There’s something magical about the moment you find the first golden chanterelle of the season. The way it peeks through the damp moss, the way your heart beats just a little faster—like you’ve uncovered a tiny treasure hidden in the forest. Some say it’s a skill, knowing where to look, but the truth is, it’s part luck and part stubbornness. And maybe, just maybe, it’s in the Swedish blood to know where the best mushrooms hide and to never, ever share the secret.
Mushroom picking is serious business in Sweden. A quiet ritual passed down through generations, where the best spots are whispered only to family, sometimes not even then. It’s a patience game, a lesson in paying attention, in slowing down. Step by step, searching, scanning, feeling the soft give of the forest floor underfoot. The reward isn’t just the full basket—it’s the earthy scent of the forest clinging to your clothes, the satisfaction of bringing home something real, something untouched by supermarket shelves and plastic packaging.
Back in the kitchen, the mushrooms become something more. Butter hisses in the pan, garlic releases its sharp bite, and soon, the unmistakable aroma of wild chanterelles takes over. They’re best cooked simply—no fuss, no unnecessary distractions. A little cream, a handful of freshly grated parmesan, a pinch of salt. And if you’re lucky, a homemade pasta sheet waiting to soak up all that flavor, to become something comforting, something that feels like home.
Lasagna with wild mushrooms is a dish that understands the seasons. It knows that mushrooms are not just another ingredient, but a fleeting gift. In Italy, mushrooms are celebrated with the same reverence as truffles, gathered carefully and used thoughtfully. In Sweden, they are a quiet luxury, a reward for those who know where to look. The difference isn’t just in the cooking, but in the culture—Italians love to preserve, to dry, to store for later. Swedes? They eat them fresh, as they should be, in a creamy sauce or a buttery toast that doesn’t try too hard.
But there’s something to be said for taking a little Italian philosophy and mixing it with Swedish tradition. A proper, homemade lasagna that layers fresh chanterelles with a silky béchamel, where the sweetness of slow-cooked onions meets the deep, nutty flavor of locally sourced Karljohan mushrooms. No shortcuts, just good ingredients doing what they do best. A lasagna that speaks both languages, one where every bite tells a story of forests and family kitchens, of Swedish ingredients meeting Italian warmth.
Some say lasagna is best with meat. Rich, slow-cooked ragù layered between pasta sheets. And sure, tradition has its place. But take one bite of a mushroom lasagna, and suddenly, you realize something—mushrooms have their own depth, their own umami, their own story to tell. Maybe it’s the way Karljohan mushrooms hold onto their deep, earthy flavor, or how chanterelles seem to melt into butter with a sweetness that lingers just long enough. Or maybe it’s just that when something is this good, it doesn’t need to compete with anything else.
This time of year, forests are full of people wandering with baskets, hoping to bring home a piece of the season. But for those who aren’t up for the hunt, there’s no shame in trusting the local markets, where foragers bring their best finds. A conversation with a mushroom seller might not come with secret spots, but it does come with stories, cooking tips, and the quiet understanding that some things are best enjoyed fresh. Just like a good lasagna, just like autumn itself.
Maybe that’s why lasagna feels so right in Sweden. It’s comfort food, husmanskost in its own way, even if it comes from somewhere else. It’s slow-cooked, meant to be shared, built on good raw materials and a respect for what’s in season. And right now, it’s mushroom season.
The season where the kitchen smells like butter and thyme, where a simple walk in the woods can turn into dinner, where the air is crisp, and the trees are shifting into their golden hues. The season where mushrooms take center stage in the most unexpected ways—perhaps tucked into a warm, creamy lasagna, paired with aged Parmigiano Reggiano and delicate sheets of pasta that soak up every last drop of flavor. A dish that brings people together, just like a successful day in the forest, when baskets are full and stories are shared over something warm and homemade.
Do you have a favorite mushroom? Ever tried making lasagna with wild chanterelles or Karljohan? Or do you, like most Swedes, keep your mushroom spots secret? Either way, it’s that time of year again. Time to tie your boots, grab a basket, and step into the forest. Because the best lasagna starts long before the kitchen—it starts with the search, with the scent of moss, with that first golden chanterelle waiting to be found.
