Foraging for Gold: Chanterelles and Summers in Sweden
On late-summer Nordic traditions, family secrets, and the essence of terroir
I lived much of my youth in Sweden surrounded by a large family (Swedish is my first language). Winters were long and dark, but oh, the summers… they were pure gold.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the ways we mark the seasons. For me, late summer will always bring to mind the smell of mossy forests in Sweden and the thrill of spotting that golden flash of chanterelle under the leaves.
In Sweden, hunting for chanterelles is a beloved summer treasure hunt. The moment the season begins, people escape into the wild, open forests with baskets in hand, hoping to strike gold.
Just the other day, I was talking with my 85 year-old Mamma (who came to the US as a 19 year-old au pair) about these mushrooms. We both agreed that part of their magic is the flavor of place. The French call it “terroir”.
No matter how hard I try to find them here in the States, the earthy richness of a Swedish chanterelle is impossible to duplicate. It’s in the air, the soil, the moss under your feet… and perhaps in the memories, too.
In July & August my cousins back home are usually posting photos of their first chanterelle hauls of the season. The excitement is contagious, baskets brimming. But if you ask, “Where did you find them?” the answer is always the same:
“It’s a long-held family secret… I couldn’t possibly tell you.”
My Mormor (mother’s mother in Swedish) likely foraged these very same secret forest paths many decades ago. The ones I returned to just a few years back with my teenage twins.
These golden beauties are most often a warm, sunny yellow, though they can occasionally be found in red or brown (I’ve never been lucky enough to see those). They hide just under pine needles or leaves, often near the base of a tree, and spotting that glimmer in the moss feels like winning a little forest lottery.
Sorting and cleaning them is a project in itself. You really do need to know your mushrooms and have a generous table and extra hands from family and friends to help. This photo was taken a few years ago at my family’s old country home in Kristinehamn, Sweden, as we began to work through the day’s harvest.
The scent of fresh chanterelles is earthy and rich. Like the damp, green perfume of the forest floor.
My Morbor Staffan (Uncle) or Mormor (grandmother) would often prepare them simply: sautéed in butter and cream with white pepper and a splash of white wine. Served on crusty bread with herbs, or tucked into delicate pastry cups for an al fresco supper. Absolute heaven.
I miss them dearly. Writing this post isn’t helping either!
Here in the U.S., they’re scarce and silly expensive. The last time I found fresh ones they were nearly $26 an ounce, and not at all the same as the just-picked gems of Sweden. So it’s been a few years since I’ve truly tasted the real thing.
Even here in Arizona’s high country, we have our share of mushrooms sprouting this year, in my raised garden beds. A sign of healthy soil - and functioning drip lines!
If anyone happens upon a patch of chanterelles, you know where to find me.
Until then, I’ll be dreaming of golden mushrooms hiding in the summer woods.
What about you?
Is there a flavor from your past that you wish you could taste again?
With contentment & possibility,
P.S. Needless to say: please do NOT eat any wild mushrooms unless you’re absolutely certain of their identity.