Another Year, Another Mushroom

The last caps and stems are being swept away and the crowds have boarded buses and planes for the long ride home.  Last night, in a remarkable break with tradition, the Annual Mushroom Festival was extended briefly.  Now?  Now it’s just a memory.  To quote Mick.

The final dinner was a handful of trimmed chanterelles cooked over high heat in Amish butter and a chopped shallot.  Water added periodically until the mushrooms were done.  When were they done?  When they were done, that’s when.

Then the mushrooms were placed atop two slices of toasted “house” bread from Hi-Rise: A whole grain, thick crusted bread you might readily find in northern or central Europe.  Grate a little good parmigiano and add cracked black pepper to taste, and serve.  Wow, right?

And now that the festival is over, it’s onto other matters.  Restaurants, in order to jack up prices, calling themselves French or Japanese when they are hodgepodge instead; kids throwing away healthy school lunches; baby Brussels sprouts appearing on grocer’s shelves.

And am I the only one to notice that after Obama, during the debate, said something that Romney felt was untrue that he was compared by the challenger to his five sons who fib occasionally?  I mean: He inferred that a black man was a son.  That’s not right.

And just for the record: This site did not invite Romney to the mushroom festival.  We wouldn’t.  Would you?

Of course not.  I didn’t think so.

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