By Christian Andrews, Pastor of Renaissance Church

Good things are everywhere. Especially in the wild. But you miss them. Because you don’t know what you’re looking for.

Nate was seven when he told me he wanted to find mushrooms that we could eat. Not from the store. But in the woods. He’d read about them in a book his grandparents gave him. He showed me pictures. It seemed dangerous. But I wasn’t really concerned. I’d never seen any mushrooms like that. I was sure they didn’t grow around us.

He kept reading. And asking. So eventually we went out looking.

In New Jersey there are thousands of varieties of wild mushrooms that grow. And they are everywhere. In the fields and woods behind your house. On the old oak that is slowly dying. In the wood chips around your boxwoods. Beside the trails you hike. But you only see them if your eyes are open.

In 2016 we moved to Summit. We took a walk after a rainy week in July. Into the South Mountain reserve. Our newest mushroom field guide in hand. And we just picked one of every kind we saw. I didn’t tell Nate or his sister, but I’d planned on throwing out the bag before we got back into the car. But then, beside a bend in the path, poking up between the leaf litter near a great big oak tree, Nate spotted the brilliant yellow orange of a patch of Chanterelles. (Cantharellus lateritius to be precise. And precision matters here!) Gorgeous. Like flowers showing off. And eerie like something from an alien film.

Nate knew all about these. He rattled off the six distinguishing features that differentiate them from their poisonous look-alike, the jack-o-lantern (omphalotus illudens.) The dangerous ones were the same color but certain to make you sick enough to never eat mushrooms again. Growing in clumps, and not scattered. Attached to decaying wood, and not out of the soil. Hollow stem instead of solid. With gills that are true, and not decurrent. Smelling musty instead of like tangerines. And actually glowing in the dark! (We confirmed one night with a batch that we found on the banks beside the Passaic river.)

Back home with half a dozen golden chanterelles, and about twenty smaller cinnabar chanterelles we got out the frying pan. Mom was out. I cleaned the mushrooms in cool water. Re-read the identification features for this variety in both of Nate’s field guides. (Always require two sources of verification. Preferably three!) Cut them up. Butter and olive oil. Drop in the mushrooms. Salt as they begin to sizzle and pop. White wine. Not cooking wine. But the kind you’d like to drink on a hot July afternoon. Some crushed garlic. And onto the plate.

It was scary. And risky. But we ate them. Me more than Nate. They were so delicious. Good enough to give up steak for if I could have these every day! I know you won’t believe it. But that’s only because you’ve never tasted them. 

Nobody got sick. And this started a love of the wild mushroom for everyone in our family that has grown more enthusiastic, and much broader every season. It’s one of our favorite things to do all together. Out into the woods, and fields, with all the risks and dangers, carefully foraging where we’ve learned to look. Now we know where the black trumpets grow. We know which trees give chicken of the woods, and sheep’s head. There are winter oysters growing right around the corner from the YMCA in Summit. Puffballs on that old tree beside the path by the post office. Morels in our friend’s front yard near the dying ash trees. Gem studded puff balls on the sliver maple beside Valley View Ave. And beautiful magical things everywhe!

YOU’VE JUST GOT TO GO OUT INTO THE WILD. AND KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN

Christian Andrews Pastor, Renaissance Church