Mushroom Marsala with Artichoke Hearts
I have not eaten a mushroom since I was nine and my mom tricked me into eating one, telling me it was simply “a bean.” Standing in the kitchen near the stove where she was making dinner, chewing with an intesne curiosity, I was actually enjoying the damn thing (somewhat). Then, she revealed to me that “the bean” was actually a cremini mushroom at which point, I lept to the sink, spit it out and declared my sense of disgust and betrayal in the most dramatic way I could possibly fashion.
Were these NOT the same things that occasionally grew on the corners of our front lawn? Were these NOT the same things dad warned me away from because of their possibly poisonous nature?
Was my mother out to kill me?
Well no, in fact, they were NOT the same things as the possibly toxic (but probably not) varieties making homes out front the house. And I quickly understood that. But divorcing myself from a distatse, an almost irrational fear of the mushroom, has taken me decades.
I pick them off pizza. I fish them out of salads. And pack anything you damn well want into the caps, heat them up and drop them in front of me. I’ll suck on my sneaker instead.
And yet… I could not get this recipe out of my head. Maybe a mushroom on its own didn’t sound all that hot, but mushrooms with wine, pasta, cheese, and onions? This is something a spore-bearing fungus hater might be able to get behind.
Mom has often told me I was missing the boat on mushrooms. This patsa dish looked and sounded so rewarding that maybe, I thought to myself, just maybe, this would be the meal that could lead me to welcoming mushrooms into my kitchen on a regular basis.
And it was! Moms always know. Click below for more!
