Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Efi Hatzimanolis #82 'The Mushrooms (or is it Toadstools?)'

The mushrooms (or is it toadstools) are circled quietly under the tree fern,
corralled there by the native kidney weed. One tender cap
has been sampled. Might be safe for a nibble, I think,
scanning the yard for corpses. Then again, it’s only a tiny mouthful,
and if it’s fine, not poisonous, why not eat the lot? I’m a pig
for a wild mushroom, but this logic gives me pause. They
look so innocent and vulnerable as if they’ve walked a long way
and for a very long time to get to this particular spot, walking huddled
together, in short bursts, sticking close to one another,
so as to keep up the appearance of being a single larger organism,
not some clump of littlies clinging to one another,
smelling faintly defensive.
I look at them. Keep it simple, I think.

So, for tea, we’re having:

mushrooms senryued in
a peppery olive oil
parsley garlic salt


  1. I love the idea of senryued mushrooms. Delightful poem. We have death caps here so really puts you off a wild mushroom hunt!

  2. Thanks, Sarah. Ah yes, play it safe, I reckon. And I have no idea what I'm looking at, do you?


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