But turn it wholly to their proper use.
I could not choose but grieve that Nature made
So glorious flowers to live in such a shade."
Where noisome toadstools crowd out violets and daisies, it may be right for poets to protest. As it is, we have little in the description to guide us to the species, whether it was a desirable or an undesirable kind. There is no allusion as to its toxic properties, nor yet to its colour; and its seeming size—if the simile of the lilies be considered—may only be a license which poets are allowed. But the bard of Tavistock, whose "oaten melodye" still rings sweet and clear, has written too lovingly of trees to suppose he could perceive no use or beauty in a striking vegetable growth; and therefore the particular form he refers to would appear to have been a noxious one.
Surely, it was not the lovely mauve-coloured Cortinarius, that seeks the "forest's shade"; the expanded pea-green cope of the sweet and nutty Russula; or the glowing orange hood of the dulcet Lactarius that incurred his disapproval! Nor can one conceive it to have been the tall-stemmed, fluted-capped Coprinus, or the stylish parasolled Lepiota, which stands as upright as the stilted Bartramian sandpiper, and that is held in equal esteem by the epicure. Rather let us suppose it was the great poison Amanita, which has slain its thousands, and whose brilliant reds and salmons and yellows, and white scales borne aloft on their hollow pedestal, cry aloud from every gill, "Beware!" Or if it was not this or the equally deadly A. phalloides on which his graceful sonnet was based, it must have been the Lycoperdon which cast its shade upon the violets—the giant puff-ball that the poet did not recognise as a valuable food product when neatly sliced and fried, and that it is still the rule to kick out of one's way.
In like manner, one is curious to know what was the enormous fungus or mushroom Thoreau describes as meeting on one of his rambles, and which, in turn, incurs his malediction,—the huge thallogen he found and plucked high up on the open side of a dry hill, in the midst of and rising above the thin June grass, its sharply conical parasol in the form of a sugarloaf slightly turned up at the edges, which were rent half an inch for every inch or two. The whole length, he states, was sixteen inches, the cap being six inches long by seven wide, the stem about one inch in diameter and naked, the top of the cap pure white within and without. He marvels how its soft cone ever broke through the earth. It represents to him a vegetable force which may almost make man tremble for his dominion. It carries him back to the era of the formation of the coal measures, the age of the Saurus and the Pliosaurus, when bull-frogs were as big as bulls. What part has it to perform in the economy of the world? It brought before him pictures of parasols of Chinese mandarins; or it might have been used by the great fossil bull-frog in his walks. Returning home with it, he placed it in the cellar to note its decay. Like the mighty, it fell. By night there remained not more than two of the six inches of the height of the cap, and it went on rapidly melting from the edges upward, spreading as it dissolved till it was shaped like a dish-cover and the barrel head beneath it and its own stem looked as if a large bottle of ink had been broken there. It defiled all it touched. Is it not a giant mildew or mould? he inquires. The offspring of a night, it was wasted in a day. One thinks of Coprinus comatus—a colossal specimen of the "shaggy mane"; and doubtless this was the species encountered by the Walden sage, rearing its silver shaft through the thin June grass in his early morning tramp to Pinxter Spring.
Who has not seen and wondered at the Fairy-ring, dotting the lawns or pastures, with its eccentric habit of growing in circles or arcs of circles, and shrinking and expanding under the influence of drought and moisture? Yet how few are acquainted with its admirable qualities! But even here one must distinguish between the false and the true, and not mistake it for two of its genus, the poison buff-coloured Champignon and poison Fairy-ring, which it resembles and with which it is sometimes found associated. In like manner, the rufous hues of several edible Russulas must not be confounded with the engaging crimsons of the alveolate Boletus, or the brilliant shades of the unwholesome R. emetica, one of the most tempting of fungi to the eye. Its glowing satiny scarlet cap, set off by its white stem and gills, forms a dash of colouration on the woodland carpet that immediately challenges admiration. With various others of the alluring but dangerous fungi, it suggests some luscious tropic fruit, the flame of tulips, or the flush of Ghent azaleas. What a revel of reds, what greens and golds, what soft violets and greys, what rich russets and maroons are not unfolded by these strange fungoid flowers! The beefsteak-mushroom (Fistulina hepatica) is familiar to many as it reveals its red velvety layers or shelves on the dead trunks of oaks and chestnuts in the midsummer woods. But despite its appetising name, it has a somewhat acid flavour and leathery taste, and cannot be said to possess very palatable qualities, conditions also shared by the common Agaricus ostreatus, or oyster-mushroom.
While the canned French button-mushroom of commerce is not to be compared with the same species in its freshly gathered stage, it is nevertheless useful as a garnish, and possesses a certain flavour. Far different is the large French cèpe, one of the most delicious of esculents, corresponding to the German "Steinpilz" and our own edible Boletus, which is much less known than it deserves to be. Of the French Boletus there are two principal varieties—the cèpe franc à la tête noir or charbonnier, common to oak woods, and the tête rousse or brune, common to chestnut woods. The former is much more esteemed, and is most abundant in the southern departments. These, like the truffle in the preserved state, should be as fresh as possible, and those of the previous autumn gathering, put up au naturel in large cans, be selected in preference. Boletus edulis, though not over-plentiful with us, may be found during warm, damp weather from July to September in woods and their margins, and sometimes in open places. Prepared à la bordelaise, it is a most delicious and nutritious dish, a form of preparation that may be utilised to advantage with many other firm-fleshed species. Dumas' favourite mode of preparing them was after Vuillemot's recipe; and for those who are not fond of oil, which the bordelaise and provençale manner calls for, this will doubtless prove more acceptable:
"Cut and chop the stems, adding minced parsley, breadcrumbs, shallots, fresh butter, and a clove of chopped garlic; make a pâté of it all, season with salt, pepper, and a little allspice, garnish the bottom of the cèpes, sprinkle some breadcrumbs on top, brown in a hot oven, and serve."
Here again, as Baron Brisse would say, "the trouble is trifling and the succulence extreme."