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Ode to the Black Truffle: Bring It On
and Don't Be Stingy
VAISON LA ROMAINE -- This time of year in Provence
is time for war. The truffle wars you might call them.
Wars over prices. Wars over quantity and quality. Wars
over whose truffles these really are.
We have a small oak tree-framed vineyard where those
strange and rare, fragrant and mysterious black truffles
can be found at the edges of the vines from late November
to early March. Much like the varied wild mushrooms
that grow in our woods, all the locals truly believe
these truffles are THEIRS. As foreigners we may own
the property, but that's a mere legality. The locals
have a birthright.
In the early years poachers came up when we were in
residence on weekends or holidays, digging around the
vineyards with playful mutts with names like Penelope
or Dynamo. We would go out and join the fun, watching
as the dogs would assuredly point a paw to a spot in
the chalky soil, and we would begin digging. Sometimes
we would unearth a treasure - anywhere from the size
of an olive to one bigger than a golf ball - and there
were days we gathered enough to really experiment with
these precious underground wonders.
Now, as truffles get more and more rare and more and
more expensive (they were selling for 4,400 francs a
kilo a few weeks ago), the playful digging has stopped.
Poachers are bolder. They comb the vineyard when we
are there and when we are not and most often hand over
"our" half as a much begrudged token.
Actually, if the truffle as it is today did not exist
the French would have to find a worthy substitute. The
black truffle has all the qualities of a much sought
after commodity. It is rare. Man has not been able to
reproduce it. It is coveted gastronomically. It can
be hunted in secret. And best of all - even in declared
markets such as one finds in the village of Richerenches
on Saturday or Carpentras on Friday morning -- it is
still sold out of trunks of cars, the treasures secreted
away in old pillowcases made of thick ticking material.
An under-the-counter, thumb your nose at the Feds cash
business, what could be better!
But it does get better. For the same qualities that
apply to finding and selling or buying a truffle apply
to cooking it. Or not cooking it. In the kitchen, there
are few ingredients as tricky. Or with such potential
danger for disaster. Which is why so few cooks, or chefs
for that matter, manage to get it right. Assuming that
you have a perfect specimen - a truffle that is firm
and not spongy, fragrant, and big enough to matter -
you can still get yourself in a lot of trouble and turn
that expensive luxury into a great big nothing.
It's hard to believe, but what is most appealing about
a truffle is its texture. Crunchy, what the French call
croquant, and it's in that crunch that you release in
your mouth, throughout all your olfactory senses, the
earthy, woodsy, magical fragrance of the truffle. Cook
a truffle and you lose both crunch and aroma. Slice
it and serve it raw and you still are not there. The
truffle needs a companion: a touch of olive oil and
a sprinkling of French fleur de sel are best, for they
provide just enough moisture, just enough seasoning
to help the truffle shine. Cut a truffle and leave it
on a counter for a few seconds and it dries up, dying
a very rapid death. I have probably seen more great
truffle ruined by the heat of a kitchen than anything
else.
Which brings me to how French chefs treat truffles.
Considering the briefness of the season and the cost,
few chefs are allowed much first hand experience with
truffles, so how can one expect mastery? Second, they
rarely have the luxury of using an avalanche of truffles
in a dish (as Joel Robuchon did at his restaurants in
the late 1980's and early 1990's) and so it is hard
to bring the public (which has little experience either)
to its knees.
Truffle menus abound today all over France, at justified
high prices. A few evenings ago we had a lovely meal
at the Chateau de Rochegude, a Relais Chateau hotel
and restaurant in the heart of Provence's truffle country,
only a few minutes from the famed truffle capital of
Richerenches. The truffle six course truffle menu must
be applauded for its simplicity. But it suffered in
the same way that so many truffle menus do: There were
not enough truffles, and when there were truffles they
were not used to their best advantage. A single truffle
slice, or maybe two, in the steaming cappuccino of chestnuts
was not enough to allow your palate to even recognize
the truffle was there. A room temperature poached egg
on top of a bed of celery root remoulade could have
been a fine base for the truffle, but the cool temperature
never allowed the truffle to exude its fragrance. The
most successful dish was a giant "raviole"
of truffle, really two sheets of pasta the size of a
salad plate, gently filled with a mixture of sautéed
mushrooms and artichokes and plenty of black truffles.
Now we were talking: There was texture, there was warmth,
there was fragrance. And pleasure. Other dishes - a
truffled chicken bouillon and quail stuffed with truffles
and sautéed foie gras - were good on their own,
but would have been just as good without the truffle.
I loved the idea of shaving fresh black truffles over
the seasonal cow's cheese from the Jura - Vacherin -
but, again, the shavings were just too stingy to make
a big difference.
Chateau du Rochegude
Rochegude.
Tel : 04 75 97 21 10.
Fax : 04 75 04 89 87.
Closed Tuesday lunch and Sunday dinner, and Monday off
season. Credit cards: American Express, Diners Club,
Visa. Menus at 250 to 550, truffle menu at 750 francs,
including service but not wine.
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