The mushroom hunters

It has been mushroom hunting week, the famed morel is the quarry of choice, a delicious dark bown mushroom that looks like a little brain.

There is a furtiveness to the hunters, they slip out of the village and to the best spots around Serre Chevalier. You can see who they are because of their stout shoes. I have no idea where the mushrooms grow best, whether it be shady, damp or dry, because if  you ask where they were gathering, they get vague and recoil as if you’ve asked a question you shouldn’t, like you’ve made some awful etiquette gaff.

One doesn’t ask where the other has been mushrooming apparantly, if they tell you that’s all well and good, but don’t ask.

That’s one more day ticked off as we count down towards the ski season, it’s quite a nice, certainly unusual, experience living at the pace nature sets, this is the time of year you can eat this or that, quite a balanced. harmoic experience with this bounteous splendour we’ve become deatched from (sorry came on all hippy there), and it’s a pretty good free lunch.

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