Coming fast on the heels of all the wild greens, Morels mark a major inflection point in the culinary calendar for me. People go bananas for ramps, obviously, but there are few wild foods that rival the profound luxury of freshly cut morels. Their season happily coincides with peak spring flowers: lilacs, fruit trees, dogwoods, redbuds, forsythia, and more light up the landscape, so going outside is already irresistible even before you get to the truffle-adjacent treasures appearing in the woods.
Down below the fragrant fireworks, Morchella esculenta begins pushing up through the leaf litter, a savory chthonic counterpoint to the sweetly florid arboreal display. Brains, sponges, aliens—choose your simile. They’re fascinating to look at and superb to eat. Spotting the first one each year brings a unique thrill (as does finding every subsequent one). Morels belong in the top tier of mushrooms; they’re related to truffles and their depth of flavor is second to none. The joy of finding them in the wild gets compounded tenfold in the eating, and this recipe is my absolute favorite way to eat them.
Because so much of what’s growing around the morels is edible, I usually like to sauté the mushrooms in butter or cream with one or more of these wild herbs and pile them on some crusty sourdough toast. The secret ingredient is some form of umami-boosting liquid, which also serves as the salt for the dish. Soy sauce, fish sauce, dashi—hell, in a pinch some leftover miso soup from takeout sushi night—can all work, depending on your taste and what you have handy. I make a lot of my own garums and shoyus, but you can buy the Mushroom Garum from Noma Projects, which is an amazing choice for applications like this.
Some garlic is often a good idea, so I like to cut the white bulbs off of field garlic and treat those like garlic cloves, sautéing them with the mushrooms, then finish with the minced green upper part for a nice one-two allium punch. For the largest bulbs, you want to look for solo field garlic plants, which get much larger than ones growing in tight clumps. Those smaller ones are best for mowing with scissors to use as chives when it’s time to garnish your lunch, the delectable reward for a couple of hours spent in perfect woods at a stunningly beautiful time of year.
Morels must be thoroughly cooked or they can make some people sick. You want them to give up some juices and darken—be sure to let them go at least 5 minutes over respectable heat, and stir them well so everybody cooks.
In order, in the pan:
A little butter or oil
Sliced field garlic bulbs (a couple will be subtle, increasing amounts will begin to approach co-star status, which can be great too)
Fresh morels, sliced into rounds, halved, or left whole depending on their size and your preference
The umami-booster of your choice
More butter, or some heavy cream
A splash of decent wine to finish is not a terrible idea; white will provide acidity, red will also mesh with the mushrooms’ darker flavors, Bourguignon-style
A little good vinegar of some sort works wonderfully instead of wine
If you add wine, let the alcohol cook off. When the mushrooms are done, I like to move them into a bowl and then toast the bread in the pan, using the slices to mop up all the remaining bits and liquid as they brown a bit. Spoon the mushrooms over the toast and hit them with the garlic greens or whatever other herb you choose.
Whether you’re lucky enough to find morels in the wild or just spring for them at a market, keep in mind that this method will work with just about any mushrooms. And regular garlic works beautifully if you can’t find wild. So use what you’ve got, and revel in the many joys of mushroom toast.