I went to a Michaelmas fair in Shropshire a few weeks back. Among the various and splendid attractions — bhangra dancers, a lantern-light procession, a parade of vintage tractors — was a punk-folk band called Mama Matrix, romping their way through an energetic set on the market square. One song in particular caught my attention: a jaunty, morris-man parody entitled Gather Ye Mushrooms While Ye May. I don’t think chanterelles and blewits were quite what they had in mind, but, even so, it was a reminder that, at this time of year, the hills are alive with foraying fungus-seekers.

Mushroom-picking isn’t an entirely straightforward activity, as the recent accidental poisoning of Nicholas Evans, author of The Horse Whisperer, made clear. Unless you know what you’re doing, there’s a lingering Russian-roulette possibility that the things could kill you.

You also have to know where to look, something most dedicated mushroom-hunters keep close to their chest. If you’re after chanterelles or ceps (porcini), a farmers’ market, food hall or deli is probably a better bet than your local woods and meadows; I’ve also noticed chanterelles among the wild-mushroom selection of at least one supermarket. That said, field mushrooms are common enough — and, with the help of a decent guidebook, you should be able to identify them and their poisonous lookalikes.

There’s a gentle pastoral pleasure to be had in walking through fields on a dewy morning, stooping for the pristine white caps, with their evocative scents of earth and aniseed. As a chap, it’s also one of the few occasions when you can legitimately carry a Little Red Riding Hood wicker basket in public.

One of the more easily recognised mushrooms — though, sadly, not one you’ll find that frequently — is the giant puffball. As anyone who has stumbled across one of the taut white spheres will confirm, you know when you’ve found one: they can be 2ft across. Some people stuff them, but I prefer to slice off thick steaks and either fry them in butter and garlic or coat them in egg, thyme and breadcrumbs, making a glorious mushroom schnitzel.

Of course, the recipes below will all work with cultivated mushrooms, but something with a bit of a wild streak will invariably add to the experience. On a blustery walk in Somerset a few years back, we stumbled across a demented fairyland of parasols, their flaky caps teetering on tall, ringed stems across the hillside. We scooped them up in the front of our jumpers and headed home for a bumper lunch. It was the best mushrooms on toast I’ve ever had.

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