Wild Mushroom Foraging: Ceps, Chanterelles and the Magic of Autumn Fungi
Timing Is Everything in Mushroom Foraging
Timing. So much of life is about timing. Last week we promised to dedicate this Hesp Out West feature to the wonderful fungi explosion that has been occurring here in the South West of England of late. I’d already found more edible field mushrooms than I could possibly eat, but I was hoping to find some delicious ceps before I had to file this article. And, hey-presto. Monday and Tuesday’s bright sunshine brought the blighters out.
There they were, just a brace of them, standing white and brown and proud, right on one of my daily dog-walking routes.
Discovering Ceps (Boletus Edulis) in the West Country
Boletus edulis first appeared in this particular woodland spot near my house about ten years ago. Over the previous two decades I’d never seen any in that spot – now they pop up under some holly and oak trees every year. Not many. Just enough to keep the hunter-gatherer who lurks inside one weary journalist happy.
Because, ceps really are delicious. One of my favourite wild mushrooms – and, indeed, a favourite among foragers in countries where they really know about harvesting food in the wild, such as France and Italy. Slightly sweet, crunchy and nutty. That’s how I’d describe really good fresh Boletus-edulis in their prime. Perfect, just fried in good butter and tossed in steaming spaghetti. That is how I’ve enjoyed them in Tuscany, and that is how I like ’em here when I am lucky enough to find them.
Edible boletus growing in my local woodland
How to Identify Edible Boletes
The other wonderful thing about ceps is that you’d have to be an idiot to confuse them with any of their more poisonous cousins. Indeed, boletes are a relatively safe bet because only one I know of can make you really ill. That is Devil’s Bolete (Rubroboletus satanas), also known as Satan’s Bolete. It has bright red spongy pores underneath, so you’d need to be colour-blind to eat one of those.
And this family of fungi is easy to identify because they are those quite large mushrooms that seem to have foam rubber under their caps rather than gills. You can eat most of them, although some will give you a bad tummy if you don’t cook them through, including one whose flesh turns bright blue when you break it open (Lurid Bolete – Suillellus luridus).
The beloved Boletus edulis (Penny Bun) has white-ish pores when it’s in perfect condition, although the spongy substance does turn more yellow as the mushroom grows older.
Beautiful white cep sliced
Other Wild Mushrooms: Birch-Boletus and Ink Caps
One cousin which it can be confused with is the Birch-boletus – they’re not poisonous but I avoid them because I reckon they have a metallic flavour. However, a friend loves them, claiming they are better than the more popular penny bun.
A few feet from the examples I’ve just picked were a host of Magpie Fungi – which looks a little like a Shaggy Ink Cap but is poisonous. Indeed, I don’t bother with the ink caps that so many people love, because they do not go well with alcohol. Drink a glass of white wine with a mushroom dish containing those fine fellows and you can find yourself feeling very queasy indeed.
Why Mushroom Foraging Requires Caution
No thanks. In fact, I am extremely cautious when eating any kind of edible fungi from the wild – which, of course, is the only way to be. I do have friends who are braver than me in this regard – they are careful and they take books with them when foraging – but I am way too scared to eat even mushrooms which I’m fairly certain are safe.
Field mushroom look-a-like I am not certain of
To me, the word “fairly” is nowhere good enough. “One hundred percent certain” is the only phrase I’m interested in. Which is why I keep my harvesting limited to half-a-dozen firm favourites that I can identify with absolute certainty. Like the wonderful chanterelle, for example.
True Chanterelles vs False Chanterelles
Saying that, there is a “false chanterelle” which, alas, has been responsible for the deaths of several people in the UK over the past few years, while putting others on kidney dialysis machines.
True chanterelles: golden-yellow, with a sweet scent reminiscent of apricots. Their gills have thick, blunted ridges or folds.
False chanterelles: more orange-yellow, with a mild mushroomy scent. They have thin, forked blades that are easily separated.
Too close for comfort? Then don’t risk it. And I wouldn’t blame you. My confidence with chanterelles only comes after many years of picking them, having originally been trained by expert mycologists while on numerous guided fungi-hunts.
Plate of mixed, totally edible mushrooms
Foraging Rules: Never Take Chances
Caution. That is the massive byline that should be printed above all fungi. For example, when I set out on my dog walk this morning I came across a whole swathe of really good-looking field mushrooms. I didn’t hesitate for a second. I walked right on by. Why?
Loads of hard to identify brown “jobs”, not edible
Well, for a start they were in a graveyard. Somehow the thought of picking something so white and bone-like in such a place, then eating it, doesn’t exactly do much for my levels of culinary excitement.
And they were growing under a yew tree. For some reason I have long forgotten, I do not pick any fungi that grow under the yew. Each year I am aghast to find that a mushroom known as the Destroying Angel (Amanita virosa) grows under it. There is, I am told, a very frightening 50 to 90 percent chance that you will not survive eating such a thing.
The nearest I’ve ever got to making a mistake was years ago when I picked and ate a yellow stainer mushroom (Agaricus xanthodermus). Closely related to common field mushrooms, but mildly poisonous – and I was unlucky enough to learn that the hard way.
The Magic of Fungi in the West Country
However, fungi magic, in all its many forms, is a wonderful thing for country-lovers to enjoy at this time of year, whether you’re setting out to find something for the pot or not. Mushrooms and toadstools have gone into turbo-drive weaving their mystical spell upon the autumnal world this week after the rains. At least here in more remote parts of the West Country.
In some countries where fungi is deemed culinary king, the stuff no longer dares to peep its seasonal head above the autumn leaves because of commercial-picking. And I am told the situation is getting worse here.
Some years ago the Forestry Commission slapped restrictions on people harvesting fungi in the New Forest for this reason. God forbid we’ll ever see bans imposed on our remote Westcountry hills.
Spotting a handful of edible fungi for your own kitchen, however, is not going to wreck the delicate ecosystems.
Best Places to Find Wild Mushrooms in the South West
More little brown job - no, not magic mushrooms
Where are the best places to look? That, of course, depends very much on the mushroom you have in mind, but as a general rule ancient unspoilt woodlands will pay the best dividends. Deep mossy banks crowned with beech trees can be good, probably because the delicate root systems have not been disturbed for centuries.
For me, one of the allures of mushroom picking is the sense of mystery – the never knowing what you’ll get.
Ironically, the most common toadstool growing in my area happens to be the most deadly of the lot – the aptly named Death Cap mushroom. Always a sobering sight as I walk by and see slugs crawling across its surface, chewing away as if there were no tomorrow. Which, in the case of a human, there wouldn’t be.
Edible mushrooms with eggs
