It’s my favourite time of the year again. As the summer draws to a close the shops and the market stalls start to fill up with mushrooms.
Of course proper Germans don’t buy mushrooms. They put on their hiking boots and head off to the fields and woods to pick their own. Good mushrooming locations are passed down like guilty secrets in families, told only to trustworthy members of the next generation, who are sworn to eternal secrecy.
Germans also tend to be fairly well versed in the identification of edible versus non-edible varieties. While unsuspecting Brits would probably wipe out three generations of their family with one home-picked mushroom omelette, Germans usually survive the experience to tell the tale. If in doubt, the local Apotheke (pharmacy) will offer a professional mushroom identification service.
Being an ex-pat Brit, I have to admit that I just buy my mushrooms at the local market, fry them up in butter with a hint of garlic and some fresh herbs and serve with a fresh salad from the garden.
But one day… if I ever become German enough to be initiated into the secrets of the mushroom pickers… I shall join the ranks of the elite.. the teutonic mushroom harvesters.
Baskets at dawn?