Saveur

Photo: Per Breiehagan

Many varieties of wild mushrooms are highly prized today—mysterious black trumpets, lovely yellow chanterelles, meaty ceps, delicious milk caps—but, along with truffles, morels are the royalty of fungi, inspiring true obsession among both gastronomes and gatherers. Europeans have long appreciated their savory attractions, incorporating morels in myriad ways: serving them with lobsters or with crayfish and truffles, with spring vegetables like asparagus, and in such classic dishes as morels in cream sauce. Among the many mushroom dishes in Apicius's book of recipes, compiled during imperial Roman times and considered the oldest European cookbook, are three with morels. France's Louis XIII so loved their earthy scent that he would thread morels and hang them in his bedroom to dry, an activity that reportedly occupied him on his deathbed. In Germany, laws had to be passed forbidding the burning over of wooded land for the encouragement of morels.

Here in the United States, the morel has become a sort of talisman among mushroom hunters. Although they can be found throughout North America, morels are very prolific in the Midwest, where they are a regional passion. At the Peoples State Bank of Chandlerville, Illinois, for example, an image of three morels is embossed on the letterhead, checks, and deposit slips. In 1984, Minnesota designated the morel its official state mushroom. Michigan, meanwhile, has long considered itself the Morel Capital of the World, and if any Michiganders are upset over Minnesota's bit of legislative one-upmanship, they may be consoled by the fact that their own Boyne City is host to the National Mushroom Festival, held annually on Mother's Day weekend. The festival's morel-hunting contest draws hundreds of competitors, who collect as many of the elusive fungi as they can in 90 minutes (the record, set in 1984, is 986 morels). Boyne City's and the other Michigan mushroom festivals, in Harriston, Lewiston, and Mesick, traditionally have a carnival atmosphere, and, in the case of the Mesick event, the crowning of a Mushroom Queen.

Another gauge of morels' cultural and culinary importance (and, indeed, of their scarcity) is their cost—which can range up to $24 a pound for fresh ones in season and $125 per pound for dried. Morels have recently become more easily available, as techniques for cultivating them have been developed. The price of cultivated morels—which are not as strongly flavored—is somewhat lower.

Meeting back at our canoes, we examined our take. We'd ended up gathering only about sixty morels, both black and yellow. But there were consolations: On our paddle back, we saw a bald eagle, turkey buzzards, and beaver. And there, on the shore of the bay, as we approached the portage, was a young buck, his antlers thick with velvet, which would soon be rubbed off to expose polished tines.

We returned to Brent's cabin, a beautiful log house overlooking Shagawa Lake that he and his brothers had built by hand, and cleaned our meager harvest. Then Lauren dipped the morels in an egg wash and dredged them in seasoned flour, and we fried them in sweet cream butter by the warm glow of oil lamps. The smell of the entire North Woods seemed to waft from the skillet. We made a salad and cut slices from a fat loaf of country bread. Brent gathered wildflowers and set them on a picnic table in the yard. Then we sat down, and with glasses of Summit Hefe Weisse beer from St. Paul, Minnesota, we toasted our friendship and the bounties of harvests we have not sown.

In the fading light, I thought back to the afternoon, to walking through the woods with Lauren—and it suddenly occurred to me that it is the morel that connects me with a child's faith, and with the future. When I was growing up, the only time I had my father to myself was when we went morel hunting, driving down the soft back roads of Iowa, through the brooding darkness and steely morning mist, looking for stands of dead elms or apple trees. Lauren was born in the middle of morel season, and the same power that brought my father and me together also brings my daughter closer to me. We've hunted morels alone, together, in the dew-washed architecture of spring. Here is the hidden soul of harmony.