It's that time of year again.
It's the time of year when I head into the forrest with a purpose of mind.
The time of year when I have to stir my memory and get the old brain tuned in.
The time of year when I need to recall all those little secret woodland places.
The secret spots where my favourite woodland mushroom grows.
A beautiful yellow colour.
The colour of egg yolk.
The strong fluted stem.
The wonderful scent of Abricot.
I use the French spelling.
My French friends Showed me how to find them.
My French friends showed me how to cook them.
I'll give them a spruce up with a fine soft brush.
I'll check each one for authenticity.
I will cook them in butter.
A low slow heat.
A pinch of salt.
Not too much.
Whisk in some eggs.
And eat with good bread.
And good company.
My hands feel chilly.
The sun is loosing it's strength.
A fine treat before the winter.