What exactly was the supper at the mushroom table in Chatuchak?

You stood behind a folding table at Chatuchak Weekend Market around noon on Sunday, in the third alley from the plant section, with exactly one product, a mushroom the size of a pillow, and no sign. I walked past three times. Each time you looked at me like we were in on something. On the fourth pass I asked what it was. You said, supper, with total confidence. I bought nothing. I have been back four Sundays and the table is not there. I have started to wonder about the supper.