Buttery Morel Mushroom Pasta with Shallots and Thyme is the only recipe I have ever taken home written on a paper bag. The bag still lives in my recipe drawer, stained with butter and torn at one corner. A woman named Marie-Claire scribbled it for me in Arbois last May, between pouring me wine and apologizing for her English.
Marie-Claire’s Kitchen in Arbois
I booked four nights at her place in the Jura because the train from Lyon was cheap and the photos showed a stone farmhouse with a kitchen the size of my entire apartment back home. The photos undersold it. She had a copper stockpot hanging above the range that I am pretty sure was older than my grandmother.
She was wearing a navy apron over a Breton stripe shirt the morning she came back from the covered market with a paper bag of morels.
Spongy little cones, hollow inside, smelling like the forest floor.
I had asked her the night before what she would cook for me if I begged. She said spugnole, then corrected herself. Morilles. Then said it would have to be tomorrow because the market only had them on Wednesdays.
The Mushroom of Kings and the One That Will Hurt You
Morels have been called the champignon des rois in France for centuries. Marie-Claire told me Louis XIV apparently obsessed over them. I have not fact-checked the king part, but the centuries part is real, morels have anchored haute French cooking since long before tagliatelle made the trip down to Piedmont.
Two things she made me promise before she would let me touch them. Number one, never serve a morel raw or even close to raw. They are toxic until fully cooked through. There was a deadly poisoning outbreak in Montana in 2023 from undercooked morels, which I read about on the train home and which made me very glad I had listened.
Number two, never buy a Gyromitra. False morels look almost identical and are genuinely poisonous. If you forage, you bring someone who knows. If you buy, you buy from someone who does.
The Paper Bag Recipe, Back in My Kitchen
The bag had four lines on it. Beurre. Échalotes. Morilles. Thym. Then an arrow to a wobbly squiggle she said was the pasta. Wine and cream were not even on it, she added those at the stove and just gestured.
Back in Los Angeles I had to source fresh morels, which was the hardest part. The Santa Monica farmers’ market has a guy who shows up in late April with about three pounds of them and they are gone by ten. I bought eight ounces for forty dollars and refused to feel bad about it.
For everything else I went to the place on Sawtelle that does the good cultured butter, the Italian shop on Fairfax for the Parmigiano (the wheel ones, not the pre-grated ones, please), and my own herb pot on the windowsill for the thyme. Marie-Claire would approve, I think.
What I Used
- Fresh morels, 8 ounces, brushed clean and halved lengthwise (dried also works, see the notes)
- Fresh tagliatelle, 12 ounces, pappardelle is fine too
- Unsalted butter, six tablespoons, cold and cubed for the finish
- Shallots, three medium, minced as finely as you can stand
- Garlic, two cloves, also minced
- Fresh thyme, a tablespoon of leaves stripped off the stems
- Dry white wine, half a cup, ideally a Jura Savagnin if you can find it (a Chardonnay does the job)
- Heavy cream, a quarter cup
- Parmigiano-Reggiano, three-quarters of a cup, grated yourself
- Kosher salt and freshly cracked black pepper
Cooking the Buttery Morel Mushroom Pasta with Shallots and Thyme at Home
My kitchen on the night I first tried this looked like a small disaster. The morning light through the east window was long gone and the lamp over the stove was throwing everything yellow. I had Nick Drake on the speaker because that is what I always reach for when I am cooking something nervous.
Marie-Claire was firm about cleaning morels. Never soak them. The honeycomb caps drink water like little sponges and you end up with limp grey ribbons no one wants. A quick rinse, a brush, a halve and an inspection.
The shallots go into butter on low heat. Not medium. Low. I made the mistake the first time of pushing the heat and the shallots browned before they sweated and the sauce ended up tasting almost burnt. Now I baby them for a full five minutes until they look translucent and a little sad.
Then morels in, eight minutes minimum on medium. They will weep a lot of water at first. Wait for the pan to dry out and the edges to start catching colour. That is when you add garlic and thyme. Thirty seconds, no more. Then wine, scrape, reduce.
Cream goes in once the wine is almost gone. The pasta goes into the water at the same time, because fresh tagliatelle takes maybe two minutes and you do not want it sitting around. Tongs straight from pot to pan, with a splash of pasta water clinging.
Off the heat. Cold butter cubes in. Toss until they disappear. Parmigiano in. Toss again. The sauce should look glossy and a little nervous, like it might break if you stop moving. It will not. Plate fast.
A Few Honest Notes
Dried morels are completely workable if you cannot find fresh. Rehydrate them in a cup of warm water for twenty minutes, then strain the soaking liquid through a coffee filter and use it in place of the wine. The flavor goes darker, almost beefier.
I have served this with crusty bread and a simple bitter-green salad. Once with a bottle of Jura Savagnin that cost more than the morels, and that was the right call. Once with a cheap Chardonnay, and that was also fine. Marie-Claire would have shrugged.
One more thing. The cream is not strictly traditional. Most older French farmhouse versions just mount the pan sauce with extra butter and the soaking liquid. I like the cream. I am not sorry.
I make this maybe twice a year. Once when morels show up at the market in April or May, and once if I get lucky in the fall. It is not a casual midweek pasta. It is a put-on-a-record, light-a-candle, only-cook-for-someone-you-actually-like pasta. The paper bag is still in the drawer.
Buttery Morel Mushroom Pasta With Shallots And Thyme
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Clean the morels carefully. Halve each one lengthwise and inspect the hollow interior for grit or insects. Brush away debris with a dry pastry brush, or rinse very quickly under cool running water and immediately pat dry on a clean towel. Do not soak them.
- Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil and salt it generously, about 1 tablespoon per 4 quarts. The water should taste like a mild sea.
- Place a 12 inch skillet over medium-low heat. Add 3 tablespoons of the butter and let it melt and foam without browning. Add the minced shallots and a pinch of salt. Sweat them gently for 4 to 5 minutes, stirring often, until completely translucent and softened but not colored.
- Raise the heat to medium and add the halved morels. Cook for 6 to 8 minutes, stirring every minute or so, until the morels release their moisture, the moisture cooks off, and the mushrooms begin to caramelize at the edges. Do not rush this step. The morels must be thoroughly cooked through, not rare in the center.
- Add the minced garlic and the fresh thyme leaves. Stir for 30 seconds until fragrant.
- Pour in the dry white wine and let it bubble vigorously, scraping the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon. Reduce the wine by about three-quarters, until the pan is almost dry, about 2 minutes.
- Drop the tagliatelle into the boiling water. Fresh pasta cooks fast, typically 2 to 3 minutes. While it cooks, stir the heavy cream into the morels and let it warm through. Season with the 1 teaspoon kosher salt and the black pepper.
- Reserve 1 cup of the starchy pasta water, then lift the tagliatelle directly into the skillet with tongs, letting a little cooking water cling to the strands.
- Add 1/4 cup of the reserved pasta water to the skillet and toss vigorously over medium heat for about 1 minute, until the sauce coats every ribbon glossily. Add more pasta water a splash at a time if the sauce looks tight.
- Remove the skillet from the heat. Cut the remaining 3 tablespoons of cold butter into cubes and toss them into the pasta, swirling and tossing until they melt into a creamy emulsion. Add the Parmigiano-Reggiano and toss again until silky.
- Taste and adjust salt and pepper. Transfer to warm shallow bowls, shower with extra Parmigiano-Reggiano and a few fresh thyme leaves, and serve immediately.