Final Forage of '08

I took advantage of a gap in the weather yesterday to shanghai Riley and his best friend Alec to our go-to shellfish beach. The snow had mostly melted and high winds and rain were yet to arrive. Even crossing the Tacoma Narrows Bridge the two second-graders ignored the world outside, too wrapped up in trading their Pokemon cards to admire the dramatic view of Puget Sound's glacial pinch. They haggled in the back seat like a couple of old geezers.

But once on the clam beds the twenty-first century's kiddie distractions began to slip away: Pokemon characters and Nintendo gave way to the visceral pleasures of working a shovel into the sand and uncovering a nice littleneck clam. The boys found sand dollars, caught a sculpin, and engineered a network of canals and locks as the tide receded. They dug clams and found mussels. They got a laugh out of a thieving gull that pilfered my container of shucked oysters the moment I turned my back.

When we got home, Alec proudly presented his mom with a limit of clams. I've got plans for our own haul: full limits of clams, mussels, and oysters will be part of tonight's feast, which will incorporate a few other wild delicacies from 2008. More on that next year.

Happy New Year everyone!

Christmas Dinner

Few meals are as pleasurable as those spent with good friends in a cozy home while outside Mother Nature is pitching a fit of truly memorable proportions. I learned a few fun facts this holiday. The city of Seattle possesses a total of 27 snowplows and we can count on a white Christmas 7 percent of the time. Folks are getting cranky about all this ice and snow—none moreso than those unfortunate Metro riders—but I say bring it on. I'm originally from New England and haven't enjoyed a Christmas like this in ages. Even in New England, it seems, they don't make snow like they used to.

Not so this year. The white stuff is general across the continent. Apparently all of Canada is snowed in for the first time since the early 70s. I certainly can't remember a more festive Hanukwanzmas holiday in Seattle. We've been sledding up a storm at the local hill and building all manner of igloos, forts, and snowmen. Maybe commerce has ground to a halt but the dreams of children (and child-like adults!) are soaring.

Or were. The rain is back today and now the streets are really a slushy mess. Flood warnings have replaced snow warnings.

Last night we braved the horrendous driving conditions to head uptown to the home of old friends for one of those Christmas dinners that begins as soon as you walk in the door and hasn't really ended by the time you pack up the tired kids several hours later. An arsenal of champagnes, wines, and appertifs accompanied h'ors d'ouevres and multiple courses, and everyone joined in for the making.

Tipton, a former denizen of the snow-free La-La-Land, chose a menu from the superb Sunday Suppers at Lucques for the meal, which included a seafood course of Scallops with Chanterelles, Sherry, and Parsley Breadcrumbs. The chanties, a pound in all, came from my stash in the freezer. We briefly sauteed them in butter with a tablespoon of fresh thyme leaves and then added 2 pounds of scallops and a large chopped onion and stirred to coat the scallops before adding a cup of sherry and a cup of chicken stock. We let this bubble for a couple minutes to reduce, then added another tablespoon of thyme leaves and half a cup of heavy cream and killed the heat. Two tablespoons of chopped parsley finished the dish.

At the table we topped our portions with toasted breadcrumbs baked with chopped parsely, a step that seemed gratuitous at the time but turned out to be a wonderful addition of flavor and texture. The delicious broth was sopped up with crusty bread.



The rest of the menu (#25, in the "Winter" section) included an Onion Tart with Cantal, Applewood-smoked Bacon, and Herb Salad; Potato Puree with Horseradish Cream; and Braised Beef Short Ribs with Pearl Onions and Kale.









Hats off to Tipton and Bridget for their gracious and too-generous hosting. We'll be seeing them again for New Year's Eve, at our place, for a Paella feast to kick off a hope-filled 2009.

Nueva York Clam Dip

The powers that be have opened the fall/winter Washington razor clam season three weekends so far and I've missed them all. Good thing razors keep so well in the deep freeze. We've been busting out vacuum-sealed packets of last year's catch to keep pace with the comfort needs of the season, and while nothing beats a piping hot chowder on a wintry day, this Big Apple recipe for clam dip with a decidedly south-of-the-border twist is a close second if you have any leftover clams. As a pairing with potato chips and beer on a snowbound day of football-watching, it's just about perfect.

A single chipotle pepper in adobo sauce, minced, is enough to turn up the heat on what is ordinarily a fairly innocuous dip. Chopped cilantro, lime juice, and a garnish of festive red pepper and green scallions add extra zing. Otherwise it's the clams that puts gas in the tank. I can't remember where this recipe came from; now it's just a yellowed newspaper clipping taped to an index card. Chances are I got this from relatives down in Arkansas, who, despite being landlocked, know their football and their clam dips. Put this out at your Superbowl party with a couple bags of good chips (mine are Cape Cod, Tim's Cascade, or Kettle) and I guarantee you'll be throwing flags as you watch your guests lick the bowl before half-time.

18 littleneck clams or 6 razor clams
1 can of Rainier (Miller High Life is acceptable)
4 slices bacon, chopped
3 tbsp onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
8 oz cream cheese, at room temperature
3 tbsp sour cream (or Mexican crema)
3 tbsp cilantro, chopped
Juice of half a lime
1 chipotle pepper in adobo sauce, minced
1/2 red pepper, diced
scallions, sliced for garnish
hot sauce to taste

1. With littleneck clams, steam open in beer, reserving 2 tablespoons of broth; if using frozen razor clams, thaw out and similarly save 2 tablespoons of liquor. Chop clams.

2. Fry bacon in skillet, then remove to paper towel with slotted spoon when crispy. Saute onion and garlic in bacon fat for a minute or two, then spoon into serving bowl. If using razor clams, saute in remaining fat for 5 minutes and add to bowl.

3. Whisk together softened cream cheese and sour cream in same bowl with clams, reserved clam juice, onions, garlic, bacon, cilantro, lime juice, chipotle pepper, half of diced red pepper, and a few dashes of hot sauce. Garnish with remaining diced red pepper and sliced scallions.

Yields about 2 cups.

Let It Snow!

Here at FOTL headquarters we're snowed in and loving it. This sort of storm hits Seattle only every few years. We've got a half-foot of the white stuff on the ground and it's still coming down. I went for a ski through the neighborhood this morning and then took the kids to the park for some epic sledding. Mrs. Finspot is about to take a x-c tour. The city is shut down.

It's times like this when you're thankful for that stash of dried porcini in the cupboard—the secret ingredient to maximum comfort food. As it happens, here at FOTL we have a new cookbook to play with, a gift from Mrs. Finspot: The Herb Farm Cookbook. Naturally the first thing I did with it was open to the index to find a recipe for porcini.

Braised Chicken with Leeks and Porcini

1/2 oz dried porcini, reconstituted in a cup of hot water for 30 minutes, then chopped
2 medium leeks
1 bouquet garni: 1 4-inch sprig fresh rosemary, 1 4-inch sprig fresh sage, 6 3-inch springs thyme, and 1 dried bay leaf
1 3-4 lb chicken, cut up
2 tbsp olive oil
6 cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 cup white wine
1 tbsp fresh thyme, chopped
1 tbsp fresh sage, chopped
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
1/2 cup heavy cream
salt and pepper to taste

1. In a large, deep pan, brown chicken in oil, turning once or twice. Remove to platter.

2. Meanwhile cut off and discard the dark green leek tops. Slice remaining leeks lengthwise, then chop into half-moons down to the roots. Add leeks and chopped garlic to pan, cooking over medium-high heat until soft. Deglaze with wine. Add mushroom water and chopped porcini. Season with 1/2 tsp salt, then add bouquet garni. (The herbs in the garden were a little cold but still doable. I tied them together with a stout twig of thyme.) Bring to a boil, then reduce heat. Return chicken to pan and cook covered at a very low simmer, 50 minutes or so.

3. Transfer chicken to a platter and keep covered in warm oven. Discard bouquet garni. Stir chopped thyme and sage into pan. Raise heat to thicken sauce. Cook several minutes until desired consistency. Add parsley and cream. Return to a boil. Season and pour over chicken. Serve with egg noodles or potatoes. (We made fried new potatoes with garlic and kale.)

Gifts for Foragers, #3

If you have a Santa Baby who checks off the priciest items on your list, you might consider a handheld GPS unit. Here at FOTL we've had our eye on the Garmin 60CSx for a while, but given the pear-shaped nature of the economy—and more specifically, Mrs. Claus's 401(k)—we're currying favor by leaving all big-ticket items off the list this year. That doesn't mean your own Secret Santa won't pony up close to $300 to keep you from getting lost in the woods.

By all accounts the new GPS units are far superior to those of just a few short years ago. They lock on satellites more easily, and track better under canopy cover. Safety notwithstanding, the real genius of the handheld GPS unit lies in its steel-trap memory. Unlike a foggy old forager, the computer chip remembers exactly where those epic mushroom patches and notellum fishing holes are located. Now if it could just find the missing 401(k)...

Made with Love

Normally I steer clear of our local southend Safeway (the mouse droppings on the shelves of the Asian aisle are kind of a deal-killer), but this weekend I knew I needed ingredients that I wouldn't find at just any Seattle market. Filé powder, for instance, and okra. Well, it turned out the seafood department was having a sale on Dungeness crab—$4/lb, which is half-price. Just about everyone in that cavernous place was there for the same reason as me: the weather's finally turned cold in the PNW and it's time to make gumbo.

While I didn't need crab—I've still got a few bags left in the freezer from my summer dives—I had to have fresh gulf shrimp, not the frozen spot prawns I've saved from the spring shrimping season. There were a half-dozen of us in line at the seafood counter and after a little chit-chat it was pretty clear we all had similar designs. It was also clear that I was the only born-Yankee in the bunch. One lady was originally from Baton Rouge, and the couple behind me called Shreveport home. There were some strong opinions about our endeavor. Even the guy behind the counter doling out the crabs and shrimp had something to say on the subject. A woman who was buying enough seafood and sausage to feed a congregation looked at me skeptically.

"You know how to make a roux, honey?"

"Sure," I said, trying to exude confidence in this crowd of gumbo connoisseurs. "Fat and flour, equal parts. It's all in the stirring."

She shook her head. "Love, baby. You've got to make it with love. It's a soul food thing."

Next stop was the sausage cooler. I had my heart set on Andouille. A woman dressed to the nines looked at my basket and guided me in another direction. Hot links, she advised. The couple from Shreveport ambled past and I hailed them over. They'd been talking about a secret ingredient in their stock. "What about these smoked ham hocks?" I asked, holding up a package of hocks. Someone else sidled up. He wanted to know if I was making a seafood gumbo or not. I said I was. "Put those hocks back," he nearly barked at me. "They're no good for a seafood stock." A lively argument ensued between the Shreveporters and this "born and raised in Orleans Parish" partisan about how to make the best stock. I made a mental note to try the hocks next time for a meat gumbo.

And there will be a next time. To be honest, this was my first gumbo and I wasn't exactly sure what I was making. I got inspired by a recipe in the current Food & Wine by chef Donald Link of Herbsaint in New Orleans (in a feature about a bunch of great party meals) and made a few changes for this West Coast forager's version. There are also plenty of resources on the Web, like this site and this one. Everyone up and down the Mississippi has their own family recipe. But the bottom line is this: You can make gumbo just about any way you want, provided you use okra and a roux. There's even disagreement about the traditional use of filé, which some say is a strictly winter ingredient when fresh okra isn't available. If there's one ingredient everyone agrees on it's this: love. Lots of it.

Dungeness Crab and Gulf Shrimp Gumbo

Stock

1-2 tbsp vegetable oil
1/2 onion, diced
1 rib celery, diced
1 small carrot, diced
1 tbsp tomato paste
1 lb shrimp, shelled (reserve the meat for later)
1 large or 2 small Dungeness crabs, cooked and cleaned (but not peeled)
2 quarts chicken stock
3 bay leaves

Saute the shrimp shells in oil until red and starting to brown. Stir in tomato paste and cook one minute. Add diced vegetables and saute another minute or two, stirring, before adding stock. (At this point you might want to substitute some clam juice for part of the chicken stock; I didn't have any on hand and wasn't about to pay $2.69 for an 8 oz. bottle when I get the clams and their juice for free.) Toss in the bay leaves and bring to a boil, then reduce heat. While the stock is simmering, peel your crab, adding shells as you go. This will help to flavor your stock if you opt out of the clam juice. Save the claws and a couple sections of unpeeled leg for later. I tear off the impossible-to-peel "pinkies" and throw them in whole. Simmer the stock for an hour or two, then strain and set aside (see photo at left; photo above shows the ingredients strained out of the stock).

Roux

Heat 1/2 cup of oil over moderate heat and slowly whisk in a 2/3 cup of flour. Stir regularly for 30 min. The roux should turn yellowish, then a golden brown. You may need to raise heat to get the final deep brown. Scrape into a dish for later.

Gumbo

2-3 cloves garlic, minced
1 onion, diced
2 ribs celery, diced
1 can crushed tomatoes
1 green bell pepper, diced
1 lb okra, sliced into 1/2-inch rounds
1 heaping tsp chili powder
1 heaping tsp paprika
1 heaping tsp dried oregano
1 heaping tsp dried thyme
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp white pepper
1 tbsp filé powder
salt
shelled shrimp
peeled crab
hot links or other sausage
steamed rice

Saute onion, celery, and garlic in heavy pot until soft. Add the roux and cook over moderate heat until bubbling. Slowly stir in the stock and tomatoes. Reduce heat to low and simmer for an hour or two. In a skillet, saute the green pepper and okra in butter or oil and add spices. Deglaze with a splash of water or stock. Add to gumbo pot. At this point I also add the reserved crab claws and sliced hot links, then let simmer another hour. Just before serving add the shrimp and crab meat. Cook a couple minutes and ladle over rice with a sprinkling of chopped scallions. Serves 8.

Gifts for Foragers, #2

Surprise the mushroom hunter on your list with a gift from Fungi Perfecti. This clearing house for all things fungal offers oyster logs, growing kits, books, and much more, plus a cool ballcap that I wear myself. But if you're looking for that perfecti stocking-stuffer, you can't go wrong with a Rockwell stainless steel mushroom knife. The knife is rated with a blade edge of 54-56 and comes with a handy belt sheath for easy access. The bright yellow grip makes for easy visibility if you drop it on the ground (unless you drop it in a dense patch of golden chanterelles!), and coolest of all, the knife butt is adorned with a small stiff-bristled brush for field cleaning your catch.

Gifts for Foragers

It's that time of year. FOTL doesn't endorse Black Friday, hellish trips to malls, or other forms of conspicuous consumption (shopping gives him hives, truth be told), but it is traditionally a time of giving, so we'll be offering a few suggestions over the next few weeks for the forager on your list.

First up is the book Geography of Oysters by Rowan Jacobsen, an informative, witty, and fast-paced appraisal of the ostreaphagist landscape. Eating a raw oyster is about the most carnivorous act of feeding most of us westerners (as in hemisphere) will engage in during our lives. The oyster is still alive, after all, or it should be. But what pleasure and sensuality too! As the French poet Leon-Paul Fargue said, eating oysters is "like kissing the sea on the lips." This is a good time to be an ostreaphile. After centuries of decline during which the planet's original oyster beds were pillaged and polluted into near extinction, the oyster is making a comeback with new aquaculture techniques and a dedicated confederacy of shellfish farmers, improving water quality in the process. Jacobsen introduces us to the major species of oyster on the culinary stage, their commercial history, and the current state of oyster eating in the world.

Admittedly, Geography is more for the oyster eater than the forager, but for those of us lucky enough to live in places where wild oysters can still be gathered off the beach—primarily Florida, Louisiana, Washington, and B.C.—there's knowledge to be gained about what it is we're eating. For the rest of the oyster-slurping public, Geography is a primer—not unlike a wine guide—on the tastes and textures of the most famous—to extend the wine metaphor—oyster appellations around the world, and how to pair these inimitable bivalves with other foods and drinks.

As Jacobsen writes, "When you eat oysters, you wake up." Anyone who enjoys oysters will devour this book and then make tracks for the nearest fish market, raw bar, or oyster beach, senses alert in anticipation.

Gobble Gobble

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Here at FOTL we have plenty to be thankful for, including wonderful family, food, and foraging grounds. I'd also like to take a moment to thank you, dear reader, for joining me on my trek through wild foodways this past year. The first anniversary draws near.

If you harvested your own cranberries for Turkey Day, I'd like to hear about it. Several species of cranberry are native to North America, including the common cranberry (Vaccinium oxycoccos) of temperate climates worldwide and the large American cranberry (Vaccinium macrocarpon) of the Northeast, and there's a thriving cranberry industry in a few places around the country as well, notably Cape Cod, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Wisconsin, and even my home state of Washington. But I've never actually seen a non-commercial cranberry bog in the wild, not that I've gone looking for one.

A good alternative for us Pac Nor'westerners, if we want to make our own fresh berry sauce for the bird, is the evergreen huckleberry (Vaccinium ovatum), which is still kicking out berries through much of its range at the lower elevations. They say the fruit is even sweeter after a frost. While down in Oregon's Rogue River Canyon a couple weeks ago I munched on these late-season treats while walking the Rogue River Trail and fishing for steelhead.

Making a sweet and savory huckleberry sauce to complement a roast turkey or other meats is almost too easy to be true (like home-made cranberry sauce, for that matter), but you can complicate it with any number of additions, from various liqueurs to spices and whatever else gets your gobble up.

Amanita Eater

FOTL wants to be a responsible blog. Really. We almost killed this post. But knowledge wins over fear and ignorance. So here's the caveat emptor right up front: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. Misidentifying this mushroom could KILL YOU DEAD.

These are Amanita mushrooms. Edible ones, but that's beside the point. The genus Amanita kills more people than any other genus of fungi. The similar looking Death Cap (Amanita phalloides) victimizes more hapless foragers than any other mushroom period, with the Destroying Angel (Amanita ocreata et al) close on its heels. This is not the darn-this-gastric-distress sort of discomfort; this is the sign-me-up-for-a-new-liver deal. Amatoxins cannot be cooked out, dried out, or diluted. There is no antidote. Take a few bites of the Death Cap and you better hope there's a liver with your name on it. Click here for a survivor's tale.

That said, there are a number of edible and choice Amanitas. Italians in particular are fond of them. They call this particular species Corccora or Coccoli (the latter translates as "pampered baby"), which will have to do for us too since our variety on the West Coast doesn't have a widely used common name and the Latin is under dispute. You'll see it referred to scientifically as Amanita calyptrata, A. calyptroderma, and A. lanei. David Arora refers to it as A. calyptrata in Mushrooms Demystified, but don't be surprised if the next edition calls it A. lanei. In any event, all three names refer to the same mushroom.

Amanita mushrooms share some common traits. They fruit out of a cottony membrane known as
a universal veil or volva that encloses the entire body, commonly referred to as an egg. As the mushroom grows, the veil parts and begins to deteriorate, marking some species such as Amanita muscaria and Amanita pantherina with the warts that are so characteristic of the genus. The Corccora, on the other hand, is usually left with a distinctive white skullcap rather than warts.


Corccora generally exhibit striations at the cap margin (see those fine lines along the edge of the cap at top) and hollow stems (see sliced stem at right). Unlike most Amanitas, the gills and stem are creamy colored or light yellow rather than white. Older specimens have a fishy odor.

Now I've given you enough information to go out and get yourself killed—but it's the same info you'll find in the field guides. If you really want to try this mushroom, go hunting with someone who has local on-the-ground knowledge of the species and has been eating it for a long time. Corccora are mycorrhizal with Pacific madrone, so your best bet for habitat is the coastal mountain chain between Point Reyes, California, and Roseburg, Oregon. Isolated areas with good stands of madrone in Washington and B.C. also have Corccora. Here's a video I shot a few days ago in the Rogue River Canyon of southwest Oregon that shows the unique egg-like fruiting and habitat:



The handsome specimens above got sauteed in butter and added to scrambled eggs. The hint of seafood and firm texture make them far superior to a standard supermarket button.



Other than that, the Rogue River mushroom harvest was pretty much a bust. We managed a pound or so of chanterelles from a never-miss spot and that was that. This time last year was perhaps the greatest fruiting of Boletus edulis I had ever seen, with more than we could reasonably eat and dry over the course of one long weekend, and Leccinums to boot, not to mention generous fruitings of white chanterelles and black trumpets as well. That's the way it goes. Mushrooms can't be entirely demystified.

Going Rogue

I'm back from the Rogue River Canyon in southwest Oregon, where I helped a friend put his cabin to bed for the winter. This is an annual event, and though the summer steelhead fishing tends to be well past its peak by mid-November, we spend a good part of the day on the river anyway, walking the trails, hunting for river teeth, casting a line, and generally soaking up the spectacular canyon action. Bald eagles soar overhead and otters frolic in the currents. There's so much to see and do that invariably we wind up walking home in the dark, the "reptilian brain" tuned into every snapping twig (cougar!) and rustling leaf (bear!). Back at the cabin we warm ourselves beside an old woodstove. Meals are whumped up on a propane stove, light cast by kerosene lanterns. It's a First Principles sort of deal.

This place is deep in my bones. I lived there for the better part of a year in my mid-20s and returned in 2004 for a second tour. Fifteen years ago I caught my first steelhead in one of the river's hallowed holes and learned how to key out wild mushrooms found in the woods that stretch unbroken for miles around the cabin. It's safe to say FOTL wouldn't exist without my experiences in the Rogue.

Fishing for "half-pounders" is one of the local gigs. They're immature steelhead that run up the Rogue for reasons scientists have yet to fully understand. Too young to spawn, they enter fresh water in the late summer and loiter all winter, eating just enough to stay alive, then drop back down to the salt to finish maturing before their actual spawning run the next year. It’s a puzzling phenomenon that occurs in only a handful of watersheds along the Oregon-California border, most famously in the Klamath and Rogue rivers. Fly-fishermen in particular admire the half-pounders, which generally tape out between 12 and 16 inches and lustily take a fly, providing good sport when the big fish aren’t ready to play.

I don't eat a lot of half-pounders because I'd rather catch them as bigger adults of several pounds. But a trip to the Rogue wouldn't be the same without a hatchery fish for breakfast one morning. Like the adults, their flesh is pink from eating shrimp and other saltwater crustaceans. The taste is more subtle than salmon—imagine fresh sautéed rainbow trout with a hint of the sea to it, an essence of shrimp or crab that expands the flavor without losing that fine, nutty troutness. It’s a noble taste that should be enjoyed with good friends.



In my next post I'll be discussing a type of mushroom—common in the Rogue River Canyon—that might kill you if your identification isn't up to snuff.

Matsutake Gohan

The pineapple express that flooded local rivers this past week also extended a mushroom season that looked just about kaput. I was surprised to find a good fruiting of matsutake in the Olympic lowlands in addition to some passable chanties and a single porcino. Actually, I can't say precisely whether the recent balmy/rainy weather is strictly of Hawaiian origin (we need Cliff Mass for that), but I can say that the matsutake were number 1 buttons, worm-free, and retailing at Uwajimaya for the bargain price of $35 a pound. For a moment I even considered selling my stash, but then I came to my senses.

I had a few pounds, so I made another sukiyaki and used the rest for Gohan. This is an exceptionally spare recipe that shows off the unique aroma of the matsutake ("red hots and dirty socks," as they say) and is mostly executed by the rice cooker.

2 1/2 cups Japanese short-grain rice, thoroughly washed
2 1/2 cups water
1-2 matsutake mushrooms, sliced or shredded
1/3 cup carrot, diced
4 tbsp sake
4 tbsp soy sauce

Put rice and water in cooker and set aside for 30 minutes. Add matsutake, carrots, sake, and soy sauce, and turn on rice cooker. When rice is cooked, mix up ingredients and empty into a bowl. Cover and let sit 10 minutes before serving.

Local Food Events

For those of you near FOTL's stomping grounds (or those needing an excuse to travel), a couple noteworthy food-related events are coming up in January.

First, Michael Pollan will be discussing food sustainability issues at Benaroya Hall on January 12 as part of the Seattle Arts & Lectures series. Pollan, a contributing writer at The New York Times Magazine, is the author of In Defense of Food and The Omnivore's Dilemma. It would be hard to overestimate the impact his books have had on the current dialogue about how and what we should eat.

Click here to order tickets to Michael Pollan.



Second, the winter session of SAL's Wednesday University begins on January 14: Food for Thought: The Ethics, Culture, and Politics of Eating. From the brochure: "Using key concepts and approaches drawn from ethics, political ecology, and cultural studies, this course will explore how food production and consumption creates meanings, identities, relationships, and values that extend far beyond nutrition alone. We will investigate how ethics and values inform who eats what, where, and how; issues of hunger and vulnerability; debates about farming and genetically modified food; movements to eat local and eat slow; food as a form of self-care; and the globalization of food economies."

Click here to register for Wednesday University's Food for Thought course.

Wild Mushroom Risotto

Feed your friends and there's a good chance they'll feed you back. It's a positive feedback loop, you might say. Foraging especially is about passing the basket. Nothing pleases me more than taking some wild edibles over to the home of a good friend who knows how to wield a Wusthof and whomping up a great dinner.

This weekend we happened to have a bunch of chanterelles on hand as well as a single porcino and a few hedgehogs. The black trumpets came from the market, where they were selling for $25 a pound. Rumor has it that trumpets can be found in a few isolated parts of Washington, but the real mother lode is in Northern California. A professional forager I know talks about hillsides near the Mendocino coast being carpeted with the little buggers. Later this week I'll be in southwestern Oregon where I know of a patch, so hopefully we'll have a future post on the trumpet.

In the meantime, you can salivate over my friend Tipton's Wild Mushroom Risotto, which, while easy to make, is still a risotto and requires that extra hoodoo-voodoo to come out just right. (Here's a more detailed risotto roadmap.) Tip nailed it. Just saute a couple diced shallots in butter, add a half-pound or more of 'shrooms and cook several minutes. Next stir in the rice, which is when the fun begins. The key to a good risotto is toasting those rice grains for a few minutes and coating them with the saute before adding the first ladleful of liquid. After that, it's all patience. As Tip said, make sure each ladleful is soaked up and evaporated before adding the next. And you don't want to over-scrape. Using a squared-off wooden risotto spoon is essential. We used hot chicken stock, reducing the amount of each ladle toward the end, and finished the risotto with butter, grated parm, and a sprinkling of chopped parsley. Classic and simple.