Erica De Mane

A menu cover for the much missed Chanterelle restaurant in Tribeca, by Marcel Marceau, 1987.

Recipe: Tagliatelle with Chanterelles, Favas, and Basil

An annoying defect in my body chemistry makes me allergic to porcini mushrooms. It’s not a standard allergy (swollen tongue, closed throat, choking, hives, the symptoms people with, for instance, true peanut allergies suffer from). It’s more of a food intolerance (vomiting, fever, cramping, sometimes lasting for three days). This inability to cook with, eat, or even take in the aroma of the grand porcini mushroom, one of the stars of the Italian table, is ironic and infuriating for an Italian cook, and it’s one of the reasons I became an atheist.

Luckily this stupid problem doesn’t carry over to other wild mushrooms, so every spring I anticipate the arrival of the chanterelle with excitement. I love this mushroom. And it’s not just for the French. In Italy they’re called finferli or gallinacci, and they’re cooked with pasta or risotto or just sautéed with olive oil and herbs and eaten on bruschetta. In the Northeast and in many other places in the U.S. they pop up in the spring under various trees, not discriminating between oaks, pines, firs, or spruces, so if you’ve got the knowhow (and you really need to know how), you can go and collect them in the woods. I play it safe and get mine from a forager in Ulster County who brings them to the Union Square market.

I often cook them with pasta. It’s such a perfect combination. The gentle floral aroma of chanterelles lets the taste of the pasta come through. I  looked for other subtle ingredients to include in the dish so the taste of the mushrooms wouldn’t in anyway be compromised, and I chose fava beans, because they’re in season and they marry beautifully with this mushroom. For more on the slightly irritating ritual of prepping fava beans, see my previous post.

Tagliatelle with Chanterelles, Favas, and Basil

(Serves 2 as a main course)

¾ pound fresh fava beans, in their pods
Salt
Extra-virgin olive oil
1 small spring onion, cut into small dice
1 spring garlic stalk, thinly sliced, using some of the green top
¾ pound chanterelle mushrooms, halved, or, if very large, quartered
A large pinch of ground coriander
Freshly ground black pepper
A splash of cognac or brandy
¾ pound homemade or fresh store-bought tagliatelle
½ cup homemade or high-quality purchased chicken broth, or possibly a bit more
The grated zest from 1 small lemon
A heaping tablespoon of crème fraîche
A handful of basil leaves, cut into chiffonade
A small chunk of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese

Remove the fava beans from their pods. Set up a small pot of water, and bring it to a boil. Add the beans, and blanch them for 2 minutes. Scoop them out with a strainer spoon into a bowl of ice water. Drain them. Now remove the outer skin from each bean. Put the lovely green favas in a small bowl.

Set up a large pot of pasta cooking water, and bring it to a boil. Add a generous amount of salt.

In a large skillet, heat about 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion, and let it soften for about 2 minutes. Now add the chanterelles, the garlic, the coriander, and a little salt and black pepper. Sauté a few minutes to soften the mushrooms. Now add the cognac or brandy, and let it burn off.

Drop the tagliatelle into the boiling water.

Add the chicken broth to the skillet, and let everything in it simmer until the mushrooms are tender, about 3 minutes longer. Turn the heat off under the skillet, and add the lemon zest, crème fraîche, and the favas, seasoning with a little more salt and black pepper. The heat from the sauce will further cook the favas, leaving them tender but firm.

When ready, drain the tagliatelle, and place it in a warmed serving bowl. Drizzle it with some fresh olive oil, and give it a toss. Now add the chanterelle sauce, about a heaping tablespoon of grated Parmigiano, and the basil, and toss again gently. If the sauce seems dry, add a splash of chicken broth. Bring the rest of the cheese to the table.