MUSHROOMS
WHILE they were talking about insects and flowers, time had slipped by
until the Sunday arrived when Uncle Paul was to tell about mushrooms.
The gathering was larger than the first time. The story of poisonous
plants had been repeated in the village. Some people in a rut, content
with their stupid ignorance, had said: “What is the use of it?” “The
use!” replied the others; “it teaches one to beware of poisonous plants,
so as not to die miserably like poor Joseph.” But those in the rut had
tossed their heads with a satisfied air. Nothing is so sufficient unto
itself as folly. So only willing listeners came to Uncle Paul.
“Of all poisonous plants, my friends,” he began, “mushrooms are the most
formidable; and yet some furnish a delightful food capable of tempting
the soberest.”
“For my part,” observed Simon, “I acknowledge, nothing is equal to a
dish of mushrooms.”
“Nobody will accuse you of gluttony, for, as I have just said, mushrooms
can tempt the soberest. I do not wish to discourage their use. I know
too well what a resource they are in the country; I simply propose to
put you on your guard against the poisonous kinds.”
“You are going to teach us to distinguish the good from the bad?” asked
Mathieu.
“No; that is impossible for us.”
“How impossible? Everybody knows that you can eat without fear mushrooms
that grow at the foot of such and such a tree.”
“Before answering that remark, I will address myself to you all and ask:
Have you confidence in my word? Do you think that passing one’s life in
studying such things is more instructive than the hear-say of those who
do not concern themselves with these matters?”
“You may speak, Maître Paul: we all have full confidence in your
learning,” Simon made answer for the company.
“Well, then, I repeat it in all conviction: it is impossible for us who
are not specialists to distinguish an edible mushroom from a poisonous
one, for none has a mark to say: This is eatable and this is not.
Neither the nature of the ground, nor the trees at the foot of which
they grow, nor their form, color, taste, smell, can teach us anything or
enable us to distinguish at sight the harmless from the poisonous. I
admit that a person who had passed long years studying mushrooms with
the minute attention of a scientist would succeed in distinguishing
pretty well the poisonous from the harmless, just as one acquires a
knowledge of any other plant; but can we undertake such studies? Have we
the time? We scarcely know a dozen weeds, and yet we would presume to
pass judgment on the properties of mushrooms, so many in kind and
resembling one another so closely?
[Illustration: Mushrooms]
“I hasten to add that, in every locality, actual use has long since
taught the people some kinds that they can eat without danger. It is a
good thing to conform to this usage, which makes us profit by other
people’s experience—on condition, be it understood, that we acquaint
ourselves with the kinds used. But that is not enough to keep us safe
from all peril. It is so easy to make a mistake! And then, go to another
place and you will come across other mushrooms which, while apparently
of the same family as those you have known as eatable, will be
dangerous. My rule of conduct is, you see, absolute: you must beware of
all mushrooms; excess of prudence is necessary here.”
“I admit with you,” said Simon, “that it is impossible for us to
distinguish at sight the eatable from the poisonous kinds; but there are
ways of deciding the question.”
“Tell us how.”
“In the autumn we cut mushrooms in slices and dry them in the sun. They
are excellent food for winter. The poisonous mushrooms rot without
drying. The good ones keep.”
“Wrong. All mushrooms, good or bad indifferently, keep or spoil
according to their more or less advanced state and according to the
weather at the time of preparation. This characteristic is of no value
whatever.”
“Worms attack good mushrooms,” Antoine here interposed; “they do not
attack bad ones, because they poison them.”
“That characteristic is no better than the other one. Worms attack all
old mushrooms, bad as well as good; for what would be death to us is
harmless to them. Their stomach is made so that they can eat poison with
impunity. Certain insects eat aconite, digitalis, belladonna; they feast
on what would kill us.”
“They say,” remarked Jean, “that a piece of silver put in the pot when
the mushrooms are cooking turns black if they are poisonous, and remains
white if they are good.”
“The saying is a foolish one, and to put it in practice a folly. Silver
does not change color any more from bad than from good mushrooms.”
“There is nothing to do, then, but give up mushrooms. That would be hard
on me,” said Simon.
“No, no; I promise you, on the contrary, that you will be able to use
them more than you have done. The only thing is to proceed advisedly.
“What is poisonous in mushrooms is not the flesh, but the juice with
which it is impregnated. Get rid of that juice, and the injurious
properties will disappear immediately. This is accomplished by slicing
and cooking the mushrooms, either dried or fresh, in boiling water with
a handful of salt. They are then drained in a colander and washed two or
three times in cold water. That done, they are prepared in any way one
chooses.
“If, on the contrary, mushrooms are prepared without having first been
cooked in boiling water, we expose ourselves to the danger of a
poisonous juice.
“The cooking in boiling water to which salt has been added is so
efficacious that, in order to solve this serious problem, certain
persons have had the courage to eat for whole months the most poisonous
mushrooms, prepared, however, in the way I have just told you.”
“And what happened to them?” asked Simon.
[Illustration: Poisonous Mushroom]
“Nothing at all. It is true that these persons prepared their poisonous
mushrooms with the most scrupulous care.”
“There was reason for it. According to you, then, one could use all
mushrooms without distinction?”
“Strictly speaking, yes. But that would be going too far, much too far.
There would be the fear of incomplete preparation, insufficient cooking.
I only affirm that you must submit mushrooms of good repute in the
neighborhood to the preliminary cooking in boiling water. If, by chance,
some poisonous ones were included, the poison would in this way be
eliminated and no accident would happen; I would bet my hand on that.”
“What you have just taught us, Maître Paul, will be profited by, you may
be sure. Are we ever quite certain that there is nothing poisonous in
what we gather?”
Before saying good-by Simon approached Mother Ambroisine and entered
with her into more circumstantial details of the cooking. He is so fond
of mushrooms, the worthy man!
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