A Fungus Among Us

My neighbor Tom, hardly breathing,
I mean, not even breathing hard after
pedaling to Hartsburg

Morel Mushroom aka White Gold

Morel Mushroom sautéed in butter

Oh, look!” my wife said as we passed a billboard on a recent drive in the country.  “Broasted chicken!  Let’s stop there for lunch”.  And that’s how we found ourselves eavesdropping on a controversy at the newly-opened Buffalo 52 Broaster Stop in Stover, Mo. 

“FIFTY BUCKS A POUND!” I heard a guy a couple of tables over exclaim.  Listening closer, I heard him explain to the restaurant proprietor that that’s how much a recent caller to a radio call-in show was asking for morel mushrooms.  Though I am a newcomer to the sport, hunting for edible mushrooms, ESPECIALLY morels (Morchella Esculenta) could be an Olympic event in central Missouri.  The few times I’ve ventured into our woods in search of morels I’ve come back empty-handed – except for one time when I found a mother lode of red ones.  Though the Conservation Department cautions that red mushrooms can be toxic, my neighbors must be immune.  They eat them with no ill effects.  Since I wasn’t willing to gamble a liver transplant against a free meal, I gave mine to them.

 On Monday my neighbor Tom & I biked the Katy Trail from Jefferson City to Hartsburg.  We passed several people stopped alongside the trail searching the undergrowth for morels.  Plastic grocery sacks appeared to contain evidence their search was not in vain.

On our way back to Jefferson City we took a break at a couple of benches overlooking the Missouri River.   There we met Roger Fisher, a retiree with a devotion to fitness.  Our conversation covered many areas, including biking, running, grandkids, religion, former jobs, ticks, recent travels and morel mushrooms.  When I related my "$50 a pound story" I overheard at the Buffalo 52 Broaster Stop in Stover, Roger asked “When were you there?”  “Saturday, around 1:30” I answered.  “I ate lunch there on Saturday too” he said.  “I must have left just before you got there”.  Hmmm.  I wonder what the odds are of meeting a stranger at a park bench on the Katy Trail and having had lunch at the same restaurant 60 miles away two days earlier?  Probably about the same as me finding morel mushrooms.

Turns out Roger grew up in Stover, a town I’ve passed through before but never had the occasion to stop.  He said an entrepreneur has purchased the old movie theater in Stover.  Instead of trying to make a go of it with current movies, he is showing old movies, like Ma & Pa Kettle and John Wayne and the Lone Ranger.  Coincidentally, a new movie about the Lone Ranger, Never Take Off the Mask, is being released July 3 with Johnny Depp portraying the Lone Ranger’s faithful Indian companion, Tonto.  I’m certain the price of admission will be considerably more than the two bucks it costs to see a movie in Stover.

As Tom & I got up to ride the last 4 miles to Jefferson City, another biker rode up.  He was a “fisher” as well.  Not the same kind of fisher as Roger Fisher, the guy we just met.  This biker was a “fisher of men”.  “May I give you a book?” he asked.  Not one to turn down a free book, the guy handed me a glossy paperback titled God Called My Name – Delivered from the Slime Pit of Hell – I Was a Hard Nut to Crack – I Have Been Set Free.  “The author, Kenneth Campbell, lives in Rolla, Mo and is a friend of mine” he explained.  “Would you like one too?” he asked, handing a copy to Roger.  “Sure” said Roger.  “Wait a minute” I said.  “Roger is a Methodist.  Are you sure you want to give a book to a Methodist?”  “I’m NOT a Methodist.  I’m a Lutheran!” clarified Roger, apparently not one to turn down a free book either.  I haven't read the book yet, but it may be worthy of a book report in a future blog.

Later that day, I cracked a tough nut too.  I went into our woods, walking stick in hand, and navigated the multi-floral rose sticker bushes (from the slime pit of hell), fallen branches, slippery creek banks and low-hanging limbs with newly-sprouted leaves and brought home 16 morel mushrooms of assorted sizes.  I also returned with several ticks of assorted sizes, and maybe an equal number of scratches.  My wife and I covered them with batter and sauteed them in butter (the morels, not the ticks) and had them for dinner.  I now understand why people rave about them.   

And, with my haphazard mushroom finding ability, $50 a pound would probably figure out to almost minimum wage.