Archived Article By Tom Fitzmorris Originally published November 7, 2007 Why White Truffles Grab You At prices that go well into four figures per pound, white truffles are often the most expensive foodstuff on earth, even costing more than saffron at times. Every stroke of the truffle across the shaver costs several dollars. Truffles are mysterious. They're a special breed of mushroom that creates its fruiting body not aboveground, as most mushrooms do, but underground. Like most mushrooms, the everyday working body mass of truffles consists of hairlike tendrils running through the soil, extracting nourishment from rotting vegetation. In some mushrooms, the system of tendrils covers acres. It may be that a mushroom is The Biggest Living Thing On Earth. In the case of truffles, this underground system stores food in nodules. It creates these on or near tree roots. It is these nodules that are the prized edible, and considerable energy and secrecy surrounds their retrieval from underground. Something in the truffle is almost identical to the sexual pheromone of pigs. That makes the pig nose very sensitive to the aroma of truffles. Problem is, the pig gets so excited by this smell that he sometimes destroys the truffle while digging for it, and cannot be restrained by his handler (who, to keep the secret spot from being discovered, is usually alone). So most truffle hunters have resorted to using dogs, whose noses are sensitive, but who aren't interested in mating with an estrous pig. So they find the truffles, but leave them alone. The truffle's distinctive aroma is more subtle but no less pleasing to the human nose. It's the same chemical that drives the hogs wild. The recently-recognized human sexual pheromone is also very similar to that stuff in the truffle. So although it only rarely makes us want to dig down to the roots of oak trees in a frenzy, the scent speaks to a powerful and deep appetite. I have a chef friend who, not knowing about any of this research, hit the nail on the head when he told me in earthy terms what white truffles remind him of. (Ask me in private to tell you.) The best line I ever read on the subject was from the pen of S.M. Hahn, the former restaurant critic of the Times-Picayune. "They're like a roll in the hay, with butter," she wrote. "And no matter how you interpret that, it's still true." White truffles appear only at this time of year. They can't be preserved efficiently, so you have to eat them while they're around. The best come from the Alba region of Northern Italy. Black truffles--also expensive and wonderful, but not as much so as white truffles--have a slightly longer season. I suspect that truffles are one of those many things that would taste like nothing if your sense of smell were off kilter. The aroma released as fresh truffles are shaved can fill a room. And once the food bearing those flakes is in your mouth, it comes up the back of your nose and makes its lusty statement. But you wouldn't want to eat truffles by themselves. The finest vehicles for them is relatively neutral: pasta. My first truffle mindblower occurred at out very first Eat Club dinner eight years ago, when Chef Horst Pfiefer at Bella Luna scraped white truffles all over his great fettuccine. He proved to be on the front end of the truffle renaissance. Since then, many restaurants have used truffles whenever they could, and the recent introduction of truffle oil--olive oil which truffles have been steeped--has brought that famous flavor to all sorts of dishes all over. For a number of years, Bacco--where white truffles have become a signature this time of year--allowed the Eat Club to inaugurate a month of wine dinners with white truffles in every course for the bargain price of $95. They were extravagant and unforgettable--until the truffles went into their decline. Now they're just a very sweet memory, even though Bacco soldiers on with the best it can get. Incidentally, there has been only very limited success at cultivating truffles. Some truffles are coming from the Northwest, but I couldn't say they really move me. I keep wondering whether they're more widespread in the wild than believed. Is something like a truffle growing on the roots of my oak trees? I don't have a pig, and my dogs haven't dug any holes. (Not for truffles, anyway.) © 2007 Tom Fitzmorris. All rights reserved. news@nomenu.com