Wild mushrooms reveal hideaways

LAST year, when I wrote that wild mushrooms in my part of Ireland seemed to be as rare as hen’s teeth, a German gentleman (and he turned out to be, indeed, a gentleman) wrote to tell me this was not the case at all. At least not in Kerry, and he could show me various wild fungi growing in profusion — but, on second thoughts, he wouldn’t.

He sent me pictures of himself and his partner surrounded by baskets of mushrooms, a cornucopia of fungi of every most delicious kind. And he relented on his decision not to show me some growing in situ. If I cared to drive to Kerry he would take me to a few selected spots, and we might like to come to his partner’s house afterwards for dinner before heading home.

We duly drove over the magnificent scenery of the Healy Pass, entirely obscured by the June monsoons, and met Horst and Rose at the other side. We proceeded to woods a few miles away where he led us to a patch of mossy ground under pines and rhododendron which was carpeted in chantrelles, their egg-yolk yellow colour vivid against the cushions of deep green.

In 10 minutes we picked nearly a gallon, leaving the smaller ones behind. We went, then, to the next secret venue — but, to Horst’s dismay, found that, for the first time ever, it had been raided. Some interloper had picked it almost bare and left no calling card. But not to worry, said Horst, he had many other secret places and, in any case, new chantrelle would pop up. Indeed, over the years he’d found he could harvest the same spots week after week, sometimes until December.

From June until the turn of the year the various species of forest fungi each have their season. I am kindly invited to a Kerry Boletus hunt as soon as this ‘king of mushrooms’ appears.

Called ‘ceps’ in France, ‘steinpilz’ in German, they are much larger than the elegant chantrelles, with spongy, rather than fluted, gills. Two average-size Boletus Edulis will provide as much eating as a pint of chantrelles, which are more delicate in flavour. Ceps are so ‘mushroomy’ that they are the species used in tinned soups.

The highlight of Rose’s dinner was tagliatelli with our freshly-picked chantrelle. Delicious, it was, and the entire meal a banquet — gravelax salmon, then the tagialtelli along with a well- dressed salad direct from the garden, and finishing with a summer pudding of strawberries and raspberries, black and red currants.

I’ve picked forest mushrooms for over 40 years and, inspired by Horst, I turned again to our local woods but, as usual, not a sign of a chantrelle. I did, however, bring home a large white puffball, so it’s puffball steaks for breakfast for a couple of days. Horst and Rose will come to visit and I’m hoping that, like a two-legged truffle hound, he can find me some local boletus or chantrelle.

Meanwhile, a Kinsale reader who grows fruit of every variety tells me he sees no blackbirds amongst his strawberries — or his raspberries, currants, loganberries, mulberries, boysenberries, tayberries, gooseberries, plums, apricots, peaches, pears or apples — this year. Blackbirds are soft fruit lovers; 70% of their diet is fruit, and they are not popular with gardeners. Mr Frank O’Keefe’s admirable answer to their depredations is to grow enough fruit so that he can share it with the birds.

Other gardeners tell me that everything is slow in ripening this summer; not surprising, given that there’s no sun. However, the buddleia is blooming in dense heads of purple flowers. When butterflies are on the wing they swarm over it and are a joy to see of a sunny day. However, the only butterflies I’ve seen this year, apart from a few tortoiseshells newly woken from hibernation in April and May, are lone cabbage whites, and not more than a half dozen of these. Some of the flower heads are already dying. their abundant pollen is going to waste this year.

Across our stream, where primroses flowered constantly and in profusion throughout the spring, evening primroses have appeared, standing five feet tall. Thank the birds? And the land we live in.