For me, the activity of foraging for mushrooms has always elicited an aura of both danger and decadence. I imagine a romantic scene: I trek lightly over a soft layer of ground cover amidst the early morning mist of an autumn day in Emilia-Romagna. Poking along gently with a forked end of a stick, I dream of finding a roost of fat porcini under a perpetually overlooked tree. A satisfying pluck from the forked end of a stick and into the hunting basket it goes. Read the rest of this entry »