Wild Mushrooms One of the dubious pleasures of advancing towards middle-age, and beyond, is that one begins to see the interconnectedness of it all, the little trivial but well-remembered detail, in some way linked to the way the light fanned out across a wooden floor, giving rise finally to the face of someone unaccountably recalled as one dips, Proust-like, a biscuit into a mug of milky tea. Henceforth, I’ll always associate the ringing of a church bell with words written by John Donne, “Do not ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.” These words, which struck me as faintly ominous, moved Ernest Hemingway to name his book, written against the background of the civil war in Spain: “For whom the bell tolls”. I only recently read this wonderful book, without quite realising that the author was born a hundred years ago. There is a scene described in the book, set in the mountains of Spain, that is almost lustful. It is not a scene about sex but it is a scene about food. The sentry, a gypsy, abandons his post to hunt down two hares mating (an unbelievable stroke of luck, according to him). The hares, both of them fat, are then cooked with wild mushrooms and herbs. (Frankly, his description of the hare stew moved me more than the love scenes, followed by the by now famous question, “Did the earth move for you?” - “It moved for me, my dear, but on account of the delicious hare stew with mild mushrooms,” might have come my reply. ) Reading that scene I became ravenous. Hemingway has a knack of making everything seem terribly real. Food, or rather the act of eating, features almost solemnly in his writing, following usually in the wake of his hunting and fishing expeditions, a genre he has all but made his own. So visceral is his art that even a tin of baked beans has seemed irresistible to me, ( I bought a larger number of cans of KOO baked beans after reading a baked bean scene of his.) Reading him, one becomes aware of textures, of a breeze on the skin, of the picado piercing the hide of a a bull, of early-morning frosts clinging to grass. Recently I was invited to go mushroom hunting in Newlands Forest, which is situated on the slopes of Table Mountain in Cape Town. The light, in the late afternoon was soft and iridescent, and barely warmed the still-damp and in places soggy earth where we trudged along. It was not quite spring yet, but it was a beautiful day nevertheless. This, I remembered, was the smell I always associated with wild mushrooms, the smell of ambient dampness and of forest bark after the rains, and of pine needles not crisp underfoot like in summer, but soft and decaying. Making our way slowly along the footpaths, we spoke in an abstracted manner as we scanned the ground surrounding stems of trees. These damp shadowy areas are the breeding grounds for the delectable little fungi. And this reminded me that one sometimes finds perfection in the most unlikely places, a beauty in the slums, the pearl buried in the oyster slime, a pale gleaming mushroom in the shadows. I recalled the best mushrooms I had every tasted. It was at Meerlust Estate, the birthplace of so many beautiful wines, and one of the guests, a young woman from Paris tasted these in disbelief, whispering to me “You can’t find these in Paris.” She went on to explain in reverent tones that the French regard these as a great delicacy and that they cost a fortune. She did not quite believe the host who explained that the mushrooms, which had been sundried, grew wild on the farm. The king of wild mushrooms, boletus edules, had been lightly prepared and melted in one’s mouth. Even though the medallions of lamb wrapped in bacon were succulent and perfectly grilled over coals, it seemed crude compared to the subtle delicacy of the mushrooms - presented as an accompaniment, but outshining the lamb, like a child prodigy playing second violin outshining the soloist. It was a memorable afternoon, with the smell of spring in the tall grass where we sat observing a game of tennis in progress, and the interminable rallies between two evenly matched doubles partners. There was no question of talent here, of course, but the gentle monotony of ball hitting the racket gut was soothing. I recall the diffident presence of Giorgio dalla Cia, who is a very important personage on Meerlust as he is the cellar master. He’s from the north of Italy originally and is the nicest man I’ve ever met and there is something paradoxical in this because - for all his knowledge - he is quietly spoken, with the virtue of listening more than he speaks. The maestro himself presided over the preparations for the menu. His knowledge of wild mushrooms, attained in Italy, is as legendary as his ability to produce wines of international stature. Meerlust Pinot Noir 81 (?) was served with the lamb and mushrooms, complementing it well. Some time has passed since then and the memory blurs, but I can recall the feeling of well-being experienced upon tasting a wine that was truly superb. Wild mushrooms are on the whole a seasonal delicacy, and some knowledge is required before one attempts to harvest them. Most of us use cultivated mushrooms in our cooking. Here is a simple but delicious recipe for cultivated mushrooms. It is provided by George XXX, the chef at the Cellars-Hohenort, the only hotel in the Cape to have been given Chateau Relais status. George suggests that neither peel nor stalk should be removed, and the mushrooms rubbed with a cut lemon to retain its colour. One should use small, cultivated mushrooms, and Denny white mushrooms are ideal. Quarter 250 g of Denny mushrooms, already cleaned, and cook them in butter to which you have added garlic, salt, pepper and nutmeg. When the juices begin to flow, after 5 or 6 minutes’ cooking, remove the pan adding a dollop of parsley butter (adding if possible a little chopped tarragon). Shake the pan over flame, holding it at some distance, allowing the butter to spread to form a little sauce without actually cooking. Spring is the best time for game. George XXX has created a dish for his spring menu that includes local rabbit. The rack of local rabbit is served with the risotto, which has been infused with vanilla. The broth itself is made from morel and Denny oyster mushrooms in which the rabbit has simmered slowly until the meat is tender. In keeping with the local theme, the Cellars-Hohenort sommelier recommended a Jacobsdal Pinotage. Pinotage is of course the variety that is unique to South Africa, and continues to gather attention on itself at international winetastings. I started off writing about hare and wild mushrooms, and it seems we have completed a full circle. In Hemingway’s story they drink a crude Spanish wine from a leather sack. They also hide away in a cave. Hemingway made the scene memorable through his art, the way in which he used words. Sitting at the stately Cellars-Hohenort and gazing out across the sprawling gardens, and quietly observing the way the wine gleamed in the glass, I was reminded that art is also to be found in the kitchens and in the wine cellars. Craftsmanship entails hard work, toiling for years to create something that is memorable, in order to reflect the very best we are capable of. - Back -    - Menu -    - Contact -