Unwittingly I have become a maven of mushrooms. In less than 18 months I have raised my own oyster and shiitake mushrooms, hosted a “feast of fungus” dinner party, penned four articles and signed up for a foraging club. All this from the person who grew up eating button mushrooms from a jar. Hardly the origins of a connoisseur. Although my mavenhood has been a recent development, I first learned of “better” cultivated mushrooms from my father. While home on Christmas break in the early ’90s, I joined him and my uncle for a pre-holiday dinner at Boardman, Ohio’s Springfield Grille. Always an experimental eater, my father ordered an appetizer of Portobello mushrooms. My initial reaction to his daring was “Yuck! I’m not touching that weird stuff.” A persuasive man, he eventually convinced me to take a small bite. I still recall my astonishment over how rich and delicious edible fungus could be. Sliced then sauteed in olive oil, salt and pepper, they possessed an earthy, meaty yet wholesome taste. Years passed. My food choices changed. Almost overnight mushrooms switched their role as a pre-dinner snack to a fundamental part of my menus. Wild mushrooms …