Like we had nothing better to do, we suddenly find that we have fallen deeply and passionately in love with truffles.
Not the ones to the right. (We've been in love with them for years, but there's no news value in that.)
No--the truffles which we love (to which we have become devoted, for which we will bankrupt ourself, with which we wish to have our tombstone decorated every August 29th) are the real thing, the fungi which grow, without root or branch, imbedded in the earth near some (but not all) oak trees.
They cannot be planted and they cannot be predicted. When you want to find a truffle (and you don't happen to be standing in the cheese department at Eli Zabar's massive gourmet supermarket in Manhattan) you need to find, first, a well-trained dog or pig (you heard us), and then a forest with a lot of oak trees in it.
(It helps if you, the pig, and the forest are all either French or Italian.)
Then you let the dog or pig sniff a bit of truffle in your hand. Then you let the dog or pig run around for a while. Eventually, the animal will be found digging at the roots of an oak tree, where you will find a truffle.
If you are using a dog, we suppose that he will be found peeing on certain oak trees, which may or may not mean that there is a truffle there, but probably does mean that even if it's there you won't want it.
Anyway. If you're very lucky, the truffle will look like this:
You will clean it and then rush it to market, where quaintly-dressed local merchants will scream "Sacre bleu!" or "eh, Maddon'!", depending, and you will receive a great deal of money, and probably you won't get a taste of the truffle. Which will be OK by you, because they probably give you gas.
Soon, your truffle will find itself in one of the finest kitchens in New York or Paris, being sliced thin enough to see through and then being sprinkled on pasta or grilled cheese for an extra $60.
And what does it taste like, this truffle? Or--to put it in a more succinct way--is it worth it?
In our opinion, yes it is worth it, because it tastes a little like garlic, but mild and richly lingering.
It tastes nothing at all like any mushroom we've ever eaten, so we don't understand why the taste is sometimes described as "mushroomy".
It makes eggs, cheese, and cream taste like larger quantities of truffles, so that is how we like it best; we don't think a truffle can add much to meat or fish. (As a cream, egg, or cheese sauce over chicken it is excellent).
At its very best, truffle tastes the way someone smells when you absolutely adore them and they are just about to kiss you. So a truffle tastes not just like a good kiss, but a great one.
May your 2009 be filled with truffles...or may it be filled with whatever and whoever you love.
