Morels are the elusive wild mushroom that appears in spring in woodlands from Maine, south to the northern areas of the deep south, west to northern Texas and Oklahoma, and north to Minnesota with a few outposts in the Dakotas.
If you’ve never tasted a morel, it’s hard to understand the earnest obsession morel hunters have with finding these wild delicacies.
Last spring I found one in my yard in the middle of the city. This spring my son developed an obsession with finding them. I’ve seldom seen such singleness of purpose and stick-to-it-ivness. We hunted for the better part of a week and only found three small ones.
Yesterday he took his son and went out along the banks of the Mississippi near St. Paul and found a baker’s dozen. Score!
He took the above picture in situ of a couple morels they found.
My son made pasta with sauce from a jar for the two of them for supper. He snuck a diced-up morel into the sauce and his son pronounced it delicious. Only then was the child informed that the sauce contained morels.
Son of son has since decided that he likes morels.
We’ve decided to dry some of the morels and use them to make a side dish or appetizer to serve on Christmas. We’ve also decided that we’d like to make that a yearly tradition.
And I’ve been informed that this year’s hunt for morels is not yet over.
That’s my boys.