Honey mushrooms, abundant and edible and fruiting in fall, are the forager’s motherlode when discovered. They tend to grow in very generous clumps. Despite their moniker, they are not sweet, but taste nutty and, well, mushroomy. Their slippery-on-the-tongue texture is appealing, especially if you pair it with the quick crunch of foundational toast, the longer slurp of a slithery noodle, or blend it into a smooth-as-silk pâté for your next picnic. In Eastern Europe honeys are a prized edible. Not so much in North America. As to their nature, that is none too sweet, either: Honey mushrooms are killers, and dramatic slayers of trees.
More about this fascinating fungus, and a honey mushroom recipe, below:
Photography by Marie Viljoen.
The Armillaria genus to which honey mushrooms belong currently comprises about 10 species globally, all very similar. They are mostly pathogens, attacking woody roots and causing a white rot. Armillaria root rot is a major disease of woody plants in forests, orchards, vineyards, and gardens. In the eastern half of North America, most honey mushrooms are the classic Armillaria mellea (mellea means honey, and it refers to the color of their caps, which also happen to be as variably shaded as different types of honey).
One species, Armillaria gallica, has been found to be mycorrhizal (having a reciprocal relationship) with an orchid, Gastrodia elata (its tuber is used in Sichuan cuisine); the fungus is essential to its life cycle. Possibly, as mycological inquiry advances, more positive attributes may be ascribed to the deadly delicacies.
Honeys, as they are known affectionately to their hunters, emerge after rain as gregarious crowds, fruiting in dense clusters or conversational groups at the base of dead or unwell trees. Sometimes they appear on the dead trees’ trunks, often on the roots (which may be buried invisibly), and also on living trees, which they will usually kill, slowly (healthy trees may mount a defense by sequestering the infection). The actual mushrooms are the smaller part of a vast, mostly unseen, network of white, fan-shaped mycelia and dark, root-like rhizomorphs that can stretch for acres in the substrate, seeking nutrients.
In Oregon’s well-named Malheur National Forest, a tree-killing collection of clonal honey mushroom colonies is wreaking havoc. Here’s a good word: genet. Not the cat. Genets are genetically unique individual organisms; the biggest genet (of five identified) in this forest is called Genet D. It is infamous for being the largest known root disease center in the world. Its biomass, in 2008, was estimated to be 35,000 tons. That makes this honey particular mushroom species, Armillaria ostoyae, the world’s largest known living organism. (Probably. There are two other contenders: aspens in Utah and a seagrass in Australia.)
Walking on Deer Isle in Maine in October, a few days after soaking rain, I saw some honey-destruction in action. I could not take a step on the gnarled path without inadvertently stomping on pincushions of baby honey mushrooms sprouting from the roots of spruce and fir. Looking down, I longed for super-vision, to see the formidable system that must have produced then, stretching beneath the spongy duff to seek fresh prey.
