There are the great mycophiles, such as Antonio Carluccio, Pierre Koffmann and Mauro Bregoli, who cannot walk into a wood without kilo upon kilo of perfect ceps practically falling in their laps. And there is me. I have had some success, do not get me wrong. If I had to rely on my mushroom picking for nourishment, however, I would cut a much slimmer figure than I do today. Like chasing the fox, the hunt's the thing.
Mushroom picking is as full of lore and secrecy as any masonic lodge.
Good friends suddenly turn cold and evasive at the slightest enquiry as to the location of their trove. These same people get up ridiculously early to beat each other to their quarry. Still, it makes a good day out, and the kids love it. Of course, you must not eat anything until you are absolutely sure that you know what it is, and never put anything in a common basket until you are equally sure of its identity. Common sense, really.