They crop up on suburban lawns, cling to tree trunks, hide under dead leaves, or cluster along the highway. Wild mushrooms also turn up on menus around the city. Benjamin Maleson, 57 (above), a.k.a. the mushroom man, has foraged and supplied wild fungi to over 30 area restaurants for the last two decades. On a recent afternoon, Maleson heads to a densely wooded park west of the city, one of more than a thousand secret locations he knows within 30 minutes of Boston. Past joggers, walkers, and moms with strollers, he scurries into the woods, which are teeming with mosquitoes and poison ivy. ‘‘Mushroom hunting is never ending and every step is another adventure,’’ he says.
Armed with his baskets and Italian truffle hunter’s cloths, he spots a small patch of orange-colored cinnabar chanterelles nestled among poison ivy. Using a short, thin blade, he removes clumps of soil from these 2-inch mushrooms and gingerly places them in the basket. In an hour and a half, he collects over a dozen varieties of boletes, chanterelles, hedgehogs, milky caps, vermillion, and red caps. A long day may yield only 20 pounds of mushrooms. ‘‘When I’m out in the woods, I’m all alone and no one bothers me. I can discover mushrooms that I’ve never seen or find old friends I’m familiar with.’’ Then he’s off to see which chefs are buying.
WENDY MAEDA
