Alfredo Forestier

If you reflect upon the different types of sauces you can put on pasta, you will probably notice that they almost all use tomatoes.  This can pose a problem for someone like me- I love pasta (carbohydrates in general) but I'm allergic to the tomatoes.  I can indulge a few times a month, but not as often as I get the hankerin' for an extra-large bowl of bucotini.  


Usually I go to my old-standby, alfredo sauce.  It's creamy, it's cheesy, and it works.  It's also a little bland. Having no spinach in the fridge to make a florentine, Alex suggested a bag of dried mushrooms I had been avoiding.  It was called "Mélange de la forêt", Forest Mix, and it had a giant morel among other desiccated scraps of fungi.  I tried not to scrunch my face in distaste.  Mushrooms?  No, thanks.


Here's a little tangent we can go off on together:


When I taught English in France, I went mushroom hunting with some friends.  My amies, Evelyne and Catherine, were almost giddy at the prospect of bringing home "des bons boletus" and cooking them up with some parsley.  As for me, not so much.  My plan was to enjoy the French forest and then think of some excuse to not have to eat whatever we found.  It's fungus.  It tastes like dust.  It feels like dust when you eat them raw.  They're rubbery when you cook them.  French or not, no mushrooms for me.  We drove out of town for about an hour, to Catherine's secret mushroom spot, and pulled the car over to the shoulder.  We had passed a small chateau on the way, and when I asked if maybe the forest was part of the land belonging to whomever owned the chateau, I got the typical French "pffff" response.  "We are looking for mushrooms, a product of nature, which are made to be eaten.  Those chateau dwellers won't be looking for them, they will just go to waste!"  Evelyne explained, but I remained unconvinced.


After about 45 minutes of wandering through some dense forest, we came to an area that was covered with boletus mushrooms.  Evelyne and Catherine started deftly picking the large fungi and depositing them into their baskets, chattering about different recipes.  As I crouched down to better inspect the boletus at my feet, I noticed someone walking toward me.  I looked and a sexagenarian in khakis and a light blue button-up shirt was approaching, asking me what I was doing.  "Euh, bon, je cherche des champignons avec mes amies..." I started, and immediately realized that this was the proprietor of the chateau and that we were going to be arrested for trespassing.  Merde!  I would be deported!  An American hunting for mushrooms, without a license, on privately owned land!  They might even revoke my passport forever!


Catherine and Evelyne came over at some point during my nervous breakdown and explained that they had been coming to this spot for years, there had never been a problem, and that we weren't doing anything illegal.  Apart from trespassing, that is.  The man countered, stating that there are signs on the road indicating that the land is privately owned and that trespassing is forbidden.  There were quite a lot of "pfff" sounds in this exchange.  Then they looked at me, frozen stiff with a boletus clenched in my fist, and explained that I was teaching English to French children and doing their country a service.  They, in turn, were trying to give me a cultural lesson about champignons.  The man seemed to soften at that, mentioning a trip he recently took to California where he got to go mushroom hunting.  He let us off the hook, but did ask for an armful of mushrooms.  


So my aversion to mushrooms isn't just a taste thing, it's a traumatic experience thing.   


Back to the alfredo sauce.


As I opened the pack of dried mushrooms, my mind hashing over the events I've just described to you, I figured it best to give the little guys a chance.  First they had to soak in warm water:

You can see the morel, as well as lobster, chanterelle and my good old buddy, the boletus, taking a dip and becoming quite pungent.  This was my opportunity to make the alfredo sauce and get the pasta boiling:


1 cup heavy cream
½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 clove garlic, grated
1 cup grated Parmegiano-Reggiano
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper


I put all the ingredients into the same pot and let the butter and cheese melt down.  Once I had an even consistency, I let the sauce cook a bit longer to thicken it.  


Alex asked if I might be willing to throw in some greens, as well.  Since I had originally wanted to do a florentine, this seemed like a good idea- however, I wasn't so sure about collard greens.  He assured me that if we boiled them long enough, they would have the same texture as spinach but have better flavor.  


After Alex chopped up the reconstituted mushrooms, we stirred them into the sauce along with the greens.  This let the flavors meld together for a bit, and also let us know if we had enough sauce.  Once the pasta was ready and drained, we plated up what I now call Alfredo Forestier:

It was good!  To my great surprise, the mushrooms weren't rubbery or gross, they each had different flavors and textures that were well complimented by the sauce.  The greens were infinitely better than spinach in the sauce, and I've sworn off spinach in florentines.  Next time I'd like to use some fresh mushrooms, just to see how much the flavors might change.  The bonus of using dried mushrooms is that the leftover water used during reconstitution turns into a stock that can be used in a myriad of ways.  


And just as a side note- the boletus we collected in the privately-owned forest were really gross, but only because Catherine used No-Salt on them.  Given the chance, I'd go mushroom hunting again- but this time, I'd pay more attention to the signs.