Reviving Mushroom Memories

Ever since video cameras were placed in the hands of families, our memories have been compromised. Did we truly experience something or is it a memory based on video footage? I don’t lose sleep over it, but I think about it… So I’m grateful for the memories I’ve retained pre video cameras. Despite the blurs and the blanks, they’re so strong and sincere. One of these memories is about mushrooms.

I must have been 3 or 4 years old when I was whisked into a forest while the adults (I think it was my grandparents) foraged for mushrooms. I remember the word tortulho, a type of mushroom common in Portugal and Spain. I recall the fog in the forest and the pants, the long skirts and tall rubber boots of the adults stepping on the wet soil. I can see their gnarled hands swooping down to pull up a mushroom and placing it inside swinging baskets. I think I was placed in a basket, too.

In my grandmother's kitchen in our village of Bemposta (part of Penamacor), there’s a large pot on top of the stove, and a stew is ladled into transparent orange plates. I’m on my tippy toes, supported by a wooden chair. The steam from the orange plate is snaking towards the ceiling, and the fragrant earthy aroma wraps itself around my senses. I can see brown chunks mixed with potatoes, swimming in an orange gravy. I stuff spoons of it into my mouth worried that I won’t get seconds. This was the best meat I had ever tasted! Turns out, it was mushrooms. Many years later, I began to read about a different mushroom, the Miscaro, that grows wild in the interior of the Beira region. I wondered if it would be as satisfying as my tortulho? Perhaps, nothing can ever top that stew in my grandmother’s house, but I can’t get enough of the Miscaro rice dishes that I’ve had all over Beira in recent years.

More than 40 years later, I continue to be obsessed with this food memory. Last year, I decided it was time to step back into the forest with Carla and Savannah in tow. Foraging for wild mushrooms shouldn’t be taken lightly (there are toxic varieties), which is why we signed up for a walk organized by the Liga dos Amigos do Alcaide (an official group dedicated to promoting the mushroom culture in the village of Alcaide). The walks are part of the mushroom festival, Miscaros–Festival dos Cogumelos in the village of Alcaide in the Fundão area of Beira Baixa. The entire village is transformed into mushroom central with workshops, live cooking demos, a mushroom market, pop-up restaurants in villagers’ homes, live entertainment and more.

Cândido Henriques, an expert on the topic, led our group through the forest. We carried baskets (just as in my memory), and stopped to examine various species of mushrooms (there are 500 species in Portugal). It was a terribly rainy day, but it didn’t stop us. Raincoats, boots, ponchos and umbrellas–we were armed and it was worth it. There’s something magnificent about the forests when it rains. Through the pockets of tree branches we were treated to bucolic settings of villages in the distance with their orange rooftops and granite stone walls, topped with puffs of chimney smoke. The foliage was golden and the air crisp, a reminder that Portugal has stunning landscapes beyond the beaches.

We carried our baskets to the bus and to the village, where the friendly chef Filipe Arvelos welcomed us with a hearty saute of fully-vetted mushrooms. I had added yet another mushroom experience to my memory bank–even if slightly tainted by cameras.

To enjoy these wholesome mushroom dishes, visit Beira restaurants October to January (mushrooms available depending on atmospheric conditions).

by Sonia Nolasco