that I even took off my long sleeved shirt to use as a sack. No one came, however. The sound must have been in my imagination.
I was a bit lost, but having remembered the general direction of the road based on the slope of the mountain, I followed the slope down. I came to the road about a mile south of our camp. A stranger in a car going the opposite direction stopped for a moment and stared at me before she rolled down her window and asked if I needed help. Here I was, a shirtless guy with baby golden mushrooms spilling out of a make-shift pouch. “No, thanks!” I said, realizing how goofy I looked. Because of the weight of Chanterelles, I had to take my time returning uphill to camp.
Back at the camp we spent futile hours trying to clean the dirt from the chanterelles. During our cleanup my buddy said, “Hey, look what I found while foraging,” It was a tiny yellow club mushroom, Clavariadelphus truncatus, about half the size of my pinky. We were elated because during the a Telluride Mushroom Festival cookout competition, the guy who won first place made an ice cream dessert using the same wild mushroom. When I bit into it, sugar exploded onto my tongue. The only other time I’ve found that club mushroom was in Denali National Park, Alaska, this last September, during the first snows of autumn.
What is your favourite mushroom to eat?
Although its flavor is not as exciting as some of the more commonly revered wild mushrooms, my favorite mushroom to eat is the Blewit, Lepista nuda, partly because it reminds me of my first experience eating a wild mushroom, and partly because for culinary purposes it’s a wonderful addition: unlike other mushrooms that turn brown when cooked, cooking doesn’t diminish Blewit’s purple color.
Is there a mushroom you are waiting and hoping to eventually find?
Yeah, I hear about uncommon and unique mushrooms growing in areas all around the world. One that’s caught my attention is Weraroa novae-zelandiae, which grows in New Zealand. It’s a pouch fungus specific to the region. One day I’ll make my way there :)
Do you have a favourite picture of yourself foraging or a picture of mushrooms you have picked?
Tons! I rarely go foraging without my camera. This first one is from my foray with Daniel Winkler, who gave me my first Blewit. Former San Diego Mycological Society president Sam Andrasko identifies mushrooms on the right. You can see four purple Blewits sitting on their heads in the lower left. The second one is from my Colorado chanterelle find. I used my blue shirt as a pouch to carry all the chanterelles. The final one is of my recent Lobster mushroom, Hypomyces lactifluorum, find just outside Flagstaff, Arizona. Photo credit Michelle Lindsay.
Want to be interviewed? Answer the questions above & include a favourite picture of yourself foraging or mushrooms you have picked and submit! If you don’t have a tumblr, you can email me at [email protected]. Make sure to include a link to your tumblr or any sites of yours that you want to share. Interviews are posted on Tuesdays whenever possible.
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