Dessert and a novice Mushroom Hunter

Nothing is "just" with the French. When they go, they go all out. Little did I know that a short stop by for an amazing pear and chocolate tart would turn into a full expedition. A little outing for mushrooms was like a hike up a flipping mountain. The mushrooms we were trying to find needed to be the size of your head with dark brown flesh underneath, not tan or orange. Mushrooms also grow on trees or in the ground, for those who don't know. 

Apparently no one told the French about Smokey the bear and wildfires. My French hosts just lit cigarettes in front of me, in the forest of all places! Mais, c'est pas grave, si ils êtes prudents! (but it's no biggie, if they are careful, which they were). Finding mushrooms is a big feat because they have to be the right shape, size and not too far decomposed. Also, not every tree has mushrooms growing under it. Anyway, I didn't bag any mushrooms on this trip, but my hosts did. 20, to be exact. 

On the way back to Veronique's house, it started pouring rain and because I had no idea that I was going to do this, I didn't bring a rain jacket. And so with shirt and jeans clinging to me, I started my way down. In the mountains, there aren't really any paths that are pre-dug for you, so I had to face a treacherous journey full of wet leaves and sloping rocks. By the time I got to the house, I was a muddy, soaking wet mess, whose butt and hips sorely hurt from falling. I then, thankfully, got a ride back to my house and so, with rain-frizzed hair, am currently eating some pumpkin soup.
French forest

On our way to picking mushrooms

Our bounty

My contrebution to the hunt, haha. 

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