I spotted a forager at the Farmers’ Market in Hanover. He was busy behind another farmer’s stand, borrowing the scale to weigh his haul of early chanterelles. He divvied out the cache of beatifully gouda-colored fungi into straw baskets. $8 each. 6 hours of foraging had yielded six baskets, he told me. I’m sure those six baskets were picked up in a flash, after which he probably ducked back into the woods.
When cooking, they smell, and then taste, of nuts and apricots, earth and sunlit woods, fruity wine.
Lacking rabbit, I’ll cook them up and toss them over chicken. Sauté until they release their juices, in butter, with pancetta, herbs, and minced shallot. Maybe a few pinenuts.
Rosé…
The Roving Locavore 
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