Before cooking something, it is never a bad idea to turn to the expert on the science of food and cooking, Harold McGee. This week, I had mushrooms, which, as he notes, are fruiting bodies, specialised structures that, encouraged by the parent body underground, force themselves up through the soil and open their umbrella-like cap so the gills or pores can release spores into passing air currents. The aim is the same as for all pushy parents: get the next generation into the world and hope they don’t get eaten in the process.
I am hoping that a few million spores got out before the white and chestnut mushrooms I bought at our local supermarket were picked and packed. Mushrooms are often described as smelling and tasting earthy, but, as with most things, McGee is right. After I’d brushed the actual earth off the base of the stems and wiped the caps with a bit of damp kitchen towel, the mushrooms in fact smelled faintly of waxy citrus peel, yeast, almond and chicken fat – which are the octanol molecules, apparently. ‘“Faintly” being the key word here, though that scent is enhanced by cooking, in particular the almond aspect, which is then joined by the meat-malt flavour that emerges when mushrooms meet heat in a frying pan, lose water and take on colour alongside butter and garlic.
