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It’s
no coincidence that white truffles have an intense, head-filling
scent. Buried underground without open gills or a breeze to
help them multiply, the tightly-bundled veins of contained
spores must attract woodland creatures to follow their noses
down into the mud to eat them, digest them, and help them
reproduce. Their evolutionary trick? Aroma, in the form of
distinct sulfur compounds. While we can’t nose them
out from above ground, the truffle’s scent has inspired
many forced agricultural efforts. But the truffle grows in
specific soil and climate and then only in symbiosis with
its partner in evolution—in Europe often an oak tree.
With these conditions met, it harvests well after ten years
or so of underground growth, making controlled cultivation
pretty unsuccessful. Without the reliability of farming, we
count on territorial mushroom hunters to return to truffling
land each season with their trained dogs or pigs to sniff
out and uncover the goods.
Chef Massimiliano Convertini,
of Antico Bottega del Vino in New York, composes
an annual tasting menu as the season picks up, flying in over
2 pounds a week from Italy and paying an average of $1800
a pound. This season, the best he’s had in 5 years thanks
to Alba’s fair and humid weather, he’s paying
$2000 for the “big potatoes” that are practically
hole-free, firm, and velvet to the touch. He counts on his
purveyors to transport the truffles at the right temperature
and cautions against cold cargo shipping that freezes and
damages the product before it reaches his kitchen. Once the
truffles are safely in, Convertini cleans the remaining mud
from their surface with the hard bristles of a dry nail brush
and uses a small knife for any deeply-lodged dirt. He stores
them in the fridge in stainless steel containers filled with
double-functioning Arborio rice. The rice absorbs excess moisture,
keeping the truffle dry and protected from moisture-loving
microbes while also taking in the emitted aroma to make for
a perfumed risotto at the end of the week—which is just
about as long as the truffle will last before it starts to
fade.
Although Convertini
strictly features Italian truffles, in their season and with
proper handling Oregon white truffles are also worth featuring
in winter menus. Their aroma and flavor are a product of their
specific place and they deserve equal care and attention.
While truffle purists remain devoted to the Italian or French
varieties, and some have been put off by a bad harvest or
Oregon’s undeveloped reputation, American-grown truffles
have evolved similarly. The Oregon white truffle grows in
symbiosis with Douglas Fir trees and must also persuade squirrels
and other animals to dig underground and help it multiply.
Its evolutionary trick is the same as its Italian cousins:
it’s aromatic and delicious by nature. For chefs who
can’t afford the $2000 commitment to fly truffles in
from Alba, the Oregon white truffle is considerably less at
$200 a pound and much less risky to transport. And since minimizing
the time from harvest to kitchen is vital to serving a quality
product and preserving the truffle’s delicate flavor,
Oregon’s truffles should not be overlooked.
While we make
a lot of fuss over them in the kitchen, truffles are seldom
cooked. Like most chefs, Covertini uses a mandolin to shave
raw slices tableside onto simple dishes that amplify the truffle’s
inherent flavor, showcasing them on rich but fairly neutral
canvases like poached eggs or creamy risotto. Of course buying
wholesale truffles at such high prices means that each of
these simple dishes runs diners over a hundred dollars. But
it only seems excessive. Convertini’s $65 Tartufo Carpaccio,
a plate of ultra-thin slices seasoned and served neat, actually
presents the simplest, most unadulterated truffle experience
possible: pure texture and taste free from any contrasting
flavors. And remember, the simpler the dish the more you can
highlight the white truffle’s persistent evolutionary
instrument: its aroma.
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