I was given a present the other day, from my husband Tim. It was a big, plump black truffle, weighing 29 grams. It was born in Christchurch, and bought at McKibbon’s of Royalburn in Queenstown. Arriving in an air-tight container, sitting on a bed of white tissue, it looked like a golden egg. When I lifted the lid, the truffle aroma hit me like a tidal wave, and I inhaled deeply.
So, what to do with this golden egg? I set about shaving the truffle thinly and preparing a light cream and Parmesan sauce. I added the sauce to the tagliatelle and carefully scattered the truffle on the steaming hot pasta.
Truffles have been a long-time favourite of mine. Several years ago, we had an incredible truffle hunting experience in the Piedmont region of northern Italy. After attending a dear friend’s 60th birthday celebration in Barolo, we ventured to the town of Alba and found a local truffle hunter, Giovanni and his dog Pearla. They took us into the woods in search of truffles. Although it was not the season for the most prestigious white truffles, black truffles were growing well in the forest.
Giovanni was a fourth-generation truffle hunter, with the craft being passed from father to son. He grew Muscat grapes, but supplemented his income from truffles.
Pearla, his gorgeous dog, also came from a long lineage of truffle-hunting dogs with good genealogy. She was bred from Giovanni’s father’s dog. Giovanni started working with her when she was just 30-days old, introducing her to the smell of truffles. He said Perala was the envy of many hunters as she was an exceptional hunter.
Pearla was desperate to get going, straining on her lead, so we started walking into the woods. The white poplar trees were flowering, shedding fairy-like cotton snowflakes, creating an ethereal feeling as they floated to the valley floor.
The shaded woods were compact with white poplar, willow, oak, and linden, so it was difficult to know which root the truffles grew from, as the root systems were spread as wide as the trees were tall. The roots were all intertwined across the forest floor. A truffle grows on the finest tip of a root, taking about two months to mature, with its size dependent on the water supply, humidity and soil. When the truffle is mature, it emits the distinctive musty, fungi aroma. If not hunted, it will regenerate back into the soil with the help of worms and snails.
Walking through the woods, we followed Giovanni, who had a watchful eye on Pearla. Her nose was barely a millimetre off the ground when she recognised the fragrance of a truffle and started digging into the side of the mossy bank. Giovanni ran to her side and took over, using his fingers to gently work the soil and massage the bulbous fungi from its fine root. Giovanni then fastidiously covered the hole, spreading leaves and foliage to conceal the evidence from other hunters.
Black truffles are usually found about 10 cm deep in the soil, whereas white truffles can be anywhere up to 1.5 meters, requiring meticulous chipping away at the soil with a spatula-shaped tool. In a good season, Giovanni would find 3-4 kilograms of white truffles and substantially more black truffles.
At 400-500 euros per 100 grams for white truffles (the price fluctuates daily depending on availability), it is clear why secrecy is important with many hunters out before dawn and after dusk.
Our haul of black truffles measured 90 grams, with a market value of about 100 euros, but had they been white truffles, it would have been a different story.
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