Best Ever Mushrooms on Toast?

I had mushrooms on toast this morning.

The BEST mushrooms EVER were eaten in a Tapas bar in Seville, Spain in 1982 –sitting outside in the southern winter sun after a day’s busking with partner Dave. We had earned more money than either of us have ever made since – put together - enough to eat mushrooms in a Tapas bar.

The BEST Tapas EVER - earlier during the same trip - is in Barcelona. For a month we had been busking near the cathedral before the northern winter finally reached, chilled and drove us south. In one number Dave demonstrated the awesome sharpness of the six knives we juggled, by kamikaze-like slicing a cucumber held shakily between my two overacting hands. One evening as we sat at the Tapas bar the owner approached to take our order and as we looked up from the menu he let out a blood-curdling scream and raised a HUGE butchers knife over us, before dissolving into laughter as we cowered behind the counter.

However the BEST memory EVER of that winter was following the returning springtime northward to Madrid and later walking into a travel agency with two rucksacks on our back. We explained that we wanted to buy two tickets for the Ferry from Santander, Spain to Plymouth England for us and a van – a princely sum - but that all the money we had was in small denomination peseta coins that the banks had refused to change into notes - and in the rucksacks. The owner shut the shop and helped us count it into piles.

There ARE a number of ferries that operate around the St Juan islands north-west of Seattle that I would be happy to live on but the BEST ferry EVER plies back and forth between Guaymas and Santa Rosalita - both in Mexico. I arrived in Guaymas 31years ago, stepping off the train twenty minutes before sailing, with three friends and a complete panic. We rushed to the nearest taxi and insisted that the driver left no gear unused in getting us to debarkation point in as little time as possible. He grinned, obliged, charged us several limbs and waved goodbye as he left us looking at the timetable that clearly stated that the ferry left on alternate days, starting the next. We slept on the concrete overlooking the bay and the next morning, all the wiser about Mexican taxi drivers, but not caring, we stood at the front of the ferry watching the school of dolphin that laughed and chased us, and the sunrise, across the Gulf of California.

The BEST Dolphin EVER – Fungie - who lives in the waters off of Dingle Ireland, arrived there many years ago, also with friends, but decided to stay. The good folk of Dingle, sensing an economic opportunity, started running boat trips out to see him. I took one such trip - several years later - and after one and a half hours of magnificent, wind and wave swept fruitlessness I cynically started to wonder how long such a tourist industry could continue knowing full well that the dolphin itself was deceased. It was as we turned landward to return to port and I started to explain to my daughter that these hours among the waves were not really the surprise I had been building up all week, that Fungie popped up along side the boat. It was only as we stepped back onto the harbour wall that I saw the notice offering a money back guarantee if Fungie is not sighted.

There’s a statue of him on the harbour promenade.

Fungie sounds like funghi in French)

Which means mushroom.

I had mushrooms on toast this morning.