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Into The Woods
Touraine Region, FranceTo enjoy the pleasures of the French table, you ensconce yourself in one of Paris’s many fine restaurants. To really savor autumn’s treat – mushrooms – you’ll have to get your hands dirty.

Montrésor

Alain Gohon, our Norman-based interior decorator, doesn’t mind at all. The rewards are worth it. He told us we should try it too. That’s how my husband, Chris, and I joined the annual mushroom-picking expedition which began when Alain and his brothers were still kids. His father, a connoisseur of good wines and food, especially mushrooms, bundled the boys in the car each year to explore the lush Touraine region’s vast network of private and national forests.

This year, we’d meet Alain’s brother, his family and close friends for a weekend near the town of Montrésor in the heart of the Touraine. The region, located approximately 100 miles southwest of Paris is best known for its treasure trove of fairy-tale Renaissance castles dotting the Loire Valley.

Although Montrésor is classified as one of the loveliest medieval villages in France, tourists visiting the Touraine region often miss it because of the number of more prestigious chateaux villages in the vicinity. It’s red-tiled roof stone townhouses and its delicately spired church repose on a rocky promontory, unmarred by T-shirt and souvenir stands. Montrésor’s privately-owned chateau can be visited and it’s well worth the detour, if only to meet its exhuberant owner, Comtessa Stanislas Rey. However, we were here to find mushrooms, not heirlooms.

Navas, our 19^th century manor house or gîte, resting place or lodging, in the Villeloin-Coulange village was too pretty for this classification. Equipped with a formal dining room and dishware, kitchen and ample sleeping space for thirteen, we felt as if we were staying at a rich old aunt’s country house. Tucked deep in the woods, the nine hectare estate graced with a chapel and a duck pond would not only prove to be the ideal locale for mushrooming but also a convenient five-minute drive to Montrésor.

Bernard trimming a ‘coulemelle’

I had met Genevieve, Marinette and Monique a week earlier in Paris to plan the weekend menu. Alain was to bring an assortment of Norman cheeses, including pungent goat cheeses along with a special bottle of wine to celebrate his niece’s 21^st birthday. We hoped there’d be mushrooms to accompany the pork roast and grilled meats. Chris and I wouldn’t be learning only about mushroom picking during this weekend, but how to celebrate life with food among friends.

As soon as we arrived, we gathered around the dining room table for a welcome apèratif of white wine and cassis. Alain described the two varieties of mushrooms we would find – cépes, edible boletus and pied de mouton, sheep’s feet – both of which grow well from late September to the end of October.

Recent rains and a waxing moon increased our chances of a good harvest, as well as knowing the right places to look. Because Alain had been visiting these forests for the past sixteen years, he had his favorite spots.

In France, forests are divided into privately-owned and national forests. Technically speaking, one must gain permission to enter privately-owned forests. In reality, rules about trespassing are loosely interpreted. Prudence, common sense and respect for private property are the bywords, the idea being not to abuse the forest’s bounty. Unfortunately, certain varieties of mushrooms have been virtually cleaned out in forests adjacent to urban areas where commercial pickers have exhausted the supply.

Mushroom picking is not without its dangers. “If we run across a wild boar, stand behind a tree,” Alain suggested. Long pants and thick boots protect one’s legs from brambles, but also poisonous vipers. Prime mushroom season coincides with the hunting season, so beware of friendly fire. Perhaps the biggest risk are the mushrooms themselves. Eat the wrong mushroom and you die.

To pick mushrooms correctly, wear waterproof boots for slogging through mud and for protection against brambles. Bring wicker baskets. If you use plastic bags, never mix unknown varieties in the same bag with edible mushrooms (the poisons can contaminate otherwise edible mushrooms). Bring a knife to cut mushrooms at the stem rather than ripping them out by the roots (this breaks the rhizome systems, the underground artery that connects an entire colony of mushrooms.

Discard overripe mushrooms even if edible because the chemistry is so delicate that even edible mushrooms may cause stomach pain. Mushrooms should be eaten soon after they’re picked for this reason. If you are unsure, take it to a French pharmacist who will be able to identify it for you.

Equipped with baskets and sound advice, we ventured out to the woods. We zoomed past acres of forests which occasionally ceded to rolling apple and pear orchards, fields of sunflowers, corn or cereal and grazing cows. In front of a farmer’s fallow field, Jean-Pierre Gohon walked out to the middle of the field and kicked over a patch of soil. He picked up a prairie mushroom.

Mushrooming with Bernard, Alain & Chris

“You see this? These mushrooms – they break through the earth like an earthquake!” He held up the mushroom for us to inspect. “Not as tasty as a cépe, but if we find nothing in the forest, we can content ourselves with these,” Jean-Pierre said.

We scrambled out of our cars into the thick forests of nearby Chartreuse – site of an old Carthusian monastery. Other parked cars reminded us we were not alone in our pursuit. Within five minutes, we spotted our first cépe, plump and enticing, its chestnut brown cap peeping above brown leaves. We gathered round while Alain plucked it out of the cool, damp soil. Farther along, we stumbled upon a colony of trompettes de la mort, death’s trumpets. In spite of its name, this tasty, chewy black mushroom, sauteed with shallots, adds wonderful texture to a main meat or fish course.

Whether we found tons of mushrooms or not, just being in the forest was fun – intimidating as well. It’s easy to lose track of one another. Chris and I tried never to lose sight of Alain as he charged through brush and brambles. A trusty compass might come in handy.

French forests well deserve their reputation as magical domains even without sorcerers. While searching for succulent mushrooms, our heads slanted downwards toward the forest floor. We were locked in the moment. The Paris we had recently left behind, with its traffic jams and 21^st century pollution slipped into oblivion.

We passed colonies of snowy white amanitas, poisonous varieties that sprout everywhere in the forest. As Alain pushed branches aside, we reached a clearing where piles of chestnuts freshly popped out of their spiny casing lay – ready for the taking.

“You see this clearing? Wild boars were here. They LOVE chestnuts.” I was not eager to try out Alain’s method of hiding behind trees when a boar appeared. For one thing, none of these trees were big enough to hide behind. Fortunately, the boars had long gone.

Golden-headed chanterelles peeped out from their pine needle beds. We brushed away brittle oak leaves to uncover the creamy colored irregularly shaped sheep’s feet.

“When you find one, you’re sure to find more,” Alain encouraged with fervor. He didn’t want us to give up until our baskets brimmed. He took us to a second favorite spot. “We’re sure to find cépes, but we must fan out,” he said. We began pushing our way through waist-high ferns like police tracking down Jean Valjean.

A broad-capped cépe de Bordeaux sat sedately shaded by a fern. It looked like Alice in Wonderland in stature. There were sure to be more of its ilk beneath other ferns. Alain and his brother broke open some of the cépes’s fleshy centers to show us their interiors.

“These two are over-ripe. You see how green they’ve become. The insects have started on them. We won’t take these,” they decided, tossing them back into the ferns.

We spent over two hours in the forest. We emerged successful with laden baskets, a fine sampling of cépes, pieds de mouton, trompettes de la mort, chanterelles, and one coulemelle.

Mushroom Still Life

We headed back to the Navas kitchen. First, each mushroom was carefully inspected. The trompettes de la mort were split and checked for bugs. Then the cépes were sliced lengthwise and placed on baking sheets. We diced shallots. Alain gently sauteed the pieds de mouton and the trompettes de la mort – fifteen minutes or more until all the excess moisture was cooked out.

When we gathered around the huge oak dining table for Sunday lunch, we had reason to celebrate – we had returned from the woods with full baskets. The rest of the meal consisted of thick crusty bread, market-fresh endives and beets, pungent roquefort and goat cheeses, velvety Bordeaux and robust burgundies.

We tried to contain our impatience for the main course to be served – a succulent pork roast accompanied by our hand-picked, delicately sauteed mushrooms served in separate bowls to retain their natural flavors. Each bite recaptured that moment of discovery for those of us who had entered the forest. Mushrooms never tasted better.