Hunting, Tasting, and Savoring Truffles in Tuscany

Deep within leafy woods near the town of Forcoli in Tuscany, we’re scouring the Italian earth for “diamonds,” says our guide, Sandra Rosy Lotti, a celebrated chef, cookbook author, and food writer. These forest diamonds, also called diamonds of the earth, are truffles. They aren’t destined for rings, necklaces, or bracelets. Instead, they’ll be served on some lucky diners’ plates.

Truffles are edible fungi. They’re as prestigious, precious, and prized in the culinary world for their intense, distinctive flavor and scent as sparkly gemstones are for upping the bling of fine jewelry. Black truffles can sell for 400 euros a pound. Their rarer white siblings can command an astonishing 4,000 euros a pound.

Here, in the province of Pisa, is one of Italy’s most important regions for truffles. Trees that produce truffles – poplar, oak, willow, birch, and bay, among them – grow abundantly in this region, and the climate boasts the right mix of heat, cold, and rain.

Twenty odd years ago, Sandra created this truffle hunting and truffle lunch program with Savini Tartufi, a leading, three-generation family-run truffle producer, to showcase Tuscan truffles. In addition to crafting a host of truffle-based products, Savini holds the distinction of finding the largest white truffle in Guinness World Records’ history in 2007. Weighing nearly three pounds, the monster sold at auction for $330,000, with the proceeds donated to charity.

Our outing on this overcast and humid morning is a signature event of Toscana Saporita, the cooking school – its name translates to Tasty Tuscany – that Sandra founded and owns in nearby Massaciuccoli. Our group of two dozen is composed mostly of students booked for the school’s week-long, live-in program at a rural agriturismo. My friend Terry and I are only participating in today’s special activity.

This experience in Tuscan gastronomy is taking us from remote woodlands to an elegant dining table, spinning anew the concept of “farm to table to fork.”

No dogs, no truffles

Along with some of Italy’s omnipresent mosquitoes, we begin our hunt gathered informally on a little plot of dirt ringed by a few trees at the entry to Savini Tartufi.

Sandra and Luca, our professional truffle hunter, acquaint us with truffle lore.

Truffles have a mysterious, miraculous existence all their own.

They coyly play hard to get, spending their lives underground; hence, they’re named hypogeum (meaning underground chamber) mushrooms. Also, truffles are tubers. They depend on a harmonious, symbiotic relationship with trees and plants. Therefore, think of a truffle as the love child between spores in the ground and tree roots.

Even with Sandra’s vivacious commentary, Luca’s dogs steal the show from the get-go.

Giotto is male, Birba female. Frisky and carefree, they eagerly dash and dart and leap at Luca, urging him to feed them treats he has stashed in his pockets. He happily obliges.

Their playfulness belies the serious and, more importantly, necessary role they’ll assume once we enter the forest. The dogs are Lagotto Romagnolo, specifically bred to sniff out truffles. Without them, our search would be fruitless, for truffles grow unseen, anywhere from two inches to a foot below ground.

Training dogs is a skill in itself.

The moment the dog is born, the master exposes it to the scent and flavor of truffles. The master spreads fresh truffles on the mother’s nipples, and shaves truffles into the puppy’s food. Soon, the dog learns to retrieve a little ball with a slight puncture to release the scent of a piece of truffle hidden inside. When the dog returns the ball to the master, a treat awaits as a reward. This toss-and-fetch routine happens within the familiar confines of the master’s back yard. After that, the lesson advances to the forest.

The ritual is set.

“Dogs don’t look for truffles because they like them,” Sandra asserts. “They do it to please their master.”

The quest for truffles

We board several vans for the 10-minute drive to the forest. The rural, rolling hills we’re bumping along belonged to Florence until the 1930s. Thinking the area was wasteland, the Florentines gave it to the Pisa province. Big mistake, for the locals started to find truffles.

Despite truffles’ year-round seasonality, our exploration holds no guarantee of success.

Unlike an Easter egg hunt, where sweet goodies are purposely staged ahead of time, this hunt is “unplanned, a roll of the dice,” Sandra warns. “The unknown is always great.”

Unexpectedly, a stone sculpture tiered like a wedding cake and topped with a vase of flowers stands at the forest’s entrance. A shrine, perhaps, to mark our upcoming adventure? I say a silent prayer to the truffle gods to bestow good fortune.

For all its natural wildness, the forest is silent and serene. However, we are not.

Off go the dogs, panting, barking, and bells jangling around their necks. Luca whistles to attract their attention.

“Dove (where)?” shouts Luca to the dogs. “Andiamo (let’s go),” he urges. “Dai (come on).”

We zig, zag, and zoom after the dogs, following their erratic scamper. Happily, no rain has fallen recently to make the ground slippery, so our footing is relatively secure. We veer off the lightly groomed trails, step over downed limbs and protruding roots, duck beneath hanging branches, and crunch through rustling leaves to keep up with the action.

Suddenly, Birba frantically paws the soil with great energy and persistence. Luca catches up with her, the rest of us close behind. Eureka! She has opened a truffle chamber, and a tantalizing, earthy, mushroom-like fragrance fills the air.

Luca pulls her free of the spot to ensure she doesn’t break apart the truffle, which would devalue it. Using a small digger, he carefully finishes unearthing the buried treasure – a black truffle, barely discernible from the color of the dirt. Luca passes around Birba’s find. We each carefully, respectfully touch, sniff, and marvel at nature’s delicacy. Afterwards, he covers the hole, making a mental note of the location, for in a few days another truffle might take its place.

This is our lucky day.

The dogs not only discover several more black truffles, but they also hit the forest diamond jackpot…a white truffle. Its pungent perfume is even more extreme and primeval than its black counterparts combined. The aroma is slightly garlicky, musky like fermenting cheese (or maybe unwashed gym clothes, as unappetizing as that sounds), and unquestionably arousing.

Time to eat truffles

Back at Savini Tartufi, we take our places at the dining table for a three course, truffle-laden meal with accompanying regional wines.

We begin with a colorful assortment of bite-size bruschetta with a host of toppings:  artichoke and truffle, tomato and truffle, and porcini and truffle. There’s cured meats and pecorino cheese infused with truffles. I squeeze a mini vial to drip truffle vinaigrette into a juicy cherry tomato. What looks like olives are actually baby peaches brined in truffles.

Next comes pasta, an egg and truffle tagliolini glistening with a rich sauce of Parmigiano-Reggiano, truffle butter, and grated black truffles.

Closing out the event is an egg baked in a terra cotta dish, fragrant with truffle butter, truffle salt, cream, and shaved white truffle.

I recall Sandra telling us about truffles’ up-and-down history. They were popular in Greek and Roman times, especially for their reputed appeal as an aphrodisiac. But, during the Inquisition, authorities banned them in an effort to discourage lascivious behavior. Fortunately for foodies, truffles came back into favor in the early 1900s. Since then, their cachet has grown exponentially.

Wine glasses in hand, Terry and I toast our decadent Tuscan bounty. Certainly, the truffle gods are smiling.

Toscana Saporita discounted its fee for the truffle hunt and lunch. The experiences and story are my own.