The Porcini We Never Found (Or, How You Find Them Anyway, Years Later, at Your Own Table)

chalets in the Alps

This October at Sale Pepe, we’re featuring pappardelle ai porcini. Every autumn, there is an unspoken understanding between Michele and I that this dish will make an appearance in the season's repertoire. It is the same seasonally driven instinct we have to make basil pesto at peak summer or reaching for black truffles in the winter. For us, this dish is about embracing the fall season and all of the comforts that autumn brings. But it is also about reaching back to a specific nostalgic memory, of our time in the Alps. 

Twelve of us were stuffed in my sister-in-law’s three room chalet for a long weekend, which was fine because we spent whole days outdoors, enjoying the surreal, wide-open “Sound of Music”-esque beauty of the mountains and their craggy and snow-capped peaks. 

We were also, in what I can only describe as organized bursts of spontaneity, searching for porcini. We broke off into little groups to cover the most ground. Michele and I set out alone, excited. Neither of us had ever foraged for mushrooms before but the elders had assured us that it was easy. They told us to look under trees and near tree lines, under brush and leaves and debris. So we set out, holding hands under sweeping skies and rolling hills, almost giddy with anticipation. After a little while, as we cautiously crouched and circled around what we considered a potentially promising tree, we heard the first shouts of success come from somewhere down the slope. We laughed out loud, encouraged. We did not see any mushrooms under this particular tree but moved on and kept looking. A little later, we heard another excited shriek. Huh, we thought. Interesting. We headed deeper into the woods. About an hour in, we heard a barrage of successful shout outs back to back, from every direction, “Minchia!”. Then, “Wow!” A beat, in another direction, “Fantastico!”. Even the sweet ring of a seven-year-old’s discovery, “Che belli!”. Everyone scored huge finds of the, to us, elusive mushrooms. Pulling whole bundles into their baskets. Running down the mountainside waving anomalies of enormous scale like big, brown flags of victory. 

Michele and I still hadn’t found a single one. It was time to take our search more seriously. Our big, goofy smiles turned into serious scowls. We crouched and crawled under every tree. We kicked at any promising piles of fallen leaves. By mid-afternoon, we were frantic. Everyone had scored a find, even the children.

In hindsight, we may have been a little too caught up in the novelty of the situation. Or, too focused on each other. Long story short, we kept at it for hours without finding a single porcini. At one point, we just laid down in a field of tall grass on the slope of the mountain (subconsciously hiding from the rest of the family?), on our backs, exhausted, and looked up at the sky. For help? The only thing in our hands was each other’s. 

We eventually got up and trekked back up to the chalet. We found the rest of the family already in motion cleaning, packaging and preparing a table full of their finds for dinner. 

And it was an unforgettable one. We threw some pasta in boiling water and the sliced porcini went into a pan with garlic, olive oil and not much else. The dish was decadent, rich, earthy, luxurious, and somehow minimalist all at the same time. As simple as our surroundings and just as breathtaking. The twelve of us squeezed around a too small table relishing each bite, and each other. 

Last Friday night at Sale Pepe, I was standing at the front door when two of our most regular, annual guests checked in with the hostess. A friend of theirs had just been hunting porcini in Italy, and they wanted to tell me about it.

“Well, you’re in luck”, I said, excited. “We have them on the menu tonight!” 

“Oh”, the husband said. “We know! We’ve already checked the new menu out online. We are so excited!” 

There’s a synergy with like-minded folks who appreciate the cycles and seasons. It drives us. It reassures us. It gives us confidence. Because in America, it is theoretically possible to eat anything all year long. To me, that has always felt forced and artificial. Anticipation, like hunger, is a fantastic ingredient. Our Italian autumn on Maui lives in nostalgia and tradition, reaching back to old, cyclical rhythms and remembering rituals together. 

You should bring this ritual into your own kitchen. This recipe offers a pappardelle ai porcini recipe that’s more doable for a home cook. Fresh porcini are impossible to find here on Maui so go with the dried, soaking them and reserving the brodo. Whole Foods (affiliate link) or Amazon (affiliate link) may be good sources. 

For us, that unforgettable dinner in the Alps will continue to be our inspiration as we share our annual iteration of this seasonal dish. And proudly serve it to everyone who walks through our doors.