Today Síle and I decide to take the day off.
Our last guests left after breakfast and our next lot aren’t due in till Friday so we are on our holliers for a few days.
We headed up to the Lac de Rivages, up the mountains in the Haute Languedoc and set about having a walk in the woods.
The weather is still sunny and pleasant, cooler now in the lower twenties but I’m still in shorts and t shirt (the French, who appear to feel the cold more, are rather more warmly dressed.)
We were walking in the woods partly to test out Síle’s new walking sticks and also wondering if on the off chance we might manage to see some mushrooms as they are in season now.
I’m no authority on Mushrooms but know that every mushroom hunters dream is to nab a few Ceps.
These fat meaty wonders are called Porcini in Italy and are only rated after the truffle for deliciousness.
They occasionally appear in the markets here but are usually bought up before I get there.

As soon as I left the car I spotted a mushroom in the ditch.
I thought it could have been a Cep, but of course it couldn’t be, could it, so I tucked it down under a leaf and walked on.
We strolled on for about a mile and saw nothing further in the Fungi line bar a few ratty looking shaggy caps and a load of venomous yellow babies so we decided to head back to the car.
Coming against us were a French couple, our age, carrying full plastic bags.
“Did you get some mushrooms” said I after the Bon Jours.
“I did” said he, opening the bag, “All Ceps!”
And he opened the bag showing about a dozen large Boletus Edulis, fat monsters which the English call Penny Buns and the Italians Porcini.
And it seemed that this little Frenchman had gathered these on the road which we had just travelled.

We bid them Bon Appetite for the feast they had ahead and strode back the road determined to find some of their leavings.
After about 100 metres Síle spotted a monster which looked like theirs.
I agreed to carry it reverendly in my hand.
Then she spotted his tiny brother which we also thought worth the try.
We got to where I had hidden my medium sized fellow and now, having been shown the real thing, decided that this could also be the real thing.
When we got back to the car I took a portrait of the three posed on the bonnet.

We then belted it back as quick as we could to the chemist in the village.

There is a very simple system in France, each Chemist is obliged by law to employ a mushroom person who must be prepared to pass the mushrooms for eating.
I went into the chemist (who knows me) and told him my errand.
We will have to ask M. to come out, he said, and called the Mycologist from the nether regions.

In the meantime He peered into the bag to see what this Irish yob would think edible.
Instantly his expression changed and gave a low whistle, Trois Boletus Edulis he said, he then gazed at me with admiration;
Ils sont tres tres Bon !
The mycologist backed up this opinion with even more flags and whistles so I fairly floated out of the shop.

I weighed them when we got home, Síles monster alone came to eight ounces !

They were washed (gently) trimmed (slightly) sliced (thinly) and fried (softly)in a generous quantity of butter, black pepper and salt until just tender.
Síle ate hers on toast;

I ate mine with (but not in) an omelette.
They were absolutely delicious.