While we've only found two (yes, 2!) morels after traipsing over our 35 acres of woodlands, a very disheartening prospect, my husband has been able to hunt more secluded woodlots on the farm where he works and has brought home several nice batches of the "land fish" for our suppers. I don't know why their old-timer name is "land fish." They don't taste anything like fish. Maybe it's because they're fried, and often in the past we've found so many we could make a meatless meal from them and some biscuits and gravy. Now, with the dwindling pickings, we can only enjoy them as tasty
hors d'oeuvres, which we gobble down as fast as they come out of the frying pan.
No comments:
Post a Comment