hunting for black diamonds
The truffle of Perigord
Nord. When living in this region as the holiday season approaches, one
cannot help but be fascinated by the aspect of truffle hunting. It is this time
of the year that all the restaurants in the area will begin to feature entire
menus dedicated to truffles alone. Soon, they will show up in the markets, and
then, just in time for holiday dinners, on the tables of many an Auberge.
It is still early December, and though I am told the truffle will not possess its
full flavor until after the New Year, I was longing to goûter this
famous delicacy. Unfortunately, I have not the funds necessary to acquire this
treat as they frequently sell for over €800 (about $600) per kilo, so I was
left to leave it to a chance encounter to supply me with my first taste of the
fabled fungi.
* * * * *
I met Cyrille, in
Le Vignaud last week speaking to Jean-Paul (the resident farmer) of the drastic
drop in beef and milk prices of late, and what it meant for the agricultural
areas of France (such as La Creuse). Cyrille replied that, yes, it was a
shame, but on the other hand, the price of the truffe is skyrocketing.
This is when my ears perked up and I approached to two to say bonjour
and engage in a bit of barverdage myself. Cyrille continued that, though
the prices fetched by the "black diamonds" were indeed quite high and
it was good news for the moment, it was due only to the steadily declining
presence of the truffle itself.
Cyrille is a
regular courtier of the truffle market of Souillac, one of the
largest truffle markets in the region (probably second only the famous market
at Sarlat), which happens every Wednesday morning at 09h00 from the
first Wednesday in December through February or March, depending on the season.
After seeing my interest in the truffle, and having exhausted every other means
he could think of to explain the relatively secretive and unknown (by
outsiders) world of the truffle, he invited me to come with him to the market
that Wednesday. He instructed me to be ready at 07h00 sharp, for there would be
no time to waste.
That morning, he
arrived just past 06h30, ready to go; but luckily I had long been prepared,
having hardly slept the night before in anticipation. Together with his
13-year-old son, Pierre, we set out early from Guéret; Cyrille weaving
his way through the traffic of Limoges (though these roads were not at
all crowded) before heading south on the A20 to arrive at the market in time.
You must be on time, he said, as "les truffes don't last long with
the stomachs of Perigordians waiting."
The market passed
exactly as I had read in many books on French history and culture, or as in the
travel writings of Philip Oyler or Freda White, though even faster than I could
have ever imagined. The other sellers greeted us with a smile, everyone shook
hands, exchanged bises, and then someone gave a signal for the market to
begin. I'm not sure what it may have been, for I had heard nothing, but
suddenly I found myself caught up in a frenzied mass of yelling couriters
and anxious buyers negotiating prices. Within perhaps less than ten minutes all
prices had been established and written down by one man in the center of the
circle, who held a tablet. Then the ruckus stopped and everyone turned his or
her attention to the scales, which sat on a table, also operated by the same
man who had recorded the prices. The reason for this is that the crop is highly
profitable, and this goes to eliminate any suspicion on the part of buyer or
seller, who could perhaps tip the scales a bit in his favor. Soon, all truffles
and money had changed hands, and finally relaxed, everyone sat around the
square talking, sharing a café or bière.
Through Cyrille, I
was introduced to Jean Pèyberac, whose family has been the biggest traders in
truffles in the region since the early 1980's. Each week, he travels some 1500
kilometers (to both the market here and the one in Sarlat, which happens
Saturday mornings) to ensure that no only are there enough truffles each week
to satisfy the expensive Parisian restaurants, but that he buys them at the
right price. If he fulfils the roles of buyer, quality controller, and gossip
gatherer, he ensures that at least 1000 kilos of 'black diamonds' are at his
shop by late Sunday evening so that on Monday morning they can be cleaned,
weighed, sorted, vacuum packed, and en route to the best chefs in France
by late Monday afternoon.
Jean asked Cyrille
questions about the recent harvest, his speculations as to the upcoming season,
and so forth. Though he hadn't been on a serious hunt yet this year (it was
only the first week of December), Cyrille said that it looked to be a bit
better than last year, which was considered to be one of the worst ever in
France. He said that he was planning a hunt this Saturday, so perhaps next week
when the two met again, he would have a better idea of this year's crop. Jean
asked, rather shrewdly, if I would be accompanying Cyrille on the hunt - a
rather unheard of thing to be bringing of all people, an Américain.
At this Cyrille
(having met me in one of the tiny villages of La Creuse) sat up, and
with quite a dignified manner, replied that bien sûr, of coarse he was
coming. I was surprised, as I had not been invited, but said nothing. Perhaps
he had only said it in defiance, I thought to myself. After we drove back to
the village, Cyrille pulled in front of the old stone house. As I was hopping
down from the bed of the truck, he yelled out the window, "Samedi, mais
on leve tôt."
So it was, early
Saturday morning I would be going on my first truffle hunt.
* * * * *
We started out in
search of truffles with the same excited anticipation as going on a treasure
hunt in a strange and foreign land. Setting out in the early morning before the
mist had risen from the land, with a hand-pick and an excited dog straining at
the leash, we rambled through the forest, alert and eager. It wasn't long
before the dog began frantically digging into the stony ground. The dog's owner
quickly jumped between her and the spot where she has begun to dig, lest she
damage the treasure hidden beneath the earth. When the dog finds the truffle
her instinct is to immediately dig it up and eat it, therefore the moments
following discovery are a struggle between man and dog. The hunter usually wins
and then the dog is rewarded with a small portion of his treasure, or more
commonly, a small slice of meat.
This time it was a
small one, perhaps the size of a cherry. Cyrille cuts it open, showing me the
inside, still unripe and not yet black. The next is much larger, and nearly the
size of a tight fist. Perhaps worth €40, he says, "but it will be tres
bon, much better in an omelette, instead of my pocket."
Throughout the morning we continue to wander the woods, stopping at the base of
old oaks ever few minutes to unearth a bit more of our treasure, some quite
large, the biggest weighing nearly 200 grams. The dogs grow ever more excited
with each discovery, for they anticipate the bit of meat that will soon follow
as payment for their work.
Although dogs are
the most employed animals in European truffle hunting, it comes much more
naturally to pigs. Truffles emit an aroma similar to a pig's sexual hormones,
to which female pigs are attracted. Because of this inborn attraction, hunters
can avoid the expensive and time-consuming task of training truffle dogs. I am
told that a well-trained truffle dog may sell for as much as ten thousand euros
at market. However, most farmers will train their dogs from birth, adding a
small amount of truffle to their daily food. Some hunters with well-trained
noses can actually detect a truffle hidden up to a foot under ground, and I was
told of one man who owns no dog, yet regularly sells the most fragrant,
top-quality truffles in Sarlat. Also, one may watch for characteristic
cracks in the soil or swarms of flies hovering just over the ground. A truffle
hunter will make his rounds on a still winter day, marking each spot with a
small stake. After being disturbed, if the flies return to the marked spot,
there is a truffle hidden below.
Our hunt concluded
early, and then we headed back to the farmhouse, our bags heavy with truffles,
for a royal lunch of made from our spoils. There was of coarse a large omelette,
made with perhaps a dozen or more eggs, foie gras (of which I was
obliged to try at least a little), pasta, and a stuffed goose, all heavily
laden with the aromatic truffles we had found. A dinner like this in any
restaurant in Paris would cost quite a bit. The amount of truffles used alone
may have brought over €100-€200 at market, but to the country folk who gather
their own truffles, as well as raise their own geese and hens, it was as
natural as any other Saturday afternoon.
