Mushrooms and Our Culture of Fear: Caputo's, Elmwood Park
In my home office, on one of my file cabinets, next to bottles of Ultimo-procured DaVinci olive oil and old Gorilla Gourmet DVDs that I've yet to inflict on friends and family, I have a plastic bag of dried morel mushrooms I bought in Seattle. I could eat them any time, but I kind of like the way they look.
Tonight, one of my daughter's friends was up in my office, and he saw the mushrooms and said, "Ooh, do you eat those?" I affirmed that I intended to, someday, and he said, looking at me as though I were slightly daft, "How do you know they won't kill you." I did not answer. How the hell do you respond to a question like that?
I like mushrooms a lot. I like the way they look, and I like how they taste, and I like the fact that something so damned delicious grows on death and decay. There's a lesson there, I'm sure, but that's not my point, which is that mushrooms are frequently scorned based on irrational fears. No doubt, the wrong mushrooms can make you very sick, and no sane person would ever randomly munch unrecognized fungi found on the forest floor, but this abiding aversion to mushrooms seems just another symptom of our culture of fear, a dumbass cowering mindset fueled by, for instance, tonight's headline on CNN.com: "Major Terror Attack Planned this Summer." How the hell do you respond to a threat like that. How in the name of Yahweh, Allah, etc., are we supposed to act on that information?! There's nothing you, I, or anyone can do differently, but it is certainly in the best interests of some to keep us fearful, unfocused and too fretful to think clearly. Warmongers are fearmongers.
So anyway, after my daughter and her friends left, I went downstairs: the television was still on, and they had been watching "24" on Fox (America's Pravda); the subject was, of course, a deadly virus (a favorite fear). I sautéed some straw mushrooms I bought from Caputo's (79 cents a can, right next to register #3). The flavor was okay, but the mushrooms themselves were just so gorgeous, reddish brown caps glistening. Is it possible a dreaded toadstool might have slipped in, perhaps accidentally picked by an Asian farm worker, or even placed there by a revenge-seeking former Viet Cong? Sure, but I'm not going to worry about it, and I'm not certainly not going to let fear ruin my dinner. I turned off the television to enjoy my feast of fungus in peace.
Caputo's Food Market
2558 N Harlem Ave
Elmwood Park
(708) 453-0155,