This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
The alarm goes off at 5:00 am. It’s early, even by my work standards – and I’m currently on leave in the mountains. I slip out of bed, get dressed quickly, and grab the gear I packed the night ahead: the sooner I get into the woods, the better. There’s no game waiting for me though – still, I’ll most likely stumble into the occasional hare or deer – but an equally tasteful thing that I find an unlikely thrill in hunting: mushrooms.
I wasn’t older than five or six when I first joined my grandparents and some friends for an early morning crawl amongst tall pines and intricate underwoods. I soon learned to know the joy that sparks at the sight of a Penny Bun eyeing up from underneath a carpet of leaves, a delight that often fades away as you get closer just to uncover a pine cone. Nevertheless, it’s all these missed shots that make the finds so exciting: when a big one finally shows up, sometimes as you’re about to give up hope, the feeling of reward is priceless.
Having roamed the same forest for over two decades is a double-edged sword: I can point swiftly to the best spots – behind a certain rock, or near the edge of a precise glade – but, at the same time, there’s a harsh delusion in finding nothing where a colossal Boletus was waiting for me one or two years back. In the end, however, patience and perseverance pay off, and I can always make my way back with more than enough to set up a wonderful lunch, much to the delight of those waiting for me at home.
And as I walk back savouring the pleasure of eating what I foraged a mere hours before, crossing ways with people who are just beginning their hikes, there’s only one question in my head: will it be risotto or tagliatelle?
Never miss a story – subscribe now to the Gents Cafe Newsletter, a bite-sized read about men’s lifestyle to enjoy over a coffee or a nice cocktail.
