- 21/01/2005
- 270
- 76
By JASON DEAREN, Associated Press Writer Mon Mar 26, 6:55 AM ET
LOS GATOS, Calif. - Mushroom fanatics brave poisoning, death and the long arm of the law to gather gourmet fungi that thrive in the damp coastal forests of Northern California.
The Santa Cruz Mountains, west of Silicon Valley, are home to an array of prized mushrooms, including chanterelles, morels and porcini, that can command up to $50 a pound at gourmet markets.
But they also harbor poisonous varieties with sinister names like "death cap" and "destroying angel" that can cause liver failure and death when eaten — and are frequently mistaken for their edible cousins.
"It's a long, slow path, not something you rush into," said David Campbell, president of the Mycological Society of San Francisco. "It takes a while to build up a repertoire."
An 83-year-old Santa Cruz woman died in January after eating a death cap she picked herself on a family foraging outing, a common pastime in her native Mexico. Five other family members ate them and survived.
From January to April 2006, 195 cases of mushroom poisoning were reported to California Poison Control. On average, at least one person dies in the state each year and at least six require liver transplants.
And the numbers have steadily risen over the past decade, according to state officials who attribute the spike to an influx of immigrants from Southeast Asia and elsewhere who mistake deadly mushrooms for similar-looking edibles found back home.
"One mistake can be the difference between life and death," said Judith Alsop, director of the Sacramento division of the state poison control system. "If you're going to eat mushrooms, buy them from the store."
Such dire warnings do not scare off dedicated foragers like 43-year-old Thomas Keller, of Campbell, who leads dozens of budding fungi fanatics on forays organized through the mycological society.
Recently, in the Soquel Demonstration Forest, a state park near Los Gatos, Keller used his nose to find a clump of black trumpet chanterelles hidden among the ferns on a muddy hillside.
"I can pick up that yeasty smell," he said.
These smoky-flavored, 3-inch mushrooms are prized by chefs the world over. While commercial hunters collect pounds of them for sale to restaurants — amateur fungi lovers like Keller are drawn to the hunt by the quiet, meditative walks through the woods and the challenge of finding, identifying, and of course eating their catch.
The San Francisco Mycological society, one of the nation's largest with more than 700 paying members, has had bigger groups turn out for its outings, monthly dinners and classes. And it's not just a California phenomenon — mycological societies nationwide lead forays into terrain as diverse as the Olympic Mountains near Seattle and Manhattan's Central Park after a summer rain, reflecting a growing national interest in gourmet foods.
Joann Ponce, 24, an avid hunter from Berkeley, attributes her obsession to "some foraging gene that we have that's still there."
Serious hunters eat only what they can identify. Keller said once he learned to identify the distinctive color and sheen of death caps, he noticed them everywhere.
If the threat of a painful death weren't enough to scare off the amateur mycologist, mushroom foraging has been banned on many public lands, with fines as high as $1,000.
Red "no picking" signs in 10 languages have recently appeared at state and regional parks, while other high-yield areas have been snapped up by private developers.
"People who want to get into mushrooms have to be prepared, to a certain degree, to be a scofflaw," Campbell said.
California law prohibits the picking of mushrooms on state land without a special permit. And even then, there's a strict limit of five pounds per person.
The rules are meant to discourage people from tramping through fragile areas, state officials say. But as legal hunting grounds dwindle, flouting the law has become an act of civil disobedience for many mushroom lovers who see it as an unreasonable restraint on their hobby. Lothar Schicker, 75, of Campbell, began identifying and picking mushrooms in 1995 when a ranger pointed out some morels near Yosemite National Park. Rangers now are more apt to ticket foragers than help them.
Schicker recently joined the Kellers on a foray in a favorite spot nestled deep in the redwoods on the border between the state park and a logging company parcel. The group had permits to pick on the state land, but not on the private property. That didn't seem to stop them from traipsing onto the logging company land anyway.
Stopping suddenly on a footpath and ambling down an embankment, Schicker took a small knife from his basket and unearthed a clump of chanterelles. He said he planned to scramble them with eggs, a simple concoction that doesn't overpower the mushrooms' subtle flavor.
He dusted them off and plopped them into a wax bag, which keeps the mushrooms from drying out.
"In prime condition," he said.
LOS GATOS, Calif. - Mushroom fanatics brave poisoning, death and the long arm of the law to gather gourmet fungi that thrive in the damp coastal forests of Northern California.
The Santa Cruz Mountains, west of Silicon Valley, are home to an array of prized mushrooms, including chanterelles, morels and porcini, that can command up to $50 a pound at gourmet markets.
But they also harbor poisonous varieties with sinister names like "death cap" and "destroying angel" that can cause liver failure and death when eaten — and are frequently mistaken for their edible cousins.
"It's a long, slow path, not something you rush into," said David Campbell, president of the Mycological Society of San Francisco. "It takes a while to build up a repertoire."
An 83-year-old Santa Cruz woman died in January after eating a death cap she picked herself on a family foraging outing, a common pastime in her native Mexico. Five other family members ate them and survived.
From January to April 2006, 195 cases of mushroom poisoning were reported to California Poison Control. On average, at least one person dies in the state each year and at least six require liver transplants.
And the numbers have steadily risen over the past decade, according to state officials who attribute the spike to an influx of immigrants from Southeast Asia and elsewhere who mistake deadly mushrooms for similar-looking edibles found back home.
"One mistake can be the difference between life and death," said Judith Alsop, director of the Sacramento division of the state poison control system. "If you're going to eat mushrooms, buy them from the store."
Such dire warnings do not scare off dedicated foragers like 43-year-old Thomas Keller, of Campbell, who leads dozens of budding fungi fanatics on forays organized through the mycological society.
Recently, in the Soquel Demonstration Forest, a state park near Los Gatos, Keller used his nose to find a clump of black trumpet chanterelles hidden among the ferns on a muddy hillside.
"I can pick up that yeasty smell," he said.
These smoky-flavored, 3-inch mushrooms are prized by chefs the world over. While commercial hunters collect pounds of them for sale to restaurants — amateur fungi lovers like Keller are drawn to the hunt by the quiet, meditative walks through the woods and the challenge of finding, identifying, and of course eating their catch.
The San Francisco Mycological society, one of the nation's largest with more than 700 paying members, has had bigger groups turn out for its outings, monthly dinners and classes. And it's not just a California phenomenon — mycological societies nationwide lead forays into terrain as diverse as the Olympic Mountains near Seattle and Manhattan's Central Park after a summer rain, reflecting a growing national interest in gourmet foods.
Joann Ponce, 24, an avid hunter from Berkeley, attributes her obsession to "some foraging gene that we have that's still there."
Serious hunters eat only what they can identify. Keller said once he learned to identify the distinctive color and sheen of death caps, he noticed them everywhere.
If the threat of a painful death weren't enough to scare off the amateur mycologist, mushroom foraging has been banned on many public lands, with fines as high as $1,000.
Red "no picking" signs in 10 languages have recently appeared at state and regional parks, while other high-yield areas have been snapped up by private developers.
"People who want to get into mushrooms have to be prepared, to a certain degree, to be a scofflaw," Campbell said.
California law prohibits the picking of mushrooms on state land without a special permit. And even then, there's a strict limit of five pounds per person.
The rules are meant to discourage people from tramping through fragile areas, state officials say. But as legal hunting grounds dwindle, flouting the law has become an act of civil disobedience for many mushroom lovers who see it as an unreasonable restraint on their hobby. Lothar Schicker, 75, of Campbell, began identifying and picking mushrooms in 1995 when a ranger pointed out some morels near Yosemite National Park. Rangers now are more apt to ticket foragers than help them.
Schicker recently joined the Kellers on a foray in a favorite spot nestled deep in the redwoods on the border between the state park and a logging company parcel. The group had permits to pick on the state land, but not on the private property. That didn't seem to stop them from traipsing onto the logging company land anyway.
Stopping suddenly on a footpath and ambling down an embankment, Schicker took a small knife from his basket and unearthed a clump of chanterelles. He said he planned to scramble them with eggs, a simple concoction that doesn't overpower the mushrooms' subtle flavor.
He dusted them off and plopped them into a wax bag, which keeps the mushrooms from drying out.
"In prime condition," he said.
