The Portobello Project

Sing, O Muses, of the sporous wonder of the edible fungi!

Look at these little beauties! Such globular tops, such sturdy stem legs, umbrellas branching out to shade the surrounding compost. And they're three times the size today than they were when I took this picture. Now the cluster in the corner crowds the box with magnificent brown crowns.

Sure, the mulch, with the myceleum poking through (that's the white, mouldy looking stuff) appears disgusting, but it hides a treasure trove of mineral rich fungi waiting to be turned into a lasagna (something like this, though with a layer of creme freche instead, fried sage and no chicken: http://www.gourmet.com/recipes/2000s/2009/03/cheesy-chicken-and-mushroom-lasagne). Or, if the crops yields more than currently promised by the five mushrooms in the box, I'm going to try drying them for risottos. What could be better than your own home-grown dried mushrooms, sitting in the pantry like a promise of self-sufficiency and comfort meals to come? (So many people think of risotto as a company meal, but it's just a savory rice pudding; stir until creamy and indulge. T and I love it at the cold beginning of spring, thick with asparagus and lemon juice.)

I'm teaching a class on dystopian literature, so the ideas of gardening, foraging and drying, canning, pickling, etc. are on my mind. (Of course the apocalypse makes me think of food. Other people are hording guns and machetes, and I'm wondering what's for lunch.) I'm reading Into the Forest with my class, and while I'm not sure I find Hegland's essential argument of returning to the hunter-forager lifestyle appealing, I do like all of the narrative about home canning and the like. It's inspired me to at least three projects this summer:

1) Can my own tomatoes. Sure, I'll have to buy them by the bushel at the market, but what the heck? It's the only time of year you can buy that many organic tomatoes without going bankrupt. I might even be able to convince Whole Foods to sell me their banged up, mushy tomatoes at a lower price at the end of the day.

2) Make some fun pickles. Pickled carrots? Okra? At the very least, I'll be stocked for cold weather bloody marys.

3) Create a sourdough starter. Or, even better, attract my own yeast from the local environment. By this summer, Kate, Glenna, Jonathan and I will have completed our informal course in artisan bread baking (courtesy of Peter Reinhart's The Bread Baker's Apprentice) and I'll be ready to start a yeasty science project.*

*By the way, we invite you to follow our bread making travails at http://www.themerrybakers.blogspot.com/. No posts as of yet, but we're making our first bread this weekend!

Damn. When did it get to be 8:09am? I better water the mushrooms (in the instructions, I am told to sprinkle them like the morning dew) and get to work.

Wouldn't it be lovely to cook and write all day?