I had hoped to bring home a white truffle from my trip, earlier this month, to Italy’s Piedmont. Truffles were everywhere, especially in Alba during the annual truffle fair, but prices for the whites were stratospheric. Much better bargains were the local black truffles – which I hadn’t even known occurred in that region.
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Tom and I enjoyed both types with our meals during the trip. Many restaurants were offering to add white truffles to any dish on the menu: €35 for a grattata (8 grams; about ¼ ounce). We succumbed a few times. Here’s my appetizer of carne cruda at the Locanda del Pilone, near Alba. The little mounds of veal tartare are surrounded by a shower of white truffle.
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But, as everyone told us, the whites aren’t great this year. They need moisture to develop well, and it was a very dry summer and fall. We were more impressed with the quality of the blacks, which cost much less. Here’s Tom’s appetizer at Neuv Caval d’Brons in Torino: a delicious tortino ai funghi porcini con tartufi neri, topped with shavings of black truffle:
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So we came home with two plump black truffles, weighing a total of four ounces. They cost €75 (about $100) – still a considerable expenditure, but only about one-quarter of what they’d have cost if they were white.
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During the trip, we kept them in our hotel rooms’ mini-refrigerators, carefully wrapped in tissue paper, a styrofoam box, and four layers of plastic bags. Even so, every time the door was opened, the intoxicating aroma of truffles wafted out. At home, a week later, it was still the same thing. Those truffles definitely made their presence known!
Before we left for Italy, we’d invited six friends for a Piedmontese dinner party a few days after our return. The truffles were dedicated to that dinner, and we spent quite a bit of time deciding how to serve them. White truffles would have been easier – the classic preparation is simply to shave them raw over egg noodles that have been tossed with lots of melted butter. But black truffles show their best flavor when cooked. We decided to use them in the pasta course but with a more complex sauce, which Tom invented for the occasion.
We braised a piece of beef shin with some carrots, celery, and onion until it was tender, then pressed the veg to squeeze out all their juice, and shredded the meat and marrow back into the sauce. Separately we sautéed large slices of portobello mushrooms in butter and olive oil, poured the sauce base over them, and simmered it all for about 20 minutes. Just before serving, Tom peeled the truffles, minced the peel, added it to the sauce, shaved the truffles into it, and cooked for a few more minutes.
We tossed carried-home-from-Italy taglioline all’uovo with this sauce and then topped the bowls with more shavings of truffle. Here’s the result:
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You can see from this photo, as well as the tortino photo, that these truffles aren’t black all the way through. They’re more of a speckled tan. This was true of all the Piedmontese black truffles we saw, and I wonder if they’re not the same variety as the famous all-black truffles of Perigord in France. I never thought to ask anyone.
So, what did our taglioline al sugo di carne, con funghi e tartufi neri taste like? Pretty luscious, overall. But in retrospect Tom and I think the other strong, savory flavors in the sauce muted the effect of the truffles. They might have proclaimed their (extremely expensive!) presence better in a simpler preparation – perhaps just the broth and marrow, minus the meat, which was very flavorful but a distraction from the truffles. Sometimes less really is more: It all depends on what you’re aiming for. Our guests didn’t have any complaints, however.
If you’re interested in the rest of the dinner menu, here it is. In my next post I’ll write about the other dishes that we served that evening.
I can’t seem to open the link to the full menu (my machine often has issues with pdf files), but it’s just as well. I’m jealous (and salivating) enough simply reading the post and seeing these photos! I’ve always been a fan of the Perigord truffle, simply shaved over perfect eggs or simple pasta. I don’t have as much experience with the white variety . . . maybe one day . . . Anyway: YUM!
Sorry about that, Jan. Needless to say, it opens for me. I’ll e-mail you a Word version.