One of the biggest “regrets” of my (lower) Northwest tenure – besides not seriously investing in my future retirement or becoming an early stage investor in my favorite vegan doughnut maker for that matter - and by that I mean eating more of their ludicrously good, artisanal yeasted doughnuts, which cancels out the first one anyway - was the lack of foraging for mushrooms.
I recall being absolutely wow’d when I heard of friends collecting chanterelles outside the city. How wild! How muddy! How…wow….how. How did they know what was what? Where did they go? Who did they go with? Was it filthy? Was it safe? This city dweller was intrigued, but far more flabbergasted to do anything about it.
Yet, I totally take back that notion of regret. It’s not the way I live, then or now. Nor was I ready. And I easily got my hands on wild ‘shrooms conveniently and gorgeously from the professionals at the farmers market or co-op, thank you very much.
Fast forward to this whole living in the middle of Alaska thing, and experiencing my first bright & sunny & rainy & mushroom-filled summer in 2019. I know, I know, hindsight, but it was extra, I swear. Animated boletes and amanitas in red, yellow, brown, orange and cream were *everywhere*.
I would spot them from the road. I would investigate on trails. I would wake up in the morning, raise the shades, and peer out the windows in Healy for the newly emerged.
We picked our very first “Kings” and savored risotto with the porcini of Alaska. Oh, it was good.
I s’pored over tons of mushroom guides, watched countless videos & intriguing-meets-boring-meets-huh Youtube’d ‘shroomy strolls, and went to the fungus festival in Girdwood, attending my first official, guided mycology walk. For my birthday weekend! The glee! I dove into the ‘how’ with the ‘wow’. This meant learning to identify and occasionally - even pick and eat!, and here I am, in my fifth northern summer, with one heck of an item checked off my foraging wish list: BURN MORELS, BABY.
I would call morels the holy grail of mushrooms, but 1) Okay, that would be “chicken of the woods” aka sulfur shelves, which do not grow this far north at this point on Earth and 2) Surely, ancient funghi predate a historically coveted drinking vessel.
(And a quick round of internet searchin’ even shows support for gigantic “fungi-like” masses both co-existing and perhaps, even pre-dating the age of dinosaurs. How, wow, uh huh.)
Nerd out with me…
Morels are usually considered the most identifiable wild mushroom one can confidently look for, and they’re not one to be cultivated or mass produced. They’re simply out there, with evidently 18+ edible “Morcella” species found throughout North America. Morels mean Spring, and Springtime means morels, which in this literal neck of the boreal woods means June and into early July. That’s when this particular foraging adventure took place - and then repeated for round 2 a week later.
It was…miraculous. I kid you not. The weather was perfect, and the hunting was surreal.
You hope, you wander, you rock Xtratufs and keep your eyes on the ground in what feels like - and in the span of the planet’s age, briefly is - a seemingly empty, post-apocalyptic wasteland, inching into renewal with bits of color. And then you make out the first little magical morel, scream, behold, and on it goes.
Searching for morels had so far been a tricky, muddy, buggy business in past years. We’d previously found a total of two or three burn morels amidst what felt like thousands more mosquitos up on the Murphy Dome, some cartoon-ish false morels (which you do not want) and one welcome surprise abandoned by a squirrel, mid-path. Oh yes, we cooked that one.
Friends had shared their own scores, but kept the locales under wraps. Sigh, I get it.
This year...
This year, my partner got a tip, and that tip was solid. We headed up north with two enthusiastic and knowledgeable friends, one of whom spotted the very first morel. We all raced over, incredulous. Wondrous. Each of us quickly found our own first. The exclamations continued. After that, it was countless. We were entranced by this no-longer-bleak landscape. We were rich with morels!
After digging around multiple sources, I’m thinking we came across “Morchella septimelata “ and/or “Morchella sextelat”, which according to Mushroom-appreciation.com, are both known as “Morchella eximia”. Specifically, these are considered burn morels, which appear following a forest fire, in this case in Clear, Alaska (where, as the air here a bit south can attest, sporadic wildfires continue in very recent time). Scary, fascinating, hopeful.
Eye on the prize…
Two weeks in a row, our kitchen turned into morel-processing central. Shockingly, the cats did not care. We have yet to find a shriveled, stray morel under the bed.
I immediately trimmed, cleaned (by briefly soaking in very lightly salted water), patted dry and dehydrated & froze a ton for the months ahead. As in, A TON. Let me point out that I had lost my Opinel mushroom knife to the blueberry bogs last summer, and week 1’s haul was way dirtier vs. week 2 when we took more time to efficiently cut the stems as we collected. You live and learn.
Umami hour.
It was a brief, but beautifully delicious spell of morel-ling everything we could.
It was not worth eating if not utilizing morelsssss.
They have a very short shelf live and should be eaten A-S-A-P when fresh, hence all the frenzy. And delight.
There was:
Morel Gyros
Morel Pho Chay (& broth)
Morel Ma Po Tofu
Buffalo Morels
Morel Wild Rice
Morel Quiche
And the musts:
Morel Risotto
Almost, almost tacos
And Fried Morels, galore*
*Well, twice. It was glorious, and a repeat, which calls for a galore.
I’m talking dredged in seasoned flour = all purpose flour, lots of freshly ground black pepper, smoked chili flakes, kashmiri chili powder, garlic powder, coriander, and whatever else I’m forgetting. Another go with curry powder in the mix. Some cornmeal or panko for extra crispin’. Shallow-fried in a hot cast iron pan, just like Insta perusin’ and a real life neighbor recommended.
Forget breaded cauliflower, forget chicken! The seasoned flour coated every single little crevice, creating bite after bite of excellent crunch that met the savoury, inner umami core. It was fine, fine eating.
A+, would do again.
Have you had the pleasure of fresh or dried morels? What would you do with a bounty like this?!
Morel days in photos...
Round 2
Looking for morels? Here’s a mantra to follow:
One: When in doubt, throw it out!
Two: If it ain’t hollow, don’t swallow!
Three: If it’s wavy, don’t make it gravy!
Four: If it’s reddish, you could be dead-ish!
– Michael Kuo ofMushroomExpert.com’s four basic rules on determining “edible true morels”.
Pssst…
Sensitive stomach? New to wild foods? Make sure to cook your morels well, eat a small amount, and see how it goes for the night. Also take note that gastrointestinal issues may occur, and may be heightened by concurrent alcohol consumption.
References + Relevant Links, Morel Edition:
The 18 (& counting) Morel Mushroom Species of the United States, Mushroom Appreciation
The Do’s and Don’t of Eating Morels - or how not to get sick, Mid Missouri Morels and Mushrooms
Fossil Mushrooms Discovered from the Era of Dinosaurs, The Guardian June 7, 2017
Long Before Trees Overtook the Land, Earth Was Covered by Giant Mushrooms, Smithsonian Magazine July 17, 2013
Morels, a Morsel after the Fire, Agricultural and Forestry Experiment Station, School of Agriculture and Land Resources Management, University of Alaska Fairbanks 2005-2007
‘shroom shroom, these scone archives
No need for regret, for sure. Mushroom foraging is serious business, and one has to be in the right place life-wise for it. I’m still not there and I’m ok with that. The morel bounty and all those dishes though! Swoon!
I'm very behind but this is awesome! Too scared to get into shroom foraging myself, so thank you for the visual and written journey