3 Things I Learned About Fall and Mushrooms

There's a moment in early October when the air changes. Cool mornings, warm afternoons, that first night you need a blanket. Mushrooms feel it too. This is their season.

Here are three things I've been thinking about this week.

My friend Sarah texted me last week asking when she should order her first grow kit. "Spring, right? That's when you start growing things?"

I told her to order it now.

Here's the thing: mushrooms don't follow regular garden logic. Most gourmet varieties want it cool. Between 55 and 65 degrees. In summer, you're constantly battling heat. Checking temperatures twice a day, running fans, stressing about warm nights ruining everything. But in fall? Your basement just sits there at 62 degrees. Your closet stays perfectly cool. The weather does the work.

I've watched people start growing in July and struggle for weeks. Then I've watched people start in October and wonder why everyone says it's difficult. The season can change everything.

There's something else. Cool temperatures are forgiving. They slow down contamination and mold while mushrooms keep growing steadily. That mistake you make on day three? In summer, it might cost you the whole block. In the fall, the mycelium usually recovers. You get space to learn.

Start now, and by January, you're harvesting fresh oyster mushrooms while everyone else is buying sad grocery store buttons for eight dollars a pound. By spring, when you're distracted and busy, you'll already understand your setup. You'll know what good mycelium looks like. You'll have the rhythm down to help you get through the more challenging conditions.

Fall isn't just good timing. It's the best timing.

I walked through the woods behind my parents' house last weekend. Hadn't been there since April. Within ten minutes, I'd found hen of the woods clustered at an oak base, honey mushrooms climbing a dead stump, oysters growing in thick cream-colored shelves on a fallen poplar.

Fall is the second flush. Spring gets all the attention because of morels, but October is just as wild. The cool nights and scattered rain, the way light filters differently through thinning leaves. Everything aligns.

Even if you're not ready to forage yet, just go out and take a look. You start noticing patterns. Hen of the woods return to the same oaks every year. Oysters prefer certain deadwood. Honey mushrooms spread in rings around dying trees. The forest stops being random and starts being readable.

One important thing: never eat a wild mushroom unless you're completely certain of your ID. Fall brings out the beautiful and the deadly in equal measure. When in doubt, take photos. Enjoy the discovery. Leave it growing.

I cooked oyster mushrooms wrong for years. Medium heat, butter from the start, constant stirring. Sure, they taste fine, but they always come out rubbery and a little bland.

Then I learned to treat them like a steak.

Get your pan absolutely ripping hot. Tear the mushroom clusters into palm-sized pieces. Don't slice them. Drop them in the dry pan. No oil yet. They'll release moisture, and it'll evaporate fast in that heat. Once they start getting golden, add neutral oil and leave them alone. You want crispy edges, a deep brown crust, and a texture that actually has some bite.

Here's the secret move: pull the pan off the heat, drop in a knob of cold butter, fresh thyme, and squeeze half a lemon over everything. The residual heat melts it all together without burning the butter. The lemon cuts the richness and makes that earthy flavor jump forward.

This doesn't happen at medium heat with butter from the beginning. You need aggressive heat. You need to stop babying them. Mushrooms can take it.

Thanks for reading. Fall is short. Don't miss it.

—Jeremy
Wandering Spore

P.S. Reply anytime. I read everything.