Truffles, Clarines and frosty toes

As a precaution and litmus test of the temperature today, I’ve left the window wide open and my tootsies hanging out of the doona. It’s pre-dawn and judging by the colour of the toes, it’s cold. My eyes pop open. Yippee, a frost. I leap out of bed and check the weather station – minus 1.6C. Yep, it’s cold and will soon get even frostier as the cold air above is pulled down to ground level via inversion currents as the red sun rises over Rosehill.

I’m not normally this taken by morning temperatures. In fact, I live half the year in fear of frosts with acres of grapes, but today in early winter there’s nothing more important to the day’s activities than a season of deep, penetrating frosts. We’re off a-truffling down Braidwood way.

People that get into these subterranean orbs of joy don’t really know exactly why they produce this fruiting body. It’s linked to soil pH, friability, drainage and structure, and of course to the host plant whose root system these fungus cling to. But what is generally agreed upon is that you need a good series of deep frosts for the truffle to bloom and ripen at the right time to produce big, stinky black fruit.

This year, we’ve had a good amount of frosty mornings, and thus I am happy that today it’s a frosty brass-monkey morning that will evolve to a brilliant winter’s day for our hunt at the farm of Peter and ­­­­­Kate Marshall.

The trip out of Braidwood is a roundabout affair. This could be something to do with our hosts’ other business interests, which involve a couple of field cannons and factory full of military clothing. Being an avid reader of mystery novels, my senses are on high alert. Is there something else going on here? Will I finally get to have my Jason Bourne moment that I still believe my life is leading to?

Alas, no. Besides having to scratch our heads at why a group of tree fellers manages to get its truck so bogged in an area where a truck has no business being, the day unfolds without the need for me to revert to my alter ego and save the fair maiden from a devilish plot.

After a nice lunch and briefing, we head to the truffiere, a mixture of hazelnuts and oaks, all quite young, but already having proven themselves with a couple of neat orbs last year. The dog, Sal, doesn’t waste too much time and unearths a monster 365g black truffle in minutes. Being pretty well dumfounded that it was so easy, I reflect on my choice of dogs for my own much awaited truffle experiment. Will Pooka, a wide-eyed, can’t-focus bundle of hair, be able to so willingly and precisely find one of these in future years?

All Sal needs is a pat on the head and some attention, and in an hour she finds a crop with a potential street value of $2000! As opposed to the money sink our spoodle has become, requiring a weekly visit to the vet to remove half a cup of grass seeds from the ears and falling victim to the local animal coppers’ ongoing revenue raising round of Murrumbateman.

So at the end of a very nice day, a huge hunk of this first truffle sits before me back at home. What to do? The aroma has been tormenting me all the way back – even though it’s wrapped in a bag, the sweet, earthy, sulphidey aroma permeates the cruiser. The kids, when I pick them up, wonder what I’ve been up to.

While I’m thinking, I lightly toast some Silo bread, add lashings of butter and 30g of shaved truffle. This gives me a clue – keep it simple. This is really good toast and I wonder whether you can overdose on tuber melanosporum.

A while back, I was out at the refurbished Fyshwick markets. While I was snapping up a nice bit of cheese for the night at the Mart Deli, the owner, a Frenchman, gave me a nice bit of advice. The wooden box of Fromager des Clarines, a slightly ripe mountain cheese from Haute-Savoie, is perfect for heating up. So that night I warmed it on the barbecue with half a glass of white wine poured over it. The cheese expanded slightly as it warmed, and served with good bread it was a beautiful fondue of sorts with a slight mushroomy character already. At that point, I thought, if a truffle comes my way this year, and it has, I would re-create this fondue with thin shards of fresh truffle wedged into the cheese before heating.

So tonight, having no idea how much truffle to use, I aim at about 50g. On to the barbecue with a splash of marsanne, which I think is the perfect savoury cheese wine.

Simply served with a salad of super-fresh celery, crispy green apple and chopped hazelnuts, this is an early winter meal I can happily call brilliant. The aroma of truffle is intensified enough so as not to be intoxicating, the salad refreshes the palate, and all is well with the world.

Truffled Clarines fondue with apple and celery salad
1 box of fresh fromager  des Clarines
50g shaved black truffle
2 stalks celery
half a granny smith apple
handful toasted hazelnuts
white wine