Truffle Dog
Have you ever looked at a dog’s nose? I mean really studied it closely. It’s cold (most of the time), wet (generally) but the most fascinating thing about it is the texture, a kind of ‘scorched earth’ granularity. Go get your dog, if you have one and stare at that snoot… Now, what does it remind you of? It reminds me of the scorza (skin) of a truffle.
And, coincidentally, that’s exactly what we call it in Italian: the Italian word for a dog’s nose is tartufo – a truffle.
We may be Trufflepig Travel but it’s an undisputed fact that a dog is easier to get in the back of a car, and so dogs are the truffle searchers of choice – in particular a woolly breed called the Lagotto Romagnolo, although in reality any dog can be trained to hunt.
Take Lizzi for example. She is a Hungarian Vizsla, a dog originally trained in human search and rescue, who by happy accident was gifted to Giorgio and Natale, two truffle hunters from Costigliole d’Asti in Piedmont. Now instead of people buried under avalanches or collapsed buildings, she helps the brothers sniff out the queen of truffles, found only in the Piedmont region in Italy…the tartufo bianco, the white truffle.
I was lucky enough to spend some time with the brothers and their dogs this past winter. Natale and Giorgio have been part of a family of truffle hunters for five generations, but it’s not their profession. You would never think that the moustachioed older gentleman grating truffles onto fresh cheese had a past life in the marketing department for Ferrari. “I don’t call truffle hunting a hobby – it’s more of an illness, an obsession,” he told me. Otherwise, what would entice someone to tramp through the woods in the cold and damp, often at night and sometimes in the company of wild boar? While it’s mostly Giorgio who goes out into the forest these days, Natale is also a judge at the world-famous White Truffle Fair in nearby Alba.
I’ve obsessed over white truffles as long as I can remember, and once the season begins (it runs from late September into January), I’m straight off to Alba to pick one up for a special dinner with friends – and to enjoy truffles in one of the local restaurants. I might be biased, but to my mind, Piedmont, the region where I live, has the best food in the whole of Italy (and don’t get me started on wine). There is nothing that completes a cosy fall or winter evening better than a simple plate of tajarin (tagliolini) with a grating of white truffle and a glass of Dolcetto d’Alba or Barolo.
Visiting the Truffle Fair in Alba creates an impossible dilemma. Which truffle hunter do you buy from? Everything on display is ‘good’ (as judged by the experts). The only obvious variation is in size and shape. Once you’d decided how much of a hit your wallet can take and how many people you’ll be inviting to dinner, the only thing that remains is to sniff. You’ll detect notes of garlic, honey, mushroom, spices and humus, or wet earth. “Just choose the one you love the smell of… Why do you choose one perfume over another? Which one speaks to you? It’s exactly the same with a truffle.” says Natale with a smile.
And this brings me to another thing I learned. It might sound simple, but it’s something that I’d never really grasped – more of a confession perhaps. I go crazy for the smell of a truffle, especially once it is grated onto that butter-oozing pasta, but once it’s in my mouth? Nothing. It’s gone. Vanished. It’s not exactly a disappointment, it’s just… well… odd.
“Of course,” Natale explains. That’s because you’re not eating it with your mouth, it’s not the sense of taste you’re using. It’s smell and only smell. It’s aroma. You’re eating it with your nose. That’s where all the pleasure lies.”
Which brings me back to Lizzi and her own tartufo, the undoubted delight she gets from spending time with her owner, roaming the woods and snuffling out these ugly little underground diamonds. At the end of the day, once she’s dug frantically at the earth and Giorgio takes over, she’s delighted with the dog biscuit that she receives as a reward.
In the words of one of my favourite authors, Cesare Pavese, a son of nearby Santo Stefano Belbo, who captures the essence of Piedmont like no other: “Ever since I was a boy, it seemed to me that if I went through the woods without a dog, I would miss too much of what life had to offer and the earth’s hidden treasures”. And one of Piedmont’s hidden treasures in every sense is undoubtedly its truffles.
