by Brian Koch
Every upland season has a final bird. I usually go into that walk with mixed emotions. For those obsessed with upland pursuit, it’s one last opportunity to try and make sense of the world through the rush of wings and burnt powder. And it’s our final chance to stretch legs and follow dogs, to soak up all that’s good and wild before hanging up the boots and hosing off the shotgun.
Then the time comes for bony and scarred bird dogs to recover from the hard-fought covers of a long season. I stow hunting gear in the back corner of a closet, the farthest place from sight, to ward off torments of how distant the next flush remains. And then we’re left to lament in silence interrupted only by the popping cartilage of knees abused across miles.
But the close of the upland season is the omen for dark magic brewing on the forest floor. It’s the one comfort that sustains this bird hunter through the long off-season.
I grew up mushroom hunting in the Midwest. Dad would hook the trailer to the lawn tractor, and my sisters, grandma, the farm dog and I would climb on for the ride up the rutted lane to the woods. Every year on this commute, while we struggled to stay aboard the flatbed, Grammie would recount the same stories. We would hear about the special days of her youth when the morel haul would overflow a bushel basket and about the time cousin Kenny ate so many that he got sick.
Those woods weren’t prime for morels, but it was OUR spot. There was always a competition to see who could find the most. It was nearly impossible to beat my dad. Collectively we would be lucky to find more than a couple dozen on any given outing. Upon our return to the house, mom would cut and clean them, fry them in butter and impartially divide the crispy spoils amongst each family member.
That’s how I learned to mushroom hunt. We never called it foraging. It was just a family activity we did every spring. We were never instructed in mushroom identification or poisonous varieties. Honestly, it never even seemed like learning; it was just something we always did for as long as I can remember. I started mushroom hunting long before I ever thought about bird hunting and well before I was big enough to shoulder a shotgun.
Those days had it all – legacy, mystery, competition and delicious trophies.
According to Grammie, when the dogwoods bloom, mushroom season is over. In our area, that rule is mostly true for morels, but that schedule also coincides with when other more pressing farm work needed to begin. I suspect how she learned the end of morel season was as much about the end of free time to wander forests.
There are many similarities between upland bird covers and morel spots. My bird hunting buddies and I name the places we consistently find birds – The Green Gate, Radar Hill, Kali’s Tantrum. My mushroom hunting friends and I do the same – The Honey Hole, The Middle Woods, Sugar Shack. Bird dogs often join us on these foraging expeditions, which double as scouting for bird hunting locations.
Most of these spots are closely held secrets. Some may think that’s because of the amount of effort that goes into identifying prime areas. I don’t think that’s the case. The work that goes into finding both game birds and mushroom patches isn’t grueling. Covering miles and miles and hours in the outdoors is enjoyable.
In a general sense, I understand what makes good grouse cover. Also, I basically know what makes good morel spots, at least for this area. But that level of understanding never guarantees there will be mushrooms or grouse, even in areas identified as prime. I’ve scoured ideal woods for morels and found nothing. I returned to the same spot the following day and found yellow sponge bigger than my hand. That’s magic (and the fear of jinxing the outcomes) is why spots are so protected. If morels and ruffed grouse were in every woods, all the time, there would be very little appreciation for either.
What I’ve learned since the days of mushroom hunting with Grammie, the forest floor offers more even after the dogwoods bloom. Well into the summer, almost cutting into upland planning for the fall – almost – we’re able to search for ramps, chanterelles, Hen of the Woods, raspberries – the list keeps getting longer.
Identifying edible wild plants has never been easier or arguably safer with the rise of the internet, digital photography and experts willing to share information across the expanse. I won’t bore you with the details of how I began identifying new species of mushrooms, but web searches and apps are valuable tools. Foraging has made me a better hunter. It trains your senses to be more aware of locations’ possibilities by focusing on the small details.
If you dread the dogless days of the off-season, there’s opportunity for overlapping obsessions. Just head to the woods and look down.
Note: Regulations for foraging on public land are often regionally specific. National Parks generally don’t allow any hunting or foraging. In National Forests, it depends on the forest and what exactly you’re trying to find. State Parks and state lands foraging regulations are highly specific to each location. Asking permission to mushroom hunt on private property is a great way to establish a relationship with landowners, especially if you offer to share in the spoils.
Roughed-Up Grouse Cakes with Morel Cream Sauce
Last year I noticed the birds I harvested lacked the pristine, market-fresh appearance of many game chefs filling social feeds with haute cuisine photos. Between my average shooting skills and a young dog with tendencies toward plucking, I was lucky to have birds returned to hand in one piece, let alone pristine. The truth is, some birds aren’t that pretty when they enter the freezer.
I started thinking about recipes that might redeem the old, shot up roosters that reside in the back corners of the freezer. Brining is an easy way to improve quality birds. For this recipe, we brined game bird breasts overnight in the refrigerator in a solution of equal parts salt and sugar with a few lemon slices. Wild birds tend to be very lean, which can make them tough and dry once cooked. The addition of mayo and bacon adds moisture and flavor as well as binding for these cakes inspired by the crab cakes of the Northeast.
For those fortunate enough to live where morels are available in the spring, they’re a great compliment to these cakes and can make this appetizer a decadent seasonal treat. I made a morel cream sauce separating the fungus in half – reserving the nicer shrooms for frying.
Course Appetizer
Prep Time: 30 minutes
Cook Time: 10 minutes
Servings: 6 pheasant cakes
Ingredients
- 4 game bird breasts
- 4 strips of bacon
- 1/2 cup mayonnaise
- 1 cup green onions
- 1 cup Panko bread crumbs
Instructions
- After brining overnight, dice breasts into half-inch cubes
- Pre-cook strips of bacon – you want to stop before the crispy stage. Let cool and then chop into small pieces.
- In a bowl, combine the diced birds, bacon, half of the green onions and half the Panko with the mayonnaise. You’re looking for a texture like tuna salad. Depending on the moisture level of your birds, you may need to adjust the mixture with more/less bread crumb or mayo.
- Add a dash of salt and pepper, then form the mixture into patties.
- Press those patties into the remaining half of the Panko to cover both sides.
- Add just enough oil to cover the bottom of a cast-iron skillet. We’re not shooting for super-high temps, so olive, peanut or vegetable oil should work just fine, possibly even butter.
- Once the oil is heated to medium, gently place cakes in the skillet. The trick here is to not fuss with them. There isn’t much filler or binder in these cakes, so you’re going for a single flip of each; otherwise, you risk them falling apart.
- Allow the crust to form, 4-5 minutes per side. The small cubes of meat, along with the high moisture content, let these cook quickly.
- Garnish with the remaining diced green onion.
Morel Cream Sauce
So simple and good. Tough to think of anything that morel cream sauce won’t improve.
Course Side Dish
Prep Time: 10 minutes
Cook Time: 15 minutes
Ingredients
- 1 mess foraged morel mushrooms – the more you find, the better
- 1 pint half-n-half
- 4 TBSP butter
- 4 TBSP flour
- Salt
Instructions
- In this part of the country, to kill bugs, slugs and the like, we soak our morels in saltwater for an hour after finding them.
- Split your mess into nicer morels for frying and smaller, older, dryer morels for the sauce.
- Put a rough chop on the morels selected for the sauce. We probably had two dozen total mushrooms for this recipe, so we chopped a dozen.
- In a saucepan on medium heat, melt the butter and add the chopped morels and a pinch of salt. Allow them to cook until you see the edges begin to brown. And the morels have now flavored the butter.
- Add the flour while stirring to coat the mushrooms and soak up the butter, making a roux.
- Slowly add half-n-half while stirring. As it heats, it will thicken. Add until your sauce reaches the desired thickness.
- Slice the other morels in half, dredge in equal parts of corn starch and flour and begin frying them in a skillet with butter. Across much of the Midwest, this is the standard preparation, though we’ve just recently found the corn starch seems to make them a bit crispier.
Recipe Notes
If you have more birds or more guests, it’s easy to adjust quantities. Use one strip of bacon per breast. The crisp outsides of these pheasant cakes add a great texture note.
For those not lucky enough to find large quantities of mushrooms, this simple cream sauce can stretch that morel flavor to anything you put it on. The second half of fried morels make a great texture contrast and attractive garnish as well. Simple and lighter: Place cakes on a bed of greens with a couple slices of avocado and a squeeze of lemon.
