I have a question.
How can you tell if a mushroom has gone “bad”?
When you buy (or pick) them they’re already disgusting. All black spots and dirt and slimy stuff. Eeeww.
So how do you know when it’s time to give them as a special gift to the trash man?
A few days ago I thought I would be a loving wife and bring some home for HD. He loves them so I’ve been putting them in a few supper time dishes for him. Mind you – I slice them large enough so I can pick them out!
Tonight it didn’t seem like they were quite as fresh as the day I brought them home. But they still looked the same and I couldn’t really tell if they were too old.
Oh what the heck.
Just put them in anyway.
Once they’re fried up who knows the dif? Right?
My very smart computer is telling me dif is not a word. But YOU know it is don’t you?
Anyway. He ate them and didn’t complain. He’s still walking around and just came in from putting the chickens away. I guess they were okay.
Speaking of mushrooms. Back in the 70’s they were a very hot item to paint. We painted mushrooms on everything. Why did we do that?
I have so many questions about what we used to do in the old days.
Here are some mushrooms painted by Joan Johnson around 1970. She was definitely the queen of blending. Just look at those colors and the value gradations.
Here is a mushroom pattern by Jo Sonja from 1972. Isn’t this just SO JO?
Here is a pencil sketch of mushrooms by Freda Brummett. Her book was published in 1971. There were no colored photos, but the book was full of beautiful pencil sketches.
Freda liked mushrooms so much she wrote a poem about them.
Ode to the Mushroom
by Freda Brummett
These fungi, or mushrooms, in their various forms,
Some edible, delicious, some to be scorned.
All quite beautiful, a sight to behold.
Don’t go around tasting, please! don’t be bold.
I just know for certain the lowly Morel,
My mouth waters now for the taste and the smell.
We picked them by baskets when I was a kid.
Under the oak trees in the forest they hid.
Early in spring they come up like a shot,
If one day it rains and the next day it’s hot.
Soak in salt water, roll ’em in flour.
Saute in butter one fourth of an hour.
Some people dip in egg batter and fry.
When I see them do this I suppress a sigh.
They try it’s distinctive taste to embellish.
But it covers the delicate flavor I relish.
Did I say Eeeww?
But it’s a lovely poem and a lovely drawing.