Magical Mushrooms
The '70s was a bad time for the mushroom. visually, it was cutesified; it showed up on oven mitts and recipe cards, on weird kitchen plaques and stray canisters. Growing up, I considered it an image more than a food item; those mushrooms I encountered on my plate were invariably canned or well disguised by soup matter. Recent years were a little kinder. Mushrooms started showing up in stir fry, on sandwiches even. Grocery stores began offering more than your basic white--meaty Portobellos, smoky shiitakes and delicate straws. Their fame brought them a bit of a diva rep: Mushrooms, it was said, should be brushed, not washed; they should not be purchased after the gills had spread; they should be kept in cloth bags, never plastic.
Now we're all older and a bit more sensible, we know these are culinary myths. A few things hold true--don't buy mushrooms with mushy gills or soft spots--but, by and large, the mushroom is pretty straightforward. It can be served raw, sauteed, stuffed or grilled, and you have to go out of your way to ruin it.
So when I had a few dinner guests on the way the other week, I decided to treat them to pasta ai fungi, if only for the hilarity rating of the name. It's a fairly self-explanatory dish, requiring white, Portobello and shiitake mushrooms, some tomatoes, garlic, a few capers and some pasta. The recipe said it served four and I was serving six, so I doubled it.
This brought the mushroom poundage up to five. Think how happy most of us are when we lose five pounds. Now imagine those pounds in mushrooms. On your cutting board, on your counter, overflowing even your biggest bowls.
Stoically, I sliced--I know people who write cookbooks, and they say they test every recipe. I paused only to open the back door to my brother, who surveyed the scene with widening eyes. I explained that the now-doubled recipe would serve eight. "Eight what?" he asked.
I continued slicing, but by the time my friends arrived, I was near tears. There was an absurd amount of mushrooms. "Oh, my," said one upon entering the kitchen. "Are you making soup?" said another. A third, taking pity after seeing my stricken face, laid a gentle hand on my arm. "Why, they'll shrink right up," she said soothingly. "You'll see."
