Getting 'Shroomed: On the Mountain with Oregon's First Family of Fungi

"That's why we call it mushroom hunting, not mushroom picking."

- Jack Czarnecki on the rigors of foraging for mushrooms

The Czarnecki family is well on its way to becoming a mushroom foraging dynasty, with fungi running in their veins the way filaments of mycelia run under the forest floor. In 2012 I was privileged to meet Jack Czarnecki when I interviewed him for a story about Oregon truffles, then just beginning to be recognized as equals to their legendary cousins in France and Italy. Jack, the third generation of this restaurant family, migrated from his native Pennsylvania to Oregon so he could hunt mushrooms year round. Sensing my curiosity about his craft, he subsequently invited me to join him and his compatriots to climb in the legendary Trufflemobile on a hunt for their wiley prey.

Jack at Joe's Donut Shop on a previous hunt.

Jack, retired from restaurateuring as well as active mushroom hunting, has passed on the family's traditions to his sons Chris and Stefan. Chris, a chef, took over ownership of the Joel Palmer House in Dayton, assiduously maintaining its mushroom-centric focus while adding a more contemporary twist to its preparations. Stefan (top photo), who owns wine touring company Black Tie Tours, had announced he was taking a day away from that business to head up to Mt. Hood to hunt mushrooms for the restaurant, and I inquired if he might be able to squeeze in one additional passenger.

Dick Nelson, mushroom maven.

As with his father before him, we arranged to meet at Joe's Donuts in Sandy, a requisite stop for foragers to pay obeisance to the mountain gods for a successful hunt and a dandy place to get sustenance for what was sure to be a long day of clambering through brush and up and down hillsides. As we set out for the mountain, the shotgun position in the front seat next to Stefan was taken by his dad's longtime mushroom-hunting buddy Dick Nelson, as familiar with the spiderweb of rutted tracks leading to the best spots as was Jack. Much discussion ensued as to which spots might yield the best results, and a general plan was formulated.

White chanterelle emerging.

Our primary goal was to hunt matsutake mushrooms, prized for their distinctive spicy scent as well as their flavorful culinary properties. The "matsies" were just beginning to appear, pushing their way up out of the duff of the forest floor, often no more than a bump in the undergrowth or, at best, a glimpse of white through the needles. Second were porcinis, also considered a seasonal delicacy. Last but not least on the list were white chanterelles, cousins of the more ubiquitous gold-colored variety, and much more abundant than either the matsutakes or porcinis.

An early dusting of snow.

A dusting of snow covered the trees as we headed down the highway past Government Camp, turning off the main road to one of the secret spots euphemistically named for a distinctive feature like The Rocks or The Dock. A few favorite spots yielded a smattering of the targeted fungi, but it was our last stop, an anonymous wooded slope that I'd visited with Jack on a previous trip, that ended up yielding a small bonanza of matsutakes and a plethora of whites.

Dick finds the prized "matsi" of the day.

Fortunately I was with Dick, who would point with his walking stick—actually a mop handle he'd borrowed from his utility closet at home—at a slight mounded lump on the ground, suggesting I should brush aside some needles in case it might disguise a matsutake just popping up. Which it invariably would. These mushrooms need to be dug in their entirety rather than cut off at the base like the chanterelles, to reveal dusty, dry earth clinging to the base that, along with their distinctive aroma, is a telltale sign.

All told we gathered more than thirty pounds of mushrooms in five hours, most of which would be going to the Chris at the restaurant, but I was generously allowed to bring a few pounds home to roast and freeze for future dishes where I could relive the smell of the woods on our hunt, the bracing nip in the mountain air, and Dick's charming Mona Lisa smile.

Read more about this iconic Oregon family, including links to my articles on Oregon truffles and mushrooms. Top photo courtesy Stefan Czarnecki.

Oregon's Czarnecki Family: Four Generations of Mushroom Hunters

"My best memories growing up were foraging with the whole family, making a day of it," says Chris. "For us it’s always been about more than just putting food on the table. It’s getting out in the woods, being with nature."

The video above and the story that accompanies it, by writer Kerry Newberry for Travel Oregon, celebrates one of my favorite Oregon families, the Czarneckis. Jack (left), the patriarch of the clan, introduced me to mushroom foraging years ago, and I still relish a call to head up to Mt. Hood or over to the coast range to spend the day with this tireless man who sprints up and down Oregon's steep, forested hillsides like a deer.

Read more about my foraging adventures with him.

Quick Hits: The Barlow Room

Growing up outside the Willamette Valley in Eastern and Central Oregon meant my parents piled the kids in the station wagon—I preferred the back end, with more room and a barrier between me and my two younger brothers—every few months and drove over the mountains to Portland. These trips always involved a stop about halfway for a bathroom break, coffee, lunch or pie at a café, some landmark place my parents had been stopping since they were young marrieds.

Basil gimlet, anyone?

Even now on road trips to the coast, usually much shorter journeys than those of my childhood but still requiring a stop to fortify or relieve, I was always looking for a place that reminded me of those childhood cafés, but never really found one that felt right. Until just recently, that is.

Chili likes it, too.

The esteemed Czarnecki family, founders and owners of the Joel Palmer House in Dayton (father Jack has been featured extensively on Good Stuff NW), decided that what wine country needed was not another wine-themed bistro with precious tchotchkes and even more precious pricing, but a good burger and a solid tap list. So son Chris, chef and current owner of Joel Palmer, decided to rehabilitate a historic restaurant and bar across from Dayton's Courthouse Square Park to provide locals and travelers a casual place to meet and have a bite. In other words, a good old-fashioned tavern.

The Barlow Room is a comfortable brick-walled room with a bar along one wall featuring the aforementioned beers, but also an intriguing cocktail list—my basil gimlet was made with basil from the tavern's garden out back—as well as small plates for noshing, sandwiches, salads, pastas and desserts. (And that signature burger? Well, just know that when I'm craving a burger, this is the one I'll be thinking of.) A destination all on its own, it'll also give weary wine-tasters a welcome break when their tastebuds tire of pinots, not to mention anyone traveling through and needing a place to stop and refuel.

Details: The Barlow Room, 306 Ferry St., Dayton. 503-714-4328.

Into the Woods with Jack

I heard my e-mail inbox ping with an incoming message.

The subject line: "Sharoooooms!!!" It was from one of my favorite people, Jack Czarnecki, Oregon's master of fungi and maker of truffle oil. He was inviting me along to forage mushrooms with two of his most eagle-eyed compatriots, Dick, whom I'd met on a previous expedition, and Chris, who, like Dick, is a retired teacher. I've been on a few expeditions with Jack gathering these denizens of the forest deep, and it is always an educational, entertaining and thoroughly exhausting experience, since he moves like a bear up and down hills, tirelessly seeking his quarry.

First stop, Joe's Donuts.

Our quest this time was for matsutake mushrooms, highly sought-after for their distinctly spicy, sweet aroma. Jack said he loves them for the persistence of their flavor when cooked, unlike many mushrooms that tend to lose the intensity of their flavor when combined with other ingredients. We'd also be picking up white chanterelles, which flush in the same locations as the matsutakes. Both would be featured on upcoming menus at the Joel Palmer House, where Jack's son Chris has taken the helm, allowing his father to 'shroom at will.

Find the five matsutakes.

Since we were heading up on the flanks of Mt. Hood to various hunting grounds that he and his pals had explored before, we met up at Joe's Donut Shop in Sandy, a requisite stop to ask Wy'east's blessing for the hunt and to plot the day's traverse of the mountain. After consuming coffee and several of Joe's namesake pastries (I particularly liked the applesauce, though they've now got pumpkin on the list), we headed out, turning off onto a series of Forest Service roads to the first in a series of stops.

Out in the open.

Though there were jokes about blindfolds, Jack knows I'm completely befuddled once we get off the main highway. Plus the fact that he knows the narrow, rutted roads like the back of his hand and drives them accordingly. In the car he described the matsutake and its habits like it was a member of the family, complete with tales of chance meetings and great hunts past.

But once we stopped the car and got out, he was all business. He handed me a long-bladed knife, scoffing at the Swiss Army knife I'd brought as insufficient to dig out the deeply rooted matsutake. Since I'd never foraged for this particular mushroom, and the fact that it can at first look like a number of deadly amanita mushrooms, he took pains to show me how to properly identify it.

The telltale dusty root.

The matsutake, like many fungi that grow in the forests of the Pacific Northwest, are found in areas where there is deep, moist duff from the fir trees. Sometimes they're sticking up from the surface, but most often you'll spot one barely emerging from under a hat of fir needles, or even still beneath the surface, only given away by an oddly placed hump on the forest floor. The good news is, they tend to erupt in clumps, so once you see one breaking the surface it's good to scan the area for any cracks or clumps that indicate other matsus nearby.

Jack spotted some almost instantly, and said it was important to get the whole mushroom out, root and all. That's because the most important indicator of the matsutake is at the root end, where it will have an ashy, grey dust clinging to it. The second indicator is the sharply defined gills under the cap, which emit the distinctly spicy, sweet aroma this mushroom is known for.

A happy man.

After this lesson, Jack let me go off on my own, though I always kept in sight of one of the veteran foragers, not only because they had walkie-talkies, but because they always knew how to get back to the car, a crucial skill when you're wandering around in the wilderness. Fortified by Heidi's forager's lunch (huge cold-cut, cheese and onion on rye sandwiches and her signature giant chocolate chip cookies), and after making several stops that filled up the back of the Truffle-Mobile, Jack's trusty Subaru wagon, we headed back to town.

As big as my head!

The guys were particularly impressed by my find of not just one, but three huge cauliflower mushrooms (ahem), in addition to a not-too-shabby-for-a-beginner matsutake and chanterelle take. Summing up over the required dinner at SE Powell's Om Seafood—mushroomers are apparently big on talismans in the form of restaurants—Jack said that in all his years in Oregon, going on two decades now, this may be the best year he's seen for mushrooms of all sorts. It was theorized to be some combination of warm-but-not-too-hot days followed by rain but not-too-much rain (it's like talking to vineyard people) that caused the crazy flush of all kinds of hot mycorrhizal action.

Whatever the reason, it was a thrilling day, not only because of the amount of mushrooms taken, but because I got to be one of Jack's select crew, a compliment of the highest order. Thanks, Jack!

"You've Been 'Shroomed."

Jack Czarnecki loves to take newbs out and demonstrate the wonderful world of mushrooms, edible or not. And who better to introduce the subject than this bacteriologist-cum-restaurateur who moved to Oregon specifically because he could hunt his favorite fungi 365 days a year?

Mushroom pros on the prowl.

He goes out looking for the ones he can take back to his son Chris, who is the owner and chef at the legendary Joel Palmer House in Dayton, a shrine to mycelium that Jack and his wife Heidi opened in 1996. But he also picks up oddball specimens, like the creamy butter-yellow individual we ran across on a recent foray for porcinis and butter boletes. He said he'd never seen this particular mushroom before, indicating it would be duly noted and identified when he got back home to Dundee.

Dick scores the first porcini.

He describes finding his earthy prey like a series of shots of pure dopamine to his brain. "There's the five-minute mushroom," he said of the effect, when he gets discouraged, of finding the object of his quest.

"Then there's the 10-minute mushroom," either a nice specimen or a small patch. But a mother lode of hidden gems or, even better, an as-yet-undiscovered location that the "commercials," the foragers who sell to buyers who supply stores and restaurants, haven't found? That's anything from a two-hour high to a fix that'll last all day.

I actually found some, too!

"We're going to take you through the back door," he said when he invited me along on a recent trip to search out early summer porcinis (Boletus Rex-veris) and butter boletes (Boletus regius) (top photo). Visions of Alice in Wonderland filled my head, but having been out with Jack before on a hunt for the Oregon white truffles that lace his Oregon white truffle oil, I knew it would be a day of tromping in the woods and an education in the where, what, when, why and how of species I'd never encountered before.

At seven in the morning I parked Chili in the parking lot of a large box store in Salem and Jack drove up in his Subaru wagon, dubbed the Truffle-mobile, and introduced me to his mushrooming pal Dick, a retired teacher and fellow fungus addict who'd be coming with us this trip. We drove up the Santiam Pass to a series of locations in the Cascades that will, of course, remain undisclosed except to say that they were at elevations of 4,500 to 5,000 feet. Any threats of excommunication (or even execution) weren't necessary, since Jack pilots the dizzying web of gravel and cinder forest roads, some more like paths, of the backwoods like the familiar he is.

Porcinis hide in plain sight, in singles and pairs.

In the decade-plus that he and Dick have been hunting together, their favorite spots have been given descriptive names like The Rocks, The Ditch and The Mound, and we were going to hit most of them and more that day. These guys are relentless, barely stopping to eat lunch or have a cup of coffee during a 14-hour-day on the hunt for their elusive prey.

Each stop had the same pattern: stop the car, pile out with bags and knives and walk to some previously productive patches, sometimes scrambling down banks or hiking up hillsides to check the area. At first there don't seem to be any mushrooms in sight, just twigs and branches and leaves scattered across the ground, but as my eyes adjust to the landscape I start seeing beyond the litter and notice the bumps and eruptions that indicate the (potential) presence of a fungus.

Porcinis: more mature, left; less mature, right.

In the case of the porcinis, we'd look for patches of disturbed needles or tilted "lids" of litter. Tip the lid off or brush aside the detritus and it might be a fern pushing its way into the light or…wait…the brown-ish amber cap of a mushroom. Haha! Then it's brushing aside more duff and, using my pocket knife, slicing it off at the bottom of the stem.

The smaller,  less mature porcinis have more firm, dome-shaped caps with white, spongy-looking undersides, rather than the gilled mushrooms like button and portobello I'm familiar with from supermarkets. The caps of more mature porcinis grow broader and flatten out, the undersides getting a yellow tinge. Eventually the edges of the caps start curling up, the whole mushroom gets soft and spongy and the underside can become greenish-yellow and quite buggy.

Butter boletes.

Up to that past-its-prime point, however, in the second stage where the cape and stem are firm and the underside is yellow, the underside can be separated from the main body, which is used in sautés or duxelles. Jack mentioned that some people will dry the yellow undersides and crush it into powder, using it to bump up the mushroom flavor of recipes.

As with most hunting expeditions, there were many hours of searching interrupted by moments of excitement. The hours between were filled with stories of a particularly nice find from a previous trip, the time that Dick came back from a search to find a footprint he'd left in the dirt an hour earlier had sprouted a fully formed mushroom, or the trip where the very road we were on had sprouted a fine patch of mushrooms.

Half the haul, about 12 pounds.

After harvesting a big basket of porcinis, it was time to move on to the butter boletes, also known as royal bolete or red-capped butter bolete, a mushroom I'd never heard of. In its earlier stages it lurks underground in a perfectly edible state, and you'd never know it was there except for a handy, if fatal (for it), flaw. It tends to grow in patches, so a suspicious hump or crack in the dirt or litter on the ground might reveal a slightly more mature cousin, which results in a thorough search of the ground within a foot or so. At one point I found myself standing frozen on a particular spot, feeling like I could be missing a mother lode, thinking, "They're right under my feet!"

The sun was setting and, 30 pounds of mushrooms richer than we started out that morning, the two mushroom maestros were thinking it might be time to head home. And here, at last, is one location I can mention that won't get me in trouble: on the way home from (mumble mumble), I was informed it is long-standing tradition to stop in Mill City for pizza at Giovanni's Mountain Pizza. Really good, hand-thrown pizza with mega-toppings and lots of microbrews by the bottle, this place is a small town, way-under-the-radar cafe that, according to Jack and Dick, also has nice calzone, spaghetti and lasagne. It's a perfect way to toast a successful day getting 'shroomed.

Oregon's Black Gold: The Nose Knows

"I'm ceding the field to Chloe today," said Jack Czarnecki, master mushroom and truffle hunter. He'd just been bested by a young blond who totally skunked him in a day-long search for Oregon black truffles.

Jack appreciating Chloe's work.

The blond in question was a two-year-old golden Lab trained by Jack's friend John Getz (top photo, with Chloe), who'd invited him and a couple of observers to forage for this elusive buried treasure, Leucangium carthusianum, in a stand of Douglas fir in Oregon's Coast Range near Florence. Unlike Oregon's white truffle, Tuber oregonense, which grows on surface roots of the Douglas fir, the black truffle tends to grow at depths of six inches to three or four feet. (Read my article on foraging for white truffles.)

Jack and John "helping" Chloe dig.

And that's where young Chloe came in. Dogs have been used to hunt truffles in Europe for many years, almost completely replacing the famous truffle-hunting pigs. A well-trained dog can sniff out the gasses being released by a truffle hiding beneath the soil, and John had been training Chloe to find ripe or nearly-ripe truffles since she was a pup. Dogs are also preferred because they dig in one spot and disturb the tree roots much less than other methods for finding the deeper fungi.

The training is a totally reward-based system, beginning with hiding a truffle or a truffle oil-scented cloth around the house, giving the dog a treat when the bait is found, then gradually moving the game outdoors as the dog develops its skill. Chloe turned out to be a natural, one of the best that Getz had ever had, and she was able to keep at it for several hours without losing interest.

The day had started with an early morning drive to the coast, where my friend Linda and I met Jack at his family's beach house for a breakfast of coffee and egg strata prepared by his wife, Heidi. After fortifying ourselves for the day's work, we headed down to pick up John, his wife, Connie, and Chloe at their home in Florence.

Chloe gets excited about truffles.

Our little caravan made its way up into the mountains to an old Christmas tree stand that John had obtained permission to hunt on, and we ducked under the branches of the outermost trees and into the darkness beneath them. As we worked our way in, the temperature dropped precipitously and I was glad that I'd worn insulated boots and several layers of clothing.

Candy cap mushroom-infused vodka martini at Joel Palmer House.

Chloe was very excited to have all these people with her, and it took several minutes for her to calm down and focus on her job, but with a few gentle commands to "Go find them, girl," from John, she got down to business. Within a few minutes her nose was ruffling through the duff under the trees, and then she was digging furiously. John rushed to her side and when she got about six inches down he reached in and pulled out an almost-black lump about two inches in diameter.

Filet with foie gras, wild mushrooms and mushroom polonaise.

This happened many times over the next three hours or so as we tagged along, straining our eyes to see if there was the black edge of a truffle breaking the surface, but even Jack admitted that he could find little evidence of them above ground. Chloe, meanwhile, was finding a trove of the black beauties, and the scents that rose up from them were amazingly diverse, ranging from pineapple to apple to bacon and even chocolate. (Read how to ripen truffles at home by scrolling to the second half of the link.)

Scallop quenelle with black trumpet popcorn and trout caviar.

With around two pounds of Chloe's hard work in our buckets, it was back into the cars to drive to Dayton for a grand mushroom dinner at the Joel Palmer House, now owned by Jack's son Chris, who is also the chef. A shower of courses came and went, each one with a wine pairing chosen from the restaurant's cellar. And even though mushrooms were included in every course—even the martini was made from candy cap mushroom-infused vodka, which had its signature maple flavor—each one had a completely different flavor profile.

This was one of those days that was an education as well as a revelation, and ever since then I've been eyeing Walker as a potential candidate for truffle training. It could be the start of a whole new breed trait for Corgis…great idea, right?

The Czar Gets Saucy!

Jack Czarnecki is a busy guy. Not only does he spend countless hours tramping through the woods looking for mushrooms and Oregon truffles to feature on the menu of the Joel Palmer House, the fine restaurant he founded in Dayton, but he's also come out with a line of sauces using Oregon pinot noir.

This week's Small Bites section of the Oregonian's FoodDay highlights the four appropriately-named Czar's Sauces: Pinot Szechuan, Pinot & Pepper, Pinot & Habanero and Pinot & Chipotle. He gave me a sample of each one to play with, and I can tell you that the unique flavor of each pepper comes through, with the wine adding a nice depth that you don't get with a lot of spicy sauces. It makes them perfect for using as a sauce on everything from meat to eggs, but also as an ingredient in recipes.

They'd be perfect as gifts for your favorite host or to send to spice-loving friends out of town. Here are a couple of recipes I came up with (and that got the big thumbs up from the fam), and there are more online!

1000 Island Dressing

1 c. mayonnaise
1/2 c. ketchup
1/8 tsp. celery salt
1-2 tsp. Czar's Pinot & Szechuan Sauce, to taste
1 Tbsp. Kosher dill pickles, minced (I like Bubbies)
1 Tbsp. onion, minced

In small mixing bowl, combine all ingredients and stir till well mixed.

* * *

Chili with Beans and Ground Pork

1 Tbsp. vegetable oil
1 1/2 lbs. ground pork
1 large onion, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 green bell pepper, finely chopped
2 Tbsp. chili powder
1 Tbsp. cumin
1 c. Czar's Pinot & Chipotle Sauce
4 c. roasted or canned tomatoes
3 25-oz. cans red kidney beans or 6-8 c. cooked beans
1 Tbsp. oregano
Salt to taste

Heat oil in large Dutch oven over medium heat and sauté pork till browned. Add onion and garlic and sauté till tender. Add bell pepper and sauté till tender. Add remaining ingredients, stir to combine and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for at least one hour and preferably two or more. Adjust salt to taste.

Details: The Czar's sauces are available online and at Newman's Fish Co. and Storyteller Wine Shop in Portland. Also at Roth's in McMinnville, Willamette Valley Tasting Room, NW Food & Gifts, WilaKenzie Lavender, Harvest Fresh in McMinnville, Tyrus Evan in Carlton;  Zerba and Red Hills Market in Dundee, Rain Dance Gifts in Newberg and Sokol Blosser in Dayton.