Southern Brooklyn

Morning Mug: Shroom


Here is something you may not know about me, and probably don’t care, but I’ll tell you anyway (also, this has nothing to do with the lovely aesthetic quality of the photo): I hate mushrooms. Something about them — regardless of whether they are shitake, portabello, the slimy ones in a can, or any other kind really — repulses me to my core.

Mushrooms. Gross.


Photo by Randy Contello

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  1. Good shot Randy.
     For me it’s the texture. I like the flavor they add to a dish. I cook with all kinds of shrooms for other peoples enjoyment but pick them off my plate. I even eat the stuffing off the top. Someone usually woofs down the rest.

  2. Mushroom walks into a bar.

    Bartender says “Get out of here ! We don’t serve your kind !”

    Mushroom says: “Why not? I’m a fungi !”

  3. Looks yummy, but I know better.

    I do love mushrooms; be it in salads raw, or in cooked dishes. They are a great substitute if you are trying to cut down on meat in your diet, or cut it out totally.

    I almost went off them totally when I discovered some growing in my bathroom during a time waiting for a landlord to fix a leak in an apartment above (almost threw up at the sight), but even that experience just couldn’t keep me away forever.

  4. i hate mushrooms. I hate the look. I hate the taste. I hate the word. Yesterday I shared a quart of chicken and cashew nuts with mom. Lucky she likes the mushrooms she took them all. After that she started crooning out  Miller and Goodman standards, I think something was in the mushrooms. I stayed my normal self and went home to study green Chinese pottery.


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