It’s now cold enough to warrant the fire being lit. I’m wearing a few extra layers and the autumn rain has me dusting off my old Bean boots. It’s a pretty wondrous time of the year. It’s the season when I spend more time walking tracks in the forest, hunting for mushrooms. I make an effort to explore new territory, walking over hills I’ve never walked before, searching for new spots where the mushrooms are plentiful and the scenery pleasing. I love to take a rest on fallen logs blanketed in pine needles and browned oak leaves, and just sit and listen to the forest. The wind blowing gently high in the tree canopy above, the birds making busy all around – and the distant hum of two-stroke motorbikes completely ruining my serenity.
I love a good bruschetta with wild mushrooms, I love them stuffed and covered in melty cheese, in risotto and pasta, and especially in a heart-warming soup. When I’m out hunting autumn ducks and quail, a hot thermos of mushroom soup can brighten up a dreary autumn day. Just remember to pack the crusty bread to mop up all that goodness.