My Favorite Meal of the Year: Morels and Ramps

Yesterday, I ate my all time favorite meal of the year. It is only possible to eat this meal once or twice a year. Three times if you are really lucky -- which I may be this year.



The meal I am referring to is fresh morel mushrooms and ramps (wild leeks) sauteed in butter with red pepper, salt and fresh garden sage served with rice. It is one of the simplest meals I ever make and also one of the most delicious and uniquely satisfying.

Morels are one of the most famous of the wild mushrooms. Rare, elusive and only found growing for a few weeks a year, often deep in the woods. They can appear overnight with just the right combination of warm, humid weather, sunshine and the correct soil makeup.

A morel hunter must develop a keen eye for finding these mushrooms as they poke their multi-toned brown heads above and through the leaf litter that surrounds them. Often you can look at an area of moresl for a long time before you actually see the mushrooms right in front of you. Once you learn to see them, you can spot them easily, from a distance and often out of the corner of your eye despite their camoflaged appearance.

Since I just moved from the deep woods of southeastern Ohio to the city of Dayton, I thought for sure my annual spring meal of ramps and morels would be impossible to come by. But my parents live on a beautiful 3 acres with nice big trees and the biggest patch of morels I have ever seen in my life. They are prolific and growing right next to the driveway under a giant old ash tree. My mom told me they were poking their heads out of the soil, and I quickly went to investigate. I found 20-30 morels, some as large as the mouse for my computer.

With a little rain tomorrow, they could balloon up even bigger. One year, the morels here grew as large as a coffee mug.

The ramps or wild leeks show their leaves early in the spring in the underbrush of the still leafless forest, looking much like a lily or any other non-descript leafy green. But when you pick them, they give off a pungent onion-y smell and their flavor is unique. I always leave the bulb and eat the leaf though some people I know dig up the whole plant. The leaves are so good by themselves, I see no reason to take the whole plant for myself.

If you are lucky enough to have some morels and ramps, you can prepare them as follows for a uniquely and deeply nourishing spring dinner. Please note that my mother is very allergic to morels. I have never met anyone else with this allergy, but be aware that it can happen.


The Best Meal of the Year

Soak morels in salt water to remove bugs (at least 1 hour)
Slice morels into 1/4" thick slices
Heat butter to very hot.
Add morels, crushed red pepper, celtic sea salt and sliced fresh sage to hot butter.
Cook for no more than 1 minute on high heat.
Turn off heat and stir in sliced ramp leaves, stirring until residual heat has wilted them.

Serve over brown rice.

A Recipe for Childhood: Blueberries

This is a mid-winter picture from the east side of Blue Hill Bay -- less than 5 miles from where I was born. If you could pan around to the left you would see the small town of Blue Hill which is a lovely little town in mid-coast Maine. It was listed (along with Athens, Ohio -- the place I currently call home) as one of the 12 Best Places to Live You Never Heard Of by Mother Earth News. Somehow I am deeply connected to both places.

The hill in the distance is one of the three mountains making up Mount Desert Island, where I spent much of of my early childhood. When I was young -- 8 or 9 years old -- my best friend Elihue and I used to row our little dingy out into the middle of Bass Harbor amidst huge cargo ships, sailboats and lobster boats. We also spent hours and days exploring the rocky coast line near Bass Harbor Lighthouse which was about 2 miles from my last Maine home. I remember running fearlessly and quickly over the rocky coast letting my feet guide the way -- never hesitating and never falling. We found some huge caves that led way back into the shoreline. It was a pretty magical childhood really.

When I returned a few summers ago with my friends, I once again decided to run fearlessly and quickly over the rocks way down the coast, leaving my friends far behind. The smell of the ocean and the pounding surf, the rough, sharp rocks, the spray of the ocean as it moved endlessly, the sound of seagulls above and the endless coastline (Maine has the longest coastline of any state in the US -- longer even than California's, though the state is much smaller) kept my feet moving and my footing solid. The motion of my body over these rocks a memory that required no thought process.

I associate that feeling with freedom from way back in my childhood and was happy to know that even as an adult, I could move over that landscape almost like a bird -- no fear of falling, only the quick pushing off of one foot, the jump to the next rock, pushing off again, and again.

Behind the photographer in the above photo is a hill with a bumpy unpaved road that becomes a mess of mud and ice throughout at least half of the year. That road leads to the Circle Farm, the old name of the hippie commune where I was born. It is covered in low-bush blueberry fields and some 5-6 houses spread out through the 80 or so acres of the Farm. It is my second home.

My recipe for remembering what it feels like to be a kid goes like this:

In mid August find a large, open blueberry field
Sit down in the middle of it
Eat as many blueberries as you can from that spot
Move on to the next spot
Keep eating blueberries
and move on again, until you can't possibly eat another blueberry and at some point later you will probably, as I did when young, make some pretty awesome blue poop.