This is the story of an addiction. An obsession that took its toll on my wallet, my health, and even my pallet, changing the way I perceive tastes and smells. Im talking mushroomsnot the sad, pre-sliced, pre-packaged white buttons or even the bolder but overused Portobello. Im talking mushrooms worth toiling for, worth walking for, worth trudging a mile in the snow and another mile back; mixing them into a stew with still frozen hands.
Were not talking psychedelic mushrooms here. Its the edibles: shitakes, trumpets, chanterelles and the like that drove me over the edge.
It began, like most heavenly things, with trumpets: savory, buttery trumpet mushrooms, with a texture somewhere between chew and crunchlike nothing Id eaten before. I was carpooling back from winter break with my boyfriend, Robin, when we stopped at a Whole Foods. Robin has been my companion and bag-Sh