The air was crisp and clear on a fine October morning in Tuscany. I was gathered in the pallazo with the other young men as we anxiously awaited the beginning of our first days as Trifolau, or as you may say professional truffle hunters.
As you know the truffle reffered to here is an underground fungi. As you may not know and as I was to find out, the Trifolau leads a lonely existence.
We were taken to the edge of the villa in a small van and began our hike into the foothills where we would remain for the next several months. Only Pino, our mentor, would leave every week for civilization. He was a sturdy man of over eighty years and he was waiting at the edge of the mountain with the pigs when we arrived.
That day we hiked over twenty kilometers letting the sows lead us on toward our coveted prize. (As you may know the smell of Italian white truffles (Tuber magnatum Pico) contains pheromones that are attractive to female pigs, but not to boars.)
I still have a hard time putting into words the sheer joy we felt every time the sows broke away from our pack and ran excitedly towards the base of an unfamiliar tree. With great effort the sow would snort and kick at the dirt while she plunged her muddy snout into the ground, ultimately setting free our reward.
The nights were lonely and quiet as we stared into the fires and drank our homemade grappa telling tales of our lives we left behind, distant lives that seemed to fade with the smoke in the firelight.
il Pino la ricorderò sempre - Pino I will always remember you.
"The most learned men have been questioned as to the nature of this tuber, and after two thousand years of argument and discussion their answer is the same as it was on the first day: we do not know. The truffles themselves have been interrogated, and have answered simply: eat us and praise the Lord."
Alexander Dumas (1802-1870)
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