Just a little while ago, after a day or two of steady rain, I ventured out into a French field, dotted with massive cow droppings, to find myself some fresh mushrooms. I was so excited, as foraging for mushrooms was something I had always wanted to do. Actually, hold on, that’s a lie. That’s something I’ve wanted to do for about 8 months now, since I developed an eager appreciation for mushrooms.
I, like most people, had nothing but disgust for mushrooms when I was young. I thought they were ugly, the texture was weird, and they lacked any trace of flavour except gross. But now, as an adult, I absolutely crave mushrooms and could eat them at every meal without complaint. How did this happen?
After putting some thought into it, I think my acceptance of mushrooms is a symptom of ‘the change’. I think I have finally, hold onto your hats, grown up. I know this sounds like it may be a bit of a stretch for mushrooms, but I believe it fits into a larger picture of adulthood quite easily. There comes a point in life, after having spent the post-adolescent years trying to experience as many things as you can, when you can start to look back over some of the things you thought you had crossed off your list. And they start to look different.
For example (mushrooms aside), when I was 22, I thought I was born and bred to live in the city. Every morning, I wanted to be able to walk out my front door and have a coffee in my hand before I had walked farther than 3 blocks. Oh, and I wanted someone to see how cute I looked doing it. I imagined that nothing happened outside the city that I wanted to be a part of; that everything worth doing and seeing was condensed into the island of Montreal.
And now, I’m sitting in The Middle of Nowhere, France, wearing dirty clothes every day, arms sore from insulating a house, bangs pinned back (quel horreur!), miles away from anything including cell phone reception. And I’m happy. No one, including myself, would have thought that I could honestly claim to be living in harmony with the mice and mosquitoes without a hint of sarcasm. I could say the same for my love of mushrooms, considering how many I have wasted by pulling them off pizzas, out of sauces and chilies, or clandestinely wrapping in a napkin under the table.
Because I am a person who, let’s face it, would live a fairly joyless existence if my taste buds fell off, I feel like I can use mushrooms as a metaphor for adulthood. I could also use olives, or yoghurt, or lobster as there has never been any room on my plate for any of these items. Except lately I’ve been trying olives, because I feel like I’m missing out on something I should love. And I guess I’ve had a yoghurt or two because the French have a ‘thing’ with yoghurt. Lobster… I’m not there yet.
As an adult, I can no longer justify my dismissal of certain things based on the simple notion that up until now, I haven’t liked it. There are just too many things I thought I didn’t appreciate when I was younger that I thoroughly enjoy now. Like eggplant, blue cheese, volumizing mousse, and Springsteen records (excellent together or on their own).
When I turned 25, I didn’t like mushrooms. I’ll turn 26 in two weeks, and if I have my way, my birthday dinner will include at least two varieties of champignons. Here’s hoping that on my 27th, I can look back at the previous year and shake my head in disbelief that I ever chose to avoid something I absolutely cannot get enough of.