Uncontainable within the logic of the garden, shrouded in mystery, hinting at sorcery, they gestate along lengthy subterranean networks, feed off dying trees, and bloom in the moonshine.Their very form--a drooping hood-- hints at secrecy. They are morel mushrooms and their meat is nothing short of ambrosial. And now that their fleeting season is upon us (though those days are numbered) I only hope you have a friend like my friend, Nora, who picked these beauties for me on her mother's bucolic Powell-area property.
For me, going simple is best as it allows the ’shrooms to do their thing without too many interruptions from their unadulterated pleasures. I just cook ’em down in butter (after a saltwater rinse to purge any potential tiny critters) and cook 'em in a clarified butter omelet laced with parsley from my garden and enriched with gruyere cheese.
Be glad you weren't around to suffer my guttural moans as I lustily dispatched with this dinner-- a little bit of ecstasy on a plate.