My wacky guitar shaman, Ambrose, called in the dead of rainy night, to remind (no, entice) me to hunt chanterelles tomorrow. Here on the central CA coast after this last big rain, they are a-poppin under the oaks in mossy sunny areas. Luckily in CA, since it's winter, one doesn't run the risk of tripping over some Vietnam era booby trap from some local pot grower but I admit the hunter gatherer thrill is the same. Since this is the night before I don my camo, read on to see how it turned out.
OK, next morning. Grab a bag and a knife and head up Robinson Canyon. This is a 10 mile, winding one lane that weaves through redwood groves and fern valleys. As per my shaman's instruction, I am looking for morning sun hillsides under oak trees on disturbed soft soil. The nice thing about chanterelles is their distinct orange color is easily spotted from the road. You need to cut them off with a sharp knife so they will return next season.
So after an hour of crawling through poison oak and sopping wet moss, I had a nice big bag full. So I headed back to Ambrose to gloat over my treasure. As he peered into my bag, he gave me what I call "the stink eye". His only comment was, "you didn't eat any of these did ya?" Seems my keen eye had brought home some mimickng species of poisonous potential. Damnit, I hate that.
So we pile in his truck and head off to his private picking ground through the guardhouse and into a gated community. Seems the wealthier class don't like getting their hands dirty so the schrooms survive a little longer. Sure enough as he said, they were there and since rain is coming for the next few days, the time was right.
So Nancy just rolled her eyes as if to say, "what have you done now?". I say garlic, onions, cream and, voila, Soupe des Chanterelles. Check the obituaries to see how this ends up.
