Peculiarities of Russia's National Mushroom Hunt

Come late August through early September, millions of Russians rush to the woods in search of their prized forest fungi—the griby. But Russia’s fall fascination with mushrooms is not just about a weekend in the country. It has a practical basis too: it adds seasonal variety to the diet; autumnal feasting on mushrooms is quite a healthy indulgence. What is more, mushrooms are a very affordable meal for those who take the trouble of picking them themselves. For buying mushrooms in Russian markets is a very “expensive pleasure” as Russians say. And the so-called shampiniony, the white mushrooms artificially grown in humid basements or at special mushroom farms, are not the real thing.  s  Russia’s ancient forest culture developed a myriad of uses for this delicacy. Fresh mushrooms have always figured in local soups and garnishes. They are also pickled for the long winter months. And that says nothing about the delicious pies with mushroom filling or the exquisite meal “gribnaya ikra” (“mushroom caviar”), made from finely diced fungi. Salted or marinated mushrooms are also a great snack (zakuska) to go along with a shot of ice cold vodka. (See this issue’s recipe, for an example.)  s  Every Russian housewife knows how to pickle or dry mushrooms. Traditionally collected in a woven basket (lukoshko, to use the ancient Russian word) then cleaned of leaves, twigs and moss, the mushrooms are soaked in salt water to rid them of any possible worms, then sun-dried on the second floor of one’s dacha (or izba). In urban conditions, you can also oven-dry them. The result is the strings of dried mushrooms (sushyonye griby) one sees babushkas selling in underpasses, by metro entrances or near train stations.  s  The secrets of how to find mushrooms and tips on how best to discern the dozen or so time-tested varieties of edible mushrooms from their poisonous cousins, are passed from generation to generation within Russian families. This training begins early, with fairy tales of mushrooms’ magical powers and continues through the peaceful hours that families spend together in “the silent hunt.”

It is best to start your mushroom hunt at sunrise or even earlier, when the air is humid and the mushrooms are juicy and full of flavor. Mushrooms like to nest in humid yet sun-warmed places. An experienced, gray-haired mushroom hunter who is about to step into a sunny glade surrounded by birch trees can already smell mushrooms in the air: they typically hide on moss growing under the birch tree. “Nashyol!” (“I found it!”) his grandson shouts in triumph, rushing to show grandpa his prey – a huge mushroom almost as big as his little head. The shrewd elder smiles, then pats the kid on the back, urging him to remember the sort of place where the mushroom was hiding. Quiet often, for the sake of training, parents and grandparents falsely overlook obvious patches, letting the children savor their first trophies, longed for since they started hearing about mushroom picking in Russian fairy tales.

Жили-были дедушка да бабушка. Была у них внучка Машенька. Собрались раз подружки в лес — по грибы да по ягоды. Пришли звать с собой и Машеньку.

— Сказка “Маша и Медведь”

Once upon a time, there was a grandpa and a grandma. And they had a granddaughter, little Masha. One day, her friends decided to go to the forest to pick mushrooms and berries. So they came to take little Masha along…

— From the fairytale,

“Masha and the Bear”

If you are ever invited by your Russian friend on a mushroom hunt, you should extend your deepest gratitude to your host. Such an invitation is truly an honor. But be sure you control yourself … The hero of Georgy Daneliya’s film comedy Autumn Marathon, upon meeting a visitor from Denmark invites him on a mushroom hunt as an ultimate sign of hospitality. The hunt, needless to say, ends up in a huge drinking bout, so much so that the next morning the Dane wakes up in a Soviet vytrezvitel (sobering-up station).

Back in the Gorbachevian days of perestroika and anti-alcohol campaigns, some Russians desperate to get high used semi-toxic or psychotropic mushrooms. They did not employ the “pale toadstool,” as this toxic variety causes nearly instant death. But the red and white mukhomor (“fly-killer”) was a good candidate, as its effects are somewhat less severe. It is, in fact, food for moose.

The most prestigious mushroom in Russia is the “Tsar of All Mushrooms”–the bely grib (“white mushroom”). It is called this because of the white meat under its brown cap. This premium mushroom is also often called borovik. The next best varieties in the Russian mushroom pantheon are the podosinovik and podberezovik (literally, “under the aspen tree” and “under the birch tree”). These three varieties are often catalogued as blagorodny (“noble”) mushrooms, as they take very little processing and are fit for any type of consumption—in soups, fried, dried or marinated.

In many mushroom-rich regions—Karelia, for instance—mushroom pickers are so jaded that they won’t pick anything but the three blagorodnys; some are even so “snobbish” that they refuse to pick podosinoviki or podberyozoviki and only pay attention to belys. In Karelia, one can afford such snobbery—a single hunt can easily turn up 50 or 100 belys. The untouched nature of the region is fertile soil for mushrooms. But then, in a good mushroom year in the Moscow region (like 1999), there are plenty of premium mushrooms as well.

Unfortunately, the outlook for 2002 does not look good for Moscow mushroom lovers. In late July and early August, Moscow and its region were hit by a record heat wave—the hottest in 30 years—combined with innumerable forest fires in the surrounding countryside. The heat was already bad enough for encouraging fungal growth, but the fires—mainly from burning peat and grass—consumed lots of prime mushroom nurturing undergrowth.

The most “democratic” and common mushroom is the syroyezhka (“eat-it-raw”). Granted, Russians don’t consider it the most delicious mushroom, but its yellow, green, pink or blue caps make your collection of mushrooms so much merrier and colorful. And, frankly, the syroyezhka is very good for frying and could even be used in soup in a bad mushroom year.

The maslyata (“buttery ones”) get their name from the buttery texture of the yellow meat under their light brown cap. Perfect for marinades and pickles, they are also very tasty fried.

Another excellent frying mushroom is the lisichka (“little fox”), so named because of its orange and red fox-like coloring.

A number of mushrooms are good only for pickling and marinades—the rosy volnushka (“little wave”), the solid white gruzd, the black and yellow chernushka (“blacky”) and the somewhat slippery and wet valuy.

Finally, the king of Russian fall is the opyonok. Opyata (plural for opyonok) grow mainly from September through mid-October, when one finds the so-called pozdniye (“late”) opyata, This is a mushroom perfect for impatient hunters, those who are not interested in combing the forest only to find three or four belys—who would rather fill a bucket or two with opyata in just ten minutes. Or, as some local hunters do, fill the trunk of a Volga car with them. If you find the right glade—stumps are the key—then chances are you will bring home at least couple of buckets of opyata. When there is an abundance of  opyata, mushroom pickers say one can “kosit kosoy” the opyata (“cut them with a scythe”).

Sadly, the opyata season is the last hurrah for the mushroom fan. It augurs the end of mushroom picking for the year. The sport resumes only in spring – when the first mushrooms, known as smorchki (morels) pop up, in April and May.

Granted, the wrinkled smorchok it is not your typical Russian bely, but if you are too impatient to wait till the peak of the mushroom hunt, it can’t hurt to pick a few morels to tide you over until fall …  RL