THE SAGA OF THE 'SHROOMS

For the past several years I've been the fortunate recipient of an invitation by some friends in New Hampshire to spend the Christmas holiday.

Now while friendship and festivity is more than enough reason to accept such a proposition, is this when I say that these folks are absolutely spectacular cooks? And that the menu for dinner usually looks like something out of a culinary magazine?

B&P have been married for many years now, and are card carrying members of the "the couple that cooks together, stays together" mantra. It's a kitchen pas de deux in a stage where the tools of the dance have been lovingly assembled over the course of time; the stock pot bubbling on stove for countless hours, the myriad spice and sauce jars in their assigned spots for easy reach.

Dinner is a multi-course affair which includes the aforementioned mushrooms.

In the overall scheme of things, the simply sauteed mushrooms could potentially be dwarfed by the roast or the chocolate mousse. Some dishes just beg for center stage.

The mushrooms, however, for the past few years now not only missed out on center stage, but instead stayed in the oven, completely forgotten in the pre-dinner serving madness or the chewing and ooohing that happens just after that.

Hours later, someone would remember them and pull them out from the oven, lost and forlorn, and definitely not eaten.

This year, however, the mushrooms had their moment of glory: all during the preparations constant reminders were posted to make sure they indeed made it to the table.

"Someone responsible remind me to take them out of the oven this time!" said P as his wife B nodded agreement.

I rose to the challenge, it was an honor of sorts to be the Official Mushroom Reminder. We posted notes on assorted social media and sent ourselves messages to our various telephones. 
The mushrooms made it to the plates for once.

Amen, and pass the mushrooms, please.