It's been a rainy summer in Litchfield, Conn., where we rent a summer house, so a few weeks ago, mushrooms began appearing all over. I went and took photos. What can I say? I grew up in southern California, where we didn't have this kind of thing. They're simultaneously repulsive and beautiful. I found myself giving them nicknames.
Bruiser:
Ruffles:
Tiny:
Sand dollar:
Pinky:
Meaty:
As you can see, I wasn't the only one who was intrigued.
This past weekend, however, there was a funky smell all around the driveway. I couldn't put my finger/nose on it.... And then I did. It smelled exactly like cream of mushroom soup.
"Maybe you can pretend that I'm making cream of mushroom soup," said Adam.
"You're not helping." I don't like cream of mushroom soup anyway, and Adam once made a horrible version. (Sorry, babe, but it's true!)
We worried it might be the septic system or the well. Everything else at the house has broken; why not one of those? Then Adam realized that it might actually be a mushroom. Not just any mushroom, but a late bloomer, and one of the most evocative mushrooms I've ever seen (that's it below). He hacked them to bits right before we left for the city; we'll have to see if the problem disappears, although more appeared to be on their way. I'm still surprised that uncooked mushrooms could smell so mushroomy.
I just learned it's called a stinkhorn, which is obviously my new favorite word.
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