Ever since I was a kid I’ve noticed that the impression a meal makes on me is directly proportionate to the lengths I went to in order to prepare it. Like when I go fishing whatever I catch tastes great, way better than any fancy local fishmonger bought equivalent. Having an inquisitive mind with a bit of analytical twist, being a foraging enthusiast and a lifelong foodie I decided to put that theory to the test.
So last fall off I went with my mushroom guru Sequoia Lesosky to see what can be found in a local forest floor this time of year, and I came home with a variety of exotic mushrooms. I also bought some wild mushrooms of the same or similar kind on Granville Island Market to use in the same recipes for my “control group”. I patiently waited until tomorrow when I prepared a feast of three different dishes from the wild and bought mushrooms and shared them with my family. The verdict?
To my family there was no discernible difference. To me the wild stuff tasted stronger and quite different than any of the store bought stuff, which is what I sort of expected as for me it wasn’t a blind tasting – I knew which was which. And then I decided that it must be that the difference is owed to the residual “spirit of the hunt”. It took a lot of effort to get the whole thing together, and it was all in my plate. In theirs? It was just soup or risotto or whatever. I decided they missed out. I am taking my family with me the next time I take to the forest.