 My mother-in-law found the first truffles of the season yesterday while out walking in the woods near the winery. (At least that's what she claims because potential truffle locations are guarded like the families best jewels.) She had already discovered a handful of girolles mushrooms and then she spotted them, a couple of flies hovering near the ground under an oak tree. If you don't have a truffle pig or dog, that's the sign to look for, flies.
Personally, I don't know what all the fuss is. Sure they're rare. They smell worse than some of the stinkiest French cheeses. But the taste, in my opinion, is nothing special and you need a lot of truffle bits in an omelet (the preferred dish for eating this mushroom) to taste anything. I actually prefer other types of mushrooms to truffles.
 As it's way too early in the season for the truffle market to be open, she is searching out one of her 'contacts' in the world of truffle trading to see if he's interested. They weigh 300g (10.5 oz.) and they are white truffles. Although, as you can see from the picture, this white truffle looks rather black to me. This year's going rate is still unknown. Last year a kilo of truffles went for 1000 euros, so maybe she'll get lucky and make 300 euros since it's early and there are not likely to be too many fresh truffles on the market yet.
A few years ago I accompanied Nini to a truffle market in a nearby village. About the only thing it has in common with the regular fruit and vegetable marche is that it lines the main road.
Basically, potential buyers park their white Renault trucks on the curb; open the back doors to display an old fashioned scale and a wicker basket. A mis-matched jumble of people stroll, for all appearances, aimlessly up and down the street. Some are typical Provencal farmers still wearing their blue zip up coveralls. Others have come out in their Sunday best complete with beret and walking cane. Then there's the housewife dressed to the 9's. These are the sellers. They have, hidden in their handbags and their jackets (the zip front jumper comes in handy in this case), their cache of truffles in all shapes and sizes. They all seem to know one another and they slyly congregate by two's in storefronts and hidden corners to discuss what they've heard is the going rate of the day.
The other group of truffle people are the buyers. A mixture of city people, rather easy to spot in this country village; the elderly well to do couple with their tiny little dog in a Louis Vuitton carry case. The man in the loafers and chinos lazily fingering his keys with the Porsche keychain. The couple walking arm in arm, she carrying an expensive handbag and he a leather jacket. These are truffle lovers hoping to get a deal by buying them directly from the finder thus avoiding the in between guy ie., the buyer hanging out in the back of his truck.
We stroll, like the others, seemingly on a Sunday outing. My mother-in-law eventually crosses someone she knows. They greet with air cheek kisses, "Et, alors?" she says leaving the question open. "Ah, it's not good at all," he shakes his head despairingly. I don't know whether he's referring to the price or the lack of quality truffles until he reaches inside his coat, pulls out a plastic grocery sack and opens it to a nice amount of black mushrooms. "Oh," shes ays nodding and smiling pretending to be impressed. He does have a bit more than her. He jerks his head in the direction of a nearby vendor. "He seems to have the best price but it's not good," he repeats: "Only 750 euros a kilo."
"The lady in the gray car is giving 800 a kilo," she replies and I think that's generous of her to be so honest.
When he walks away, my mother-in-law leans in and whispers, "Keep you eye on him. See where he goes. He knows of a higher bid. What happens is that after they get enough, the price goes down.”
We go back to the lady offering 800 euros a kilo. Pretty good in my opinion. We wait casually until the person ahead of us is done then my mother-in-law opens her sack and takes out her truffles. The lady inspects them with a grunt or two and then places the biggest on the scale. A couple hundred grams. "In total there are 500 grams," my mother-in-law interjects.
"350 euros for all," the lady says. "Merci." We walk away. We stop at a few more cars and even talk with the couple in leather until we end up behind the 'friend' of earlier. After some whispered discussion, she finally sells her truffles for 400 euros. Seemingly pleased she treats us all to a truffle omelet lunch.
|
Don’t be fooled by the “Japanese” name: the name means “here it is!” in the Neapolitan dialect - “it” being the mozzarella. It is Italy’s way on the Sushi Bar Concept, being, actually a research project based on Italian HQ products with top-quality buffalo Mozzarella from the Campania region.
This is what happens to the leftovers. Too bad it hasn't been fermented yet. I'd volunteer for this phase.
