Morel Madness
A yellow morel from last spring.
Today, like yesterday and the day before, I spent two long, desperate hours stalking morels (Morchella sp.), the first gourmet mushrooms to emerge each spring in most of North America. I have not yet heard any reports of morel sightings in Ithaca this spring, but the mere fact that morels theoretically could be out keeps me on the prowl. Mushroom hunters to the south and west of Ithaca have been luckier, filling their baskets since early April according to this 2011 sightings map from Morel Hunters, whose slogan is, "Where the hunters gather." Morels have deservedly acquired a singular reputation amongst foragers and gourmands alike; there are millions of people throughout their wide American range who confidently harvest morels every spring, yet cannot identify any other local mushrooms.
Just don’t go around asking random mushroom hunters about the location of their morel patches. “No, I won't tell you where they were found. Of course not! Morel spots are private,” wrote Cornell University mycologist Kathie Hodge – who holds an annual first morel contest in Ithaca – in an email to the campus mushroom listserv last spring. What makes morels drive people so crazy that many a friendship has been lost over them, and more than a few lives have been lost in their pursuit?
A half-free morel from last spring
Morels have a rich, woodsy, and gamey flavor, but in taste alone it is debatable whether they outshine porcinis, hen of the woods, or the more obscure yet divine black trumpet. Partly, morels have developed such a following because they are the first delicacy provided by the forest after the long, mushroom-less winter. It doesn’t hurt that all morels, from the black to the yellow to the early and almost as tasty half-free, have a bizarre and striking physical appearance that adds a bold statement to a dish. Watch out, though, as the false Gyromitra and Verpa morels share the true morels’ general spongy appearance!
Though in the right place at the right time morels can appear in profusion, their rarity and fleeting season make them all the more coveted. Indeed, the capricious, trickster quality of the morel keeps foragers on an endless quest for this charismatic harbinger of spring. While some mushrooms, such as hen of the woods, almost consistently fruit in the same locations every year while they remain alive, morels are notoriously fickle and picky about when and where they choose to show their spongy faces. In the Northeast in particular, morels are certainly out there, but they are few and far between.
After having spent more hours than I care to admit tirelessly and fruitlessly pursuing morels over the past week, I am starting to agree with visionary mycologist Paul Stamets that mushrooms have a pesky sense of humor.
