Foodie Balls: Making Mushrooms With ‘Raindrops Tapping Me On The Collarbone And Hawks Screeching On The Updraft’
HOW do you make Porcini Mushroom Soy Sauce? Well, food blogger Hunger A Thirst For Life. Who is he?
I’m a wandering weed lover, wordsmith, teacher, and worshipper at the altar of tasty treats.
Ready? Let’s forage:
I have a some rituals that keep me content during the off-season, when conditions make it nearly impossible to forage. Most days begin standing at the east window, huddled around a steaming cup of nettle tea, while the candied dawn stretches and yawns over the horizon. Next, I shuffle my woolly slippers into the pantry in search of breakfast. Part food storage area, part temple to the growing season past, its shelves are packed with tins of herbs, and jars of pickles and preserves. There is something deeply satisfying about standing in the doorway and scanning the shelves. My preserves aren’t just aesthetically pleasing, they’re a treat to the ancient part of my brain that loves knowing I can feed myself. Also, there are memories stored inside the cell walls of those plants.
Invariably, in this winter morning ritual, my eyes settle upon the rows of dried porcini. My obsession. My prize. I’m compelled to the two gallon container that houses the finest mushroom slices. The ceremony goes like this — I lift the lid, close my eyes, genuflect, and nuzzle my entire face into the jar.
The piano-wire tension connecting all things throughout the summer of ’12 as fires ravaged the mountainsides. The balm of honeyed relief when the rains finally came.
Raindrops tapping me on the collarbone, bootsteps swallowed by sodden moss, hawks screeching on the updraft.
Sugared soil and arrows of sunlight bolting through canopies of Englemann spruce. Dirty fingernails and my favorite knife.
Suspense, seduction, Mother Nature’s slight of hand. Mushrooms.
I season my meals with remembrances.
Take one mushroom and one bottle of soy sauce…