Every Thanksgiving, my grandfather and I would go mushroom hunting. We’d head out with a netted bag and return with it full—Slippery Jacks, though we didn’t know their name at the time. It was one of our favorite traditions. When he passed away in 1987, that tradition went with him.
Years later, I spotted some similar mushrooms at our local corner market, imported from South America. I bought them whenever I could, but eventually the store lost contact with their supplier, and I had no way of tracking them down. I kept a small container of them in the freezer for years, almost like a treasure. Recently, I finally used the last of them in a pasta sauce.
At the same time, I decided to give the internet one more try—even though I didn’t know what the mushrooms were called. I described what they looked like, where we found them, and the season we picked them. After some digging, I came across a name: Slippery Jack – Boletus luteus. That was it.
I found a site called Forest Mushrooms that carried them, and I ordered a pound that very night.
Six days later, the box arrived—well-packaged and secure. I opened the bag, took a deep breath, and there it was: that same earthy, nostalgic smell. I rehydrated a few in hot water, tasted one, and suddenly I was back in my grandmother’s kitchen. Her risottos, pasta dishes, holiday meals—it all came rushing back.
I can’t thank Forest Mushrooms enough. They didn’t just deliver mushrooms. They brought back a lost part of my family’s Italian cooking, and with it, some very special memories.
