For years I couldn’t see them, popping up in the fallen leaves in a wide variety of shapes and sizes as the days grew darker and colder, and I looked in envy and frustration at my wife and our friends who were with us in the woods seemingly finding them everywhere. But then when we bought our country house something suddenly clicked and now it’s a kind of obsession each fall to hunt them down as often as I can. They’re called trattkantareller in Swedish – “trattisar” for short – or winter mushrooms in English and, as the old song goes, they are a few of my favorite things.
