The Mushrooms and the Pharmacist

While my camera is off for a spa treatment, which takes a week, and costs lots of money, I'll just talk a little bit. I won't get into the reasons why I have had to send it off for a soin, but it has something to do with food and my love of taking pictures in the kitchen.

I have mentioned before that the pharmacists here in this country are supposed to be trained to identify mushrooms. I was out gathering information about the communal ovens of mountain villages in the Bugey, and along the way just near Alain Chapel's place, we arrived to an intersection in two dirt roads. I was admiring the silhouette of a copse of oak trees and white cows dotted along the horizon of a field. It just looked magical. I asked Loic if he might stop the car and let me get out and take a longer look.

He pulled over, and I got out of the car and stumbled, a few yards into a field, upon what looked to be white things strewn across the ground. Taking a second look before stepping on them, having been trained in the city to watch my step, I realized that they looked like nice big field mushrooms, glowing white against the dark grass. I sort of broke one off, then another nice large white mushroom, with a kind of snap and fresh wonderful crisp feeling thump. Then I picked up another half dozen smaller ones. They looked absolutely scrumptious. Loic by that time was curious about what I had found. He saw them, and opened the trunk, looking for a basket.

Since we didn't have a basket, I just laid the mushrooms out carefully on the blanket, covered them with another cloth to keep them from rolling around, and we continued on our way. I made it to the towns I was looking for, through winding roads up into the mountains, and we fully inspected the ovens, took notes, and talked to the people there. Near sundown, we got onto a main artery heading back home.

I had nearly forgotten about the mushrooms when we got home, but at the last minute, got them out of the trunk. We were a little bit tired and certainly not going to eat the mushrooms before a good ID. I had the false information age impression that I could pull up some kind of identification database and quickly get them named before we went off to bed. After some fruitless searching with things getting mroe and more muddled, I realized it wasn't going to be that easy. There are a lot of factors to identifying mushrooms.

I decided to change gears and broke out my copy of Celebrating the Wild Mushroom, written by Sara Ann Friedman. I snuggled in under the covers, and by the bedside lamp, as Loic drifted off to sleep, I began to read about the love of mushroom hunting that has swept up many a gourmande in America.

I skipped to the chapter on identifying a few of the most common species, and read there:

The next section describes six of the most common toxic mushrooms and all of the deadly species found in North America. It lists their edible look-alikes and tells you how to distinguish them. You should always, of course, also check with your field guide if you are even the least bit suspicious.

I shuddered at the possibility. The mushrooms were safely tucked into a bowl in the refrigerator. Could they be deadly poisonous? Was there a possibility that somehow a mistake could be made? What a frightening prospect!

The other four deadly Amanitae - verna, virosa, bosporigera, and ocreata - are whiter, a bit taller, and more slender than a death cap. They are difficult to tell apart from one another and justly deserve their collective name: the destroying angel.

Ai yai yai. This was going to be an adventure indeed. I turned over in the bed, dragging the covers with me, and said to Loic, waking him up, that we'd better get the pharmacist involved if we planned to eat them. He was laying there with his eyes half open and glazed over. His mouth was opened slightly, and I didn't hear his breathing. His face seemed greenish in the light. I suddenly felt the urge to shake him! He smiled sleepily and said "you don't mean you're afraid to eat them?" I knew he was teasing me. I turned out the light.

The pharmacist knows me very well. She has my information on her computer and has seen me through every sniffle and sprain since we moved here. She has a staff of three. They are all pretty young but knowing the system here they have been preparing since grade school to be pharmacists. The young man on staff really gets into his job and loves being a part of the community. He likes to really get involved and explain things in great detail, and give all kinds of advice.

We went throught the pleasantries. "How is your back Madame Vanel?" I thanked him and told him it was doing much better.

"Tell me, I understand you can identify mushrooms, is this correct?" I asked, watching for any hesitation in his gaze or any sway from meeting my own. I was taking no chances. His face froze for that slight instant, that little fraction of a second, before relaxing again into a smile. I think I was his first mushroom customer. "But of course, Madame Vanel. Why don't you bring them in and I'll take a look at them." I said I'd be right back with my pickings, so he could identify them.

My place is just around the corner, and I rushed up the stairs and put the booty into a paper sack and returned to the pharmacy. He was nowhere to be found. I took a look at the shampoos and herbal teas, thinking he'd be out in a moment. He came out and I held up my bag. He glanced in my direction but then looked as if he didn't see me. He took a beeline for his colleague who was discussing some kind of pill schedule with an elderly lady who was seated at the other end of the pharmacy and at once looked deeply involved and interested in the conversation. The lady was basking in the joy of having two pharmacists at her beck and call.

The head pharmacist came out and she warmly greeted me. "It has been awhile, Madame Vanel", she said. "What brings you in today?" The young man was off the hook. "I have these mushrooms here, we found them in a field while out in the country yesterday".

"Ah, it is the season," she beamed. "We used to get a lot of people asking but these days it is rather rare," she said. Lets see what you've got. I brought out the largest one. "Ah." She silently turned it over in her hand and stroked the little skirt around the stem. Just as quickly as that she said, "Madame Vanel, these mushrooms do look like magnificent specimens. But what has me nervous is this little skirt here. I would say non." She pursed her lips and went back into the bag and pulled out the smaller ones.

"Non?" I repeated, meekly. Death angels. They were death angels.

"Non." She repeated again. I waited for her to continue, to say what kind they were, or to say something else. Non was the last word.

A slight wave of relief came over me and I smiled and thanked her. I did not even entertain the idea of eating them at that point. On the way home I chucked them in a garbage can. I did open the bag and let them tumble out, and watch them cascade in a beautiful heap down into the bin, remembering the beautiful excursion the day before, feeling a bit dizzy.

"Do you believe her?" said Loic, when I recounted the tale of my visit to the pharmacy. I just looked at him, since his question did not deserve an answer. "What did you do with them?" I lied to see the expression on his face. "Well, I didn't think they should go to waste, so I made an omelette for the widow who lives upstairs. I'm pretty sure the pharmacist was wrong, Loic. She seemed fine when she left." I tried to keep a straight face, but he wasn't fooled for an instant.

I just hope that a freegan didn't go fishing around in the garbage bin near the P'tit Casino at La Martiniere.