Each wild Porcini mushroom is a thing of beauty, individual works of spontaneous sculpture which nature gives us.
Actually you have to hunt them down or else they are destined to decay and break down back into the earth.
The other day my eldest niece accused me of being lazy and not wanting to go mushroom hunting.
I reminded her I am the wrong person to ask when you want to find wild mushrooms, unless the mushroom is fluro 1980’s pink and is belting out a cover of Guns and Roses ‘Sweet Child of Mine’ there is no hope in hell of me finding one.
I have never found a single one. It’s the same with wild asparagus in the spring, I simply do not see them.
I’m happy to come out for healthy walks, hold on to baskets, help carry them home but I am predominantly concerned with negotiating the precarious terrain and not breaking my neck or ending up in traction in some seedy Sicilian hospital.
So put me down for a plate of risotto and taking artistic photo’s as the beauty of the Sicilian porcini is too elusive for me.