He showed little interest in my new passion for wild mushrooms. I went on a foraging course, downloaded apps, learned to discern porcini from its toxic neighbours. He tasted the fruits of my labours, with more red wine than gratitude.
Suspicious of my early morning excursions, he followed me.
‘Can we eat these raw?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘we can eat anything raw.’
He ate the mushroom before my sentence was complete.
‘We can eat anything raw; but you will eat the death cap just this once.’