Fans of the fungi

Last weekend, the annual Mushroom Festival invaded Kennett Square for this, its 25th proud year of hokey, mushroom-themed goodness! JG and I weren’t able to go on Saturday, like we normally do, and it was a shame because the weather was perfect for it. Instead, we spent much of the day in a middle school gymnasium cheering on his varsity team in a tournament. Afterward, we were so tired that it didn’t make sense to go to the festival. It was better for us to watch college football and order burgers and milkshakes, which is exactly what we did.

On Sunday, we woke up to steady rain. More accurately, I woke up briefly and went back to sleep, but JG walked Ted in the rain. Our festival odds for the day did not look good.

So, we had breakfast. We went to church. On the way home, the rain stopped, and the sky brightened just slightly. JG suggested, “What if we don’t have pancakes for lunch, and we go to the festival instead?”

Huh. We usually go in the afternoon, for a snack, but for a whole meal? Why not?

After a quick turnaround at home to change into jeans and t-shirts, we walked the mile downtown, showing our resident wristbands at the gate. And then, we emerged into the throng of vendors and booths up and down State Street. There’s a woman who sells homemade dog treats and a guy who welds license plates together into art. One family sells garlic vinegar and challenges you to take a shot of it for free. We could have bought beer bottle wind chimes, made our own sand art, gotten our faces painted, or subscribed to the Philadelphia Inquirer. All of the goods, tacky and otherwise, were comforting in their always being there. I get a warm feeling seeing the same artisans every year, even though we hardly ever buy anything. We only skimmed the vendors this time before heading for the center of the action; we were there for food.

And, oh, there was food.

While fans of the fungi are at a clear advantage at the Mushroom Festival, the food stands aren’t only for mushroom lovers. There are stands that sell standard carnival fare, like hot dogs and cheese fries, alongside more ethnic offerings like falafel and gyros. You can get deep-fried Oreos or a never-ending mug of soda or a plate of spring rolls or a sausage and pepper sandwich. The aroma of spices and grease wafts over State Street, and people follow their noses and ask their neighbors, “Where did you get that?” For mushroom people like us, the festival is ripe for the picking.

I expected to get the lay of the land before making my food choices, but I succumbed early to the smell of smoky mushroom bisque from the Half Moon stand. Thanks to the rain, the air was faintly cool and damp — perfect for walking around, but more important, wonderful for sipping hot soup. I cupped my portion in one hand and slurped out of a spoon in the other, and it was wonderful. The soup was indeed smoky and deep with flavor, and with one stir, I brought up at least three kinds of mushroom. I made JG have a taste soon after I bought it, because I knew that the soup was not long for this world.

At a Mexican food stand, JG bought a giant chicken burrito, and I went for a mushroom taco. They made our orders on the spot on a huge grill covered in meat and vegetables, and we sat on the curb with foil wrappers in our laps to catch the juices. JG’s burrito was enormous, busting out with rice, beans, chicken, and sour cream. My taco was steaming hot and so flavorful with fresh tomato salsa and cilantro. “Good idea, kiddo,” I said, fanning my mouth between toasty bites.

One stop left — the Original Fried Mushroom stand. In the past, I have gone to counterfeit, inferior fried mushroom stands, but there is one, glorious, perfect mushroom stand. You have to look for the round styrofoam cups, not the rectangular paper boats. They also sell grilled portobello strips and little fried nubbins called shroomies, but what you want is the fried mushrooms. You want the breaded button mushrooms fried to a medium-brown crisp, flecked with herbs and served piping hot. You will bite into each one knowing that it will explode with atomic heat in your mouth, but no matter! The deliciousness is worth it. At least, it is to us. JG and I used to share a cup of mushrooms, but now we know better. We stood in the longest line of the festival — they keep it moving, don’t worry — before we asked for two orders, grabbed a handful of napkins, and sat down on the curb to eat.

It’s not exactly romantic, but sitting on the side of the road, eating fried mushrooms with JG is one of my favorite things. The Mushroom Festival was the first Kennett Square event the two of us attended when we first bought our house, so going always feels like an anniversary of becoming locals in a very awesome small town. JG and I walked home with our stomachs full, and I can’t wait to come back for our next round of festival food.