Empty Buckets?

There's a lot of chatter right now in mycological circles about proposed legislation in Oregon to require permits for all mushroom harvesting in the state. As written, the law would apply to both commercial and recreational mushroom hunters, although there is a proposed amendment to exempt personal use gathering.

After reading through the documents, I'm still not sure what I think about the legislation. There are arguments to be made for and against permitting. Complicating the issue is a whirlwind of accusations and counter-accusations flying around the message boards. Some say the bill is designed to discourage out-of-state commercial pickers and buyers; on the flip side, private landowners claim that a robust permit system will help to limit theft and property damage by truffle poachers.

The issue of truffle poaching, I suspect, is a real problem in places such as the Willamette Valley, but perhaps it needs to be taken up separately. There is also the question of large numbers of mushroom hunters impacting sensitive habitats on public land. This, too, is no doubt a problem in a few select areas where the habitat is limited (e.g., the Oregon Dunes) or the numbers of harvesters exceptionally large (e.g., Crescent Lake). But it’s hard to imagine that these instances can’t be handled on a case-by-case basis.

In general, it seems to me that public land managers in Oregon are in a better position to determine regulatory decisions in their districts than a sweeping, citizen-backed legislative effort. Admittedly, one could argue that land managers are playing "catch-up ball" when it comes to all things mycological, and we also know that citizen efforts have been necessary through the years to move an intransigent governmental apparatus.

The bottom line is that I'm in favor of getting people outdoors to interact with their environment. Local, state, and federal governments should erect as few barriers as possible to this outcome, while simultaneously protecting our natural heritage for future generations. It's a balancing act, to be sure.

For years, Washington State's Gifford Pinchot National Forest has required all mushroom hunters be permitted (a free permit in the case of recreational pickers), ostensibly to study land use patterns and user group demographics. In this case, the data might be useful to land managers trying to make decisions about sensitive habitats. On the other hand, the permit is a barrier to what is essentially, in most cases, a low-impact outdoor activity. Besides, it's only valid for 10 days, which strikes me as miserly, especially since a biannual commercial license is $125, considerably more than an annual fishing license.

I'd like to hear other thoughts on this subject. Comments open.

Photo: JacobC

The Urban Naturalist

I'll be contributing articles on occasion to the Seattle P.I.'s Urban Naturalist blog, helmed by Waverly Fitzgerald. Here's my first post, on that ornery yet useful weed, the stinging nettle. The post was actually inspired by the children's book, Wake Up, It's Spring!, which my daughter Ruby broke out of retirement this week.

Razor Clam Foraging & Cooking Class

***UPDATE*** Just a few spots left.

Attn: Razor Clam Newbies! In association with Bainbridge Island Parks & Rec, I'll be offering my first razor clam foraging and cooking class at the end of March. This is something I've wanted to do for a while, but the planning required has stymied efforts. Until now.

This is a pilot program, and as such it's a great deal. We have rented a house on the Washington Coast north of Ocean Shores for two nights, March 28-29. This coincides with morning razor clam openings on Friday and Saturday. The program will begin Thursday night with an informal "nightcap" discussion of razor clam biology, habitat, and foraging technique. The next morning we'll dig razor clams on the beach right out back. That night we'll reconvene at cocktail hour to go over processing (razor clams require cleaning) and then make a three-course feast with our catch. There will be an opportunity to dig another limit the following morning before checkout.

The cost—including 2 nights at the Seabrook resort, foraging instruction, breakfast on Friday/Saturday, Friday lunch, and Friday dinner—is $225 per person. Register at www.biparks.org or call Jeff Ozimek at (206) 842-2306 x115. Deadline to register is 3/17/13. Hurry, space is limited.

Win Free Tickets to Voracious Tasting

***UPDATE*** Thanks for the comments. Oysters and stinging nettles seem to be topping the list, along with some oddities like kangaroo. Whoever the "unknown" poster is in the first two comments, received at 9:26 a.m. and 9:29 a.m. respectively, you'll need to get in touch with me in order to claim your tickets. Email finspotcook at gmail dot com. Thanks for playing everyone!

I have a pair of tickets to give away to Seattle Weekly's 4th Annual Voracious Tasting and Food Awards. I'm setting the bar super high...be the first to leave a non-robo, spam-free comment and they're yours. Let's make this quid pro quo: tell me about the last really good wild edible you ate, whether in a restaurant or at home, and what made it so good.

From the press release: "Held at the Paramount Theatre, Voracious Tasting will feature bites from 40 of the areaʼs great restaurants and food trucks, an open bar with beer and wine, and cocktails stirred by over a dozen mixologists from some of our favorite watering holes. Join us as we toast Seattleʼs diversity of delicious local cuisine at a reasonable price of $45!"

That makes this pair of free tix a $90 value. Comments open.

Pimentón Clams and Pig Face

This post is a shout-out to my peeps in the shellfish dept. One of the benefits of helming FOTL is the opportunity to share my experiences with others keen to forage and cook wild foods—a recipe for good times in the outdoors, with fun people.

My shellfish classes, in particular, have escalated (perhaps as word has gotten out and each subsequent class is intent on besting the previous one) into veritable bacchanals. There's something about working up a sweat on the tide flats and then whumping together a feast over campstoves that encourages plenitude: folks show up with champagne, beer, cheese, salumi, cookies, and other treats. We've had basement apple wine, home-cured sausage, and empanadas. There's almost always a fillet or two of smoked salmon and recently someone brought bento boxes packed full of potstickers, barbecued pork, and candied almonds.

On the trail to the tidelands - (c) Susan Choi

The blueprint is simple. Everyone meets at the beach, where we make introductions and go over some key points of identification, biology, habitat, foraging technique, regulations, and precautions. Then we hit the shellfish beds to gather our limits of clams and oysters. The rest of the day is spent hanging out back at the picnic shelter, cooking our catch.

My co-leader, John Adams, manages Taylor Shellfish's Dosewallips facility. As a third-generation shellfish farmer, he also has his own family business, Sound Fresh Clams & Oysters, where he's been making a name all over the Pacific Northwest and beyond for his Skookum Point oysters. Recently a writer from Bon Appetit dropped by to sample John's stuff.

An oyster bed for bivalve dreams - (c) Susan Choi

John and I are fortunate to have Jeff Ozimek, outdoor programs coordinator at Bainbridge Island Parks & Rec, in our corner. Jeff is the mastermind behind all this fun, and Seattle Parks & Rec (if they ever have a budget windfall) would be smart to look across the pond to see what Jeff is doing to get his community outside interacting with the natural world.

For my part, after the clams have been dug and the oysters picked, I get to relax a little bit. Delegation carries the day as the students do the prepping and cooking. Usually there are a few who lead the charge. This past weekend Team France made Steamed Clams with Wine and Herbs while Team China filled a wok with Spicy Black Bean Clams. I watched, offering the occasional advice and encouragement. We all slurped oysters until we could eat no more.

We usually get a few "repeat offenders" at each class. This time around we were pleased to have back photographer Susan Choi, who graciously provided most of the photos for this post.

Even the rain couldn't put a damper on the proceedings. John built a fire, the canopies went up, and we continued the feast. Finally, well past dark, the park security detail had to shoo us out. Everyone went home with plenty of shellfish.

Picking the right oyster: Does it have a deep pocket? - (c) Susan Choi

***

Pimentón Clams and Pig Face looks back to my new year's resolution to cook more improvisationally. It's a variation on Pasta alle Vongole, and a keeper. The pig face of the title, smoked jowl, is a lot like bacon, but try to find the jowl if you can because its mix of succulence and crispiness can't be beat. Combined with the clams, smoked paprika, sweet red pepper, and some white wine, the resulting sauce makes for a distinctively Iberian way to dress up pasta.

I've made steamed clam dishes that hail from all over the world. Italian clams and Thai clams, Mexican clams and Japanese clams. This riff on Spanish clams turned out so good that I expect the recipe below to take its place in the inner circle of my go-to clam dishes.

Linguini with Clams, Pimentón & Smoked Pig Jowl

10 oz linguini
1 tbsp olive oil
1/3 lb smoked pig jowl, diced
1 small yellow onion, diced
4-5 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 large red bell pepper, diced
1 tsp crushed red chili pepper flakes
1/4 tsp semisweet (or sweet) smoked paprika
salt, to taste
1/2 cup dry white wine
2 dozen manila clams
2 handfuls wild watercress, dandelion greens, or arugula, torn
parsley, chopped for garnish

1. In a large, deep-sided saucepan, heat olive oil over medium-low and slowly cook diced jowl, rendering fat until the meat is crispy, about 30 minutes of mostly untended cooking with occasional stirring.

2. While the jowl is rendering, bring a pot of water to boil and add linguini. Cook until not quite al dente, drain, and set aside.

3. When diced jowl is crispy, raise heat to medium, add onions, and cook in pork fat for a minute before adding garlic and red pepper. Cook together for another 2 minutes. Stir in crushed red pepper flakes and paprika. Salt to taste.

3. Raise heat to high, de-glaze with white wine, and allow to bubble for 30 seconds, stirring, before adding clams and covering.

4. When clams begin to open, mix in greens and linguini. Continue to stir, coating pasta and reducing liquid if necessary. Serve and garnish with chopped parsley.

Serves 2.

Drinking wine, working the wok - (c) Susan Choi

Backyard Udon Stir-fry

Weeded the garden yesterday. Then cooked up the weeds for lunch.

February and March are strange months in the Pacific Northwest. It's often the best skiing of the year in the mountains, but those same storms that dump powder at elevation (or Cascade concrete, as the case may be) are nourishing the first flush of spring greens down in the valley.

Spring?

Indeed. This is the time to start looking for fresh wild greens on the West Coast, especially the highly nutritious weeds—when they've just emerged. Right now California is kicking out commercial quantities of stinging nettles, watercress, and—soon—fiddleheads, and my own stomping grounds to the north around Puget Sound are not far behind. In fact, this is the time I usually start filling my larder with the first (and best) stinging nettles of the year, which present an obvious green target against the otherwise drab colors of a forest floor still trying to shake off winter. Dandelions are at their best now, too, before budding; watercress is on the rebound; and bittercress is another favorite.

If you're hesitant to include backyard weeds in your menu, try this simple recipe, which is sort of like disguising a dog pill in a little ball of hamburger. Who doesn't love a big bowl of stir-fried noodles with bright toppings? Wild greens add a distinctive and healthy bite to a dish already brimming with flavors. For the dish pictured, I used dandelion greens and watercress.

A colorful, heaping bowl of noodles with a variety of good toppings is so appealing to me, and it can be even easier to put something interesting together if you have a few ingredients ready to go, for instance pickled fiddleheads or a Tupperware full of five-spice beef short ribs (I make the ribs on Sunday and put them in the fridge for just such a weekday purpose). A fried or poached egg is another easy topping.

Fresh udon can be purchased at many Asian markets, and the pre-packaged stuff (dried or frozen) is available at many conventional grocery stores. Cook the udon according to the instructions and make sure to rinse with cold water and pat dry before stir-frying.

You can vary the flavors in any number of ways if your Asian cupboard is well stocked with a variety of chili pastes, bean pastes, Sichuan peppercorns, black vinegar, rice vinegar, aji-mirin, fish sauce, Sriracha sauce, miso, light and dark soy sauce, oyster sauce, pickled chiles, sambal olek, and so on. Below is the simplest form: just a little soy and aji-mirin (sweet rice wine).

1 package fresh udon
1 tbsp peanut oil
2 green onions, thinly sliced (reserve sliced tops for garnish)
1 tbsp garlic, chopped
1 tbsp ginger, peeled and chopped
1 carrot, thinly sliced julienne
2 cups wild greens, torn (or bok choy, cabbage, etc.)
aji-mirin
soy sauce
1 tsp sesame oil (optional)

1. Boil udon according to directions. Drain, rinse, pat dry, and set aside.

2. In a wok or large pan, sauté green onions, garlic, and ginger for a minute in peanut oil over medium heat. Add carrot and cook together another minute. Add greens and stir-fry until wilted, 30 seconds or so.

3. Stir in cooked noodles, add a splash of aji-mirin (less than a quarter cup) and a splash of soy sauce, to taste. Mix well, add a little sesame oil, and serve. Top with a garnish of sliced green onions, cilantro, crispy fried shallots, a fried egg, or a five-spiced short rib—or all of the above.

Gnudi with Black Trumpets, Prosciutto & White Truffle

The magical combo of salty pig and fruity Cantharellaceae cannot be overstated. In this case I paired prosciutto with black trumpets, a match that took an already scrumptious dish—classic ricotta gnudi—over the top. But why stop there? If you're gonna get busted speeding, a certain twisted logic says it might as well be impersonating Mario Andretti.

So I shaved some Oregon white truffle.

From what I've been hearing, black trumpets are finally starting to show in their usual spots, though not in large numbers. It's been a slow winter pick overall and for this dish I resorted to dried mushrooms. It's not a difficult recipe, though it takes patience and a light touch.

A Few Words on Making Gnudi

Most gnudi recipes call for egg and flour to be mixed with the ricotta. These ingredients undoubtedly help to bind the gnudi and allow them to stand up to the boil—or even survive a subsequent pan fry intact. My Stinging Nettle Gnudi is just such a recipe, and it's delicious. But for the most tender and fall-apart goodness imaginable, you only need ricotta, or a mixture of ricotta and parmesan, along with an outer shell of semolina.

The main drawback is that you need to refrigerate the gnudi for at least a 24-hour period. Two days is even better, and three days is not unheard of. The semolina, as I understand it, helps to draw moisture out of the cheese, solidifying the gnudi, but sufficient time and cool temperatures are necessary.

This is the most tender and delicate gnudi I've ever tasted. They require care. Although this recipe will make enough for four, my advice is to make it for yourself the first time around, or for two. The leftover gnudi can remain in the fridge another day or two. Most recipes tell you to boil the gnudi for two or three minutes and remove after they float to the surface; these only need a minute in gently boiling water, and they might not float. Capture with a slotted spoon, then carefully place on a paper towel. The first time I made these, I tested eight in a rolling boil. Four survived. After that I reduced the heat and the cooking time for a 100 percent success rate.

Sauce:

2 tbsp butter, divided
1 small shallot, diced
1 handful black trumpets
vegetable oil
4 slices prosciutto, torn into pieces
chicken stock
parsley
parmesan cheese, grated at table
white truffles, shaved at table (optional)
salt and pepper, to taste

1. In a lightly oiled saute pan over medium heat, cook prosciutto pieces for a minute per side until slightly wrinkled and crispy. Remove to paper towel.

2. Melt 1 tablespoon butter in same saute pan and add diced shallot, stirring for a minute. Add black trumpets and cook together a few minutes, seasoning to taste. Deglaze pan with a splash of chicken stock if necessary, then remove pan contents to a bowl.

3. Melt 1 tablespoon butter in same pan over medium heat, add a quarter cup of chicken stock and whisk together, reducing. More chicken stock can be added and reduced later if necessary. Or, for a more decadent touch, add some cream.

4. Meanwhile, bring a pot of salted water to a light boil. Add gnudi and cook for about a minute before removing to paper towels with a slotted spoon.

5. Add prosciutto and mushroom-shallot mixture back into sauce pan, stirring.

6. Carefully plate gnudi and pour over sauce. Garnish with chopped parsley, optional truffles, and grated parmesan.

Black Truffle Pear Crostata

Ugly pie makers, unite! That is, those of us who make ugly pies, not... you get the idea. I barely have the patience to bake, much less make my creations look pretty. If you're like me, keep reading. Crostata is for us.

The (ahem) beauty of crostata is that it's meant to look all Frankenstein-y and whatnot. Short of a square head and electrodes, it's still stitched together with quick and easy pleats that don't even attempt to sew up the whole deal. It's a rustic, time-saving answer to that annoying friend of yours who pulls off a perfect lattice top with a few cutout curlicues to boot.

Besides, you can shush your annoying friend because you know how to find truffles (right?) and know how to use them in interesting ways. For instance, truffled dessert. Black truffles, whether from Périgord or Oregon, have a musky aroma that reminds some of overripe pineapple. It's an unusual aroma that's heavenly with certain sweets.

This crostata happens to be one of those excellent vehicles for black truffles, a combo that I discovered at Silvan Ridge Winery during the Oregon Truffle Festival. Shiloh Ficek of Red Hills Market in Dundee, OR, made this dessert and it was killer. His came with candied walnuts and a truffled Creme Anglaise; I took the easy route with vanilla ice cream. For the pastry, I used Ina Garten's recipe, which is easy and food processor-friendly.

Filling:

3 - 4 pears, peeled, cored, and sliced into chunks
1/4 tsp lemon zest

Topping:

1/4 cup flour
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 tsp kosher salt
1/4 tsp cinnamon
4 tbsp cold butter (1/2 stick), diced

Crust:

1 cup flour
2 tbsp granulated sugar
1/4 tsp kosher salt
1/4 pound (1 stick) cold butter, diced
2 tbsp ice water

1. To make pastry crust, combine flour, sugar, and salt in food processor. Add diced butter and pulse until pea-sized. Pour in ice water and process until mixture has nearly formed a mass of dough but not quite. Remove to a well-floured surface and knead until smooth, then roll into a foot-long cylinder. Wrap and refrigerate for 1 hour.

2. Mix pear chunks and zest in a bowl.

3. To make pastry topping, combine flour, sugar, salt, and cinnamon in food processor. Pulse and add butter. Process until crumbly. Set aside.

4. Pre-heat oven to 450 degrees.

5. Remove dough cylinder from refrigerator to a well-floured surface and slice into 6 equal portions. Form each portion into a ball and roll out into a 6-inch diameter pastry circle. Place on a baking sheet.

6. Dollop cut-up pears on each pastry. Sprinkle with a handful of topping. Bundle up pastry by lifting and pleating. Sprinkle exposed pear filling with more topping.

7. Bake 20 - 30 minutes, until golden and bubbling. Remove from oven and allow to cool a few minutes.

8. Shave black truffles over crostata while still warm and serve immediately with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Serves 6.

Truffle Redux

I went back to the Oregon Truffle Festival again this year. It was a no-brainer: wild foods, fun people, and more Willamette Valley wine than a ship of Vikings could put away. What's not to love?

Connie Green, longtime forager and owner of Wine Forest Wild Foods (French Laundry is a client), was one of the featured speakers, and there was the usual fast-paced agenda of lectures, forums, gastronomical heroics, plus a few hours in the field to get dirty, breath in some of that misty Willamette air, and work off all those calories (okay, maybe not all of them) during a guided truffle foray.

Just the way salt is a key ingredient in a good chocolate chip cookie, the success of the Oregon Truffle Festival rests on elements that might, at first glance, seem less than obvious, such as a hard-to-pin-down bonhomie that develops among the attendees. When you're spending two or three days with strangers, you better establish some rapport. All weekend long I found myself exchanging email addresses and phone numbers with an eclectic, sociable bunch of people drawn together to the church of food and drink.

Maybe some of the good vibes came from the success so many enjoyed while digging their own truffles on Saturday. I've said it before and I'll say it again: finding your own food is satisfying and infectious. I saw newbies emerge from the woods with huge grins and handfuls of Oregon white truffles. There were a few dogs on hand to help sniff out the tuberous delicacies, including Chloe, a lab whose master turned out to be John Getz, a professional forager who has been called "the mushroom whisperer."

I first learned of Getz from a DVD that David Arora showed me a few years ago. Arora said it was like watching a magic trick. The video, filmed on the Oregon coast, follows Getz along on his rambling rounds as he appears to pull #1 matsutake buttons, one after another, from thin air. Nowhere is there even the slightest hint of cap emerging from the sandy humus or even a bump in the duff—and yet this soft-spoken guy uncovers buckets of perfect matsi that he might as well have pulled rabbit-like from a hat. Getz laughed when I told him about the video, and offered modestly that it was just a matter of knowing which trees hosted a fruiting. Yeah, that and having a ninja fungal sense and nearly four decades of scouring Pacific Northwest mushroom patches under your belt.

A few food highlights. Saturday's post-foray luncheon, held at Silvan Ridge Winery in the bucolic Lorane Valley and helmed by Jason French from Ned Ludd in Portland and Shiloh Ficek of Red Hills Market in Dundee, kicked off with a Pinot Noir barrel tasting and continued with one of the best dishes of the weekend, a robustly truffled Chicken Liver Mousse (pictured at left) that was perfectly paired with a J. Scott Cellars Roussanne. Ficek told me he was a little nervous about the mousse because usually he made it in smaller batches, but the smooth texture and well-balanced accent of white truffle turned out just right.

French's wood-fired Pork Coppa Sandwich (pictured at right) anchored the meal. It came dressed with quince jam and a black truffle slaw, along with a glass of Silvan Ridge Syrah. It was a beguiling mixture of earthy and domestic, salty and sweet, and succulent and crunchy. The wine pairing was another hit, and I ended up going home with bottles of both the J. Scott Roussanne and a Silvan Ridge Muscat that accompanied a dessert of Black Truffle Pear Crostata, a dish I plan to replicate for a future post.

We got back to the hotel at 4 p.m., with merely two hours of down-time before another feast of even greater proportions, the Grand Truffle Dinner. After taking photos of the first course, which stretched nearly the length of the room on two long prep tables, I went to get my seating assignment and was delighted to find myself next to Clare and Brian, the husband-and-wife team behind Big Table Farm and Wine in Gaston, Oregon. Let me tell you, this was like winning the lottery—like doubling your money in Vegas. Besides the very generous pours (and more pours) that accompanied each course during the meal, the Big Table duo had smuggled in several of their own bottles to share with their tablemates. A big happy table indeed.

Among my favorite dishes at the Grand Truffle Dinner was the first course, a charcuterie plate prepared by Elias Cairo of Olympic Provisions in Portland (pictured at left) that boasted perhaps the most intense truffle experience of the weekend: slices of white truffle-infused saucisson (i.e., dry-cured salami) along with Jamon York, Mortadella, truffled mustard, and some simple yet exquisitely pickled beets and onions. Another winner, dreamed up by Nick Balla from Bar Tartine in San Francisco, was an umami bomb of sablefish, sunchoke, and Kabocha squash, its white truffle broth so good that I saw guests tipping their plates back to drink in every last drop.

A scent of truffles hovered through the ballroom as the dinner went on late into the night and a jazz combo tried to play over the sounds of active silverware. There was much imbibing, and then, late-night, I found myself among a group of revelers laying siege to a 1988 Champagne Fleury while plotting foraging expeditions of the future. Good times.

The Oregon Truffle Festival is held the last weekend of January. I've already blocked out the dates for next year.

The Hawk Lady

Dear readers, I'm pleased to share with you an essay of mine that was a finalist in Terrain.org's third annual writing contest. Terrain is an online lit journal that celebrates the intersection between nature and the human-mediated world. My submission, "The Hawk Lady," was published in issue 31, which debuted yesterday, January 15.

Those of you have read my book Fat of the Land: Adventures of a 21st Century Forager will recognize the essay's setting—the Rogue River Canyon of southwestern Oregon, where I spent a year off the grid with my family, a sabbatical away from the city that inspired both the book and this essay. So while it's not about foraging, per se, this piece is very much a part of what I'm doing now and my interest in our relationship with the wild.