The variety of mushrooms available to us has, well, mushroomed in recent years. The dominance of the squeaky-clean white button has given way to a far wider range: brown chestnuts and flat-capped portobellos, and pearly-white oysters, which really do look a bit like the oyster shells they’re named after, carotene-orange girolles, flavour-bomb dried shiitake and porcini, or delicate enoki, with their long, skinny legs and tiny caps, which are often sold in packages with buna and shiro shimejis and labelled “exotic”. There are all kinds of shapes, colours, textures and flavours to choose from.
Mushrooms are often said to taste rich and earthy, an apt description because, unlike plants, these funghi have no chlorophyll. Being unable to harvest energy from sunlight, they are forced to live off other things. Different mushrooms do this in different ways, some living off plants, others off plant remains and decay.
The bit of the mushroom that we pick and eat is only part of it; the rest is a network of fibres that does its work underground and that, obviously, affects the mushroom’s flavour.
When I was growing up, I knew only one edible mushroom – a wild variety that grows under the pine trees on the hills around Jerusalem. These would appear as if by magic through rotting pine needles after the first rains of early autumn. Though guided by my maternal grandmother, who grew up in Germany and considered herself an expert on mushrooms (as she did on many a subject), we’d often get to our mushrooms a bit late, by which time they had turned into gigantic, odd-looking things: shapeless, clogged with water and starting to decompose here and there.
After cleaning them, and cooking them down, two full sacks-worth would give us barely enough for four measly portions, which we flavoured simply with olive oil and garlic and served with scrambled eggs. But even that was enough: the flavours of pine and soil were so deeply embedded in those mushrooms that they coloured the entire eating experience. For me, those are to this day the very happy aromas of autumn.
Mushroom, spinach and paneer samosas
If you can’t get hold of ajwain seeds or mango powder (look in south Asian food stores), just leave them out. Serves eight, as a snack.
130g plain flour, plus a little extra for dusting
½ tsp ajwain seeds
Salt
70g ghee
1 large onion, peeled and thinly sliced
1 garlic cloves, peeled and thinly sliced
1 green chilli, deseeded and finely chopped
1½ tsp garam masala
1 tsp mango powder
¾ tsp black mustard seeds
2 portobello mushrooms, cut in half and then into just under 0.5cm-wide slices
100g chestnut mushrooms, cut into just under 0.5cm-wide slices
200g spinach, blanched and squeezed dry
100g paneer, coarsely grated
500ml sunflower oil
For the lime and chilli yoghurt
200g Greek yoghurt
¼ tsp chilli flakes
Finely grated zest of ½ lime, plus 2 tsp lime juice
In a bowl, combine the yoghurt sauce ingredients and an eighth of a teaspoon of salt and refrigerate.
Mix the flour in a large bowl with the ajwain seeds and a quarter-teaspoon of salt. Add 40g ghee and use the tips of your fingers to rub it into the flour, until the mix has the consistency of breadcrumbs. Add three tablespoons of cold water and mix again until it all comes together. Form into a ball, wrap in cling film and rest in the fridge for 30 minutes.
Put the remaining ghee in a large saute pan on a medium-high heat. Once hot, add the onion and fry for eight minutes, stirring a few times, until soft and caramelised. Add the garlic, chilli, spices and half a teaspoon of salt, and fry, stirring constantly, for two minutes. Add the mushrooms and fry for six minutes, stirring constantly for the first three minutes so they release their liquid. Take off the heat, stir in the spinach, paneer and an eighth of a teaspoon of salt, and set aside to cool.
Roll the pastry into a 20cm-long sausage, cut into four equal pieces and roll each piece into a ball. On a lightly dusted work surface, roll out each ball as thinly as possible: you want it to be about 18cm round and 1-2mm thick. Cut each circle in half, so you have two semi-circles. Take one semi-circle and brush its straight edge with water. Fold it in half, so both wet edges stick together, and press together firmly to make a triangular pocket. Spoon 50g (about two and a half tablespoons) of the mushroom mix into the pocket, brush the curved top edges with water and press together to seal. You should now have a plump, slightly curved triangle measuring 9cm x 9cm x 11cm. Put on a flour-dusted plate and repeat with the remaining pastry and filling.
Pour the oil into a medium saucepan on a medium heat. Once hot, use a slotted spoon to add two samosas at a time to the pan. Fry for three to four minutes, turning halfway, until golden-brown all over. Lift out and set aside on a wire rack lined with kitchen paper while you repeat with the remaining samosas. Serve at once, with the lime and chilli yoghurt alongside, for dipping.
Mushrooms and chestnuts with za’atar
For something so tasty, this is ridiculously easy and fast to put together. Serves four, as a side dish.
3 portobello mushrooms, quartered
250g chestnut mushrooms, quartered
225g mixed wild mushrooms, torn into 4cm pieces
200g small shallots, peeled and left whole (or, if using larger banana shallots, cut into halves or quarters)
130g ready-cooked peeled chestnuts, broken in half
5g sage leaves, roughly chopped
60ml olive oil
2 garlic cloves, peeled and thinly sliced
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
5g tarragon leaves, roughly chopped
1 tbsp za’atar
2 tsp lemon juice
Heat the oven to 220C/425F/gas mark 7. In a large bowl, mix the first eight ingredients with three-quarters of a teaspoon of salt and lots of pepper. Spread out the mixture on a 30cm x 40cm baking tray lined with baking paper, then roast for 25 minutes, until the mushrooms and shallots are caramelised and soft. Set aside for five minutes, to let it cool down slightly, then tip into a bowl. Mix in the tarragon, za’atar and lemon juice and serve at once.
Parmesan polenta with mushrooms and black olives
If you don’t have quick-cook polenta, use regular instead (in which case, increase the cooking time for the polenta to 10-15 minutes, until it thickens). Serves four to six.
3 portobello mushrooms, cut into 8 wedges
200g chestnut mushrooms, quartered
250g mixed wild mushrooms, broken in half if large
500g cherry tomatoes
5g sage leaves, roughly chopped
5g picked thyme leaves
60ml olive oil
80g Kalamata olives, pitted and halved
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
100g baby spinach
15g basil leaves, torn
30g pine nuts, toasted and lightly crushed
For the polenta
20g unsalted butter
1 onion, peeled and finely chopped
160g smoky bacon lardons
1 garlic clove, peeled and thinly sliced
150g quick-cook polenta
150ml full-fat milk
500ml chicken stock
80g parmesan, coarsely grated
Heat the oven to 220C/425F/gas mark 7. Mix the mushrooms in a large bowl with the whole tomatoes, sage, thyme, oil, olives, a teaspoon of salt and a plenty of black pepper. Transfer to a baking tray lined with parchment and roast for 20 minutes, until the mushrooms start to caramelise. Spoon into a bowl and stir through the spinach while the mushrooms are still hot, so it wilts slightly. Sprinkle over the basil and set aside.
For the polenta, put the butter in a large saute pan on a medium-high heat. Once the butter starts to froth, add the onion and lardons, and fry for 10 minutes, stirring a few times, until the onion is caramelised and the lardons have browned. Stir in the slices of garlic, followed by the polenta, half a teaspoon of salt and plenty of pepper. Pour in the milk, stock, 200ml of water and the parmesan, then bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Turn down the heat to medium and simmer for five minutes, still stirring constantly, until the polenta has the consistency of thick porridge.
It will continue to thicken once taken off the heat, so if you’re not serving immediately you’ll have to add a little more water. When ready to serve, spoon the polenta into individual bowls, top with the mushrooms and sprinkle with the crushed, toasted pine nuts.
