WESTERN EUROPE | SPAIN
Mushrooms gone wild -- Spanish-style
Wild hunts, tasting menus, a museum and a festival -- they're all devoted to Catalonia, Spain's fall obsession.
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Los San Fermines festival in Pamplona, Spain
Spain's Ribera del Duero wine country
Berga, Spain
The Spanish sky was robin's-egg blue.
My knuckles were frightened-guy white.
As I clutched the door of our four-wheel drive, my wife, Colleen, pretzeled herself into a modified fetal position. Her face ashen, she said, "I never knew mushroom hunting was a contact sport."
It's not supposed to be.
But as guide Gregori Ruiz swerved to avoid a deep rut in a mountain road, I wasn't so sure. To our left was a dense red pine forest. To our right, a 1,000-foot drop-off. Ahead, basketball-sized boulders.
"Hang on," Gregori said as he continued to scan the roadside for the prized Ou de Reig mushroom. "It's going to get a little rough from here out."
To calm us, he turned on some music. The love theme from the movie "Titanic" swelled from the speakers.
We were high above the Catalan town of Berga in the foothills of the Pyrenees, about 65 miles north of Barcelona. The road we were on, known as the Path of the Good Men, is part of a 120-mile trail carved out of the mountains eight centuries ago by the Cathars as they escaped persecution in southern France. Hikers can travel all or part of the path from Montségur, France, to Berga.
But we were here because of mushrooms, mushrooms that glistened in the sunlight along the trail. We wanted to participate in the twin autumn rituals of this region: mushroom picking and mushroom eating.
Berga and environs are the mushroom mother lode: thousands of square miles of mountain slopes with just the right climate for the fungus, all accessible by a network of hiking trails and dirt roads. Hunters generally limit themselves to about 30 varieties, although there are said to be more than 5,000 types here.
For us, this was the final leg of a three-week trip last October to southern France and northern Spain. For the first two weeks, we had pampered ourselves with four-star service on a river yacht and on the Costa Brava. Now, we yearned for something off the beaten path that also accommodated our love of food, wine and a bit of adventure. Mushroom hunting in the Pyrenees seemed a good fit.
Food and wine, we would learn, are centerpieces of Catalan culture. Families spend hours at the dinner table, and discussions about Catalonian political and cultural autonomy are loud and passionate. As for fast food, we never encountered one outlet.
THE PURSUIT BEGINS
Our base of operations was Moli del Caso, a five-room bed-and-breakfast a few minutes from Berga that is built on the site of a 500-year-old mill. Our hostess, Conxita Casseras, had opened the inn only a few weeks prior, so we would be some of her first customers.
Rooms were fanciful if spare. Spoons and forks served as curtain swag holders, and metal colanders functioned as lampshades. Water was heated by the sun.
Soon after our arrival, Conxita, who trained with acclaimed chef Alain Ducasse, busied herself preparing a traditional Catalan starter: mashed potatoes fried with blood sausage and mushrooms and served in a delicate timbale, topped with a sprig of parsley. It was a fine start to our evening meal.
We watched as she layered vegetables and white pike over a bed of zucchini, added some extra-virgin oil and fresh-from-the-garden fennel, and wrapped the delicacy in parchment. Thirty minutes later, the fish was melting in our mouths, one of the best meals on our trip. Total cost was $25 each, including wine.
In the morning, we were off to Berga to meet Gregori, a veteran mushroom hunter, and guide Imma Casas, who proved to be a godsend. She arranged our activities with military precision. Her laugh was infectious, and her love of all things Catalan was obvious.
We piled into Gregori's four-wheeler. After a stop at his garden for some home-grown tomatoes for lunch, we were off in search of the wily mushroom.
We headed out of town and up, up, ever up. At about 2,500 feet, we pulled off the paved road and parked. Longtime hunters Jaume Cepdevila and Josep Torres-Camarayes showed off their catch of the day: a 1 1/2 -pound llenega negra mushroom, valued for its succulence.
Now it was our turn. Imma was the first to spot a small patch of burnished orange-colored, silver dollar-sized rovellos. "These are my favorite," Imma said with a smile. "They are tender and sweet." Gregori came upon a group of fist-size mushrooms with light brown caps. We call these porcinis, but in Catalonia they're known as ceps.
I, meanwhile, managed to step in several fresh cowpies, while Colleen succeeded in spotting several poisonous varieties of mushrooms. Imma said that even veteran hunters have to be careful about what they pick.
We left Colleen's finds behind and changed locations. Gregori pointed the four-wheel-drive up a well-maintained dirt road. Soon, we were alone in a wilderness that produced another postcard view with each turn: pink granite, now white limestone, and then towering, bare cliffs. Later, lush forests on each side. Gregori concentrated on the road but still managed to keep an eye on the forest.
Finally, we crossed a small stream and pulled off the road. We spread out our noontime repast in a meadow filled with wildflowers and the remnants of a herd of grazing cattle. Gregori showed us how to prepare a Catalan specialty: pa amb tomàquet (bread and tomato). With great ceremony, he rubbed overripe tomatoes over huge hunks of French bread, then drizzled on extra-virgin olive oil, topping it off with lean prosciutto, sharp Parmesan and ripe black olives. It was a meal fit for a king.
After lunch, we continued our trek up and down the Path of the Good Men. In two hours, we covered about 20 miles on roads so rough that a Sherman tank would have had trouble negotiating them.
Our trip back down was uneventful, and we decided to meet in the town square for a celebratory Estrella Damm, a local brew that went down easily.
Our take for the day -- about 10 pounds of assorted mushrooms -- was paltry compared with what veteran hunters brought home. But we were still aglow with the thrill of the hunt.
We dined that night at Berga's Sala restaurant, one of the region's more than two dozen eateries offering a special mushroom tasting menu during the season. Proprietor Ramon Sala met us at the door and seated us, about 9 p.m., just as the restaurant was filling up. (Catalans dine late; dinner generally begins between 9:30 and 10 p.m.)
Ramon's brother-in-law, Miguel Marquez, is the head chef, and a strong proponent of Catalan cuisine. Mushroom flavors varied from earthy to sublime. My favorite was a light mushroom soup served over an aspic of local meats. Colleen chose paper-thin ceps that had been lightly drizzled with extra virgin olive oil. Imma chose a roasted Ou de Reig mushroom, accompanied by warm duck liver.
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