Step One: We admitted we were powerless over our addiction and our lives had become unmanageable.
I lose large amounts of time. I wander the forest at a snails pace. I cannot be contacted for hours on end and forget where I’ve been. I avoid pertinent questions like, “Where were you?” And answer, “I can’t tell you.” No I haven’t been on a alcohol fueled binge or searching for smack on the mean streets of Hartford. I am addicted to the Morel and all things surrounding its short appearance in the Spring.
This bounty was used in an original pasta dish. I sauteed the morels in a mixture of olive oil, butter, and white wine. In the resulting reduction I cooked the shrimp, parsley, and cherry tomatoes, tossing in the morels and pasta right before the shrimp were done (overcooked shrimp may be the worst thing in the world apart from war, famine, and pestilence). Top it all off with some shaved Romano and pair it with parmesan roasted artichoke hearts and a soon-to-be vintage Charles Shaw Nouveau red and you have a meal that rivals Chef Boyardee’s Beefaroni.
