Um, it tastes like dirt
Sep. 10th, 2007 09:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stephbgI am a philistine. For a long time I wondered vaguely what all the fuss was about black truffles. As far as I was concerned truffle = chocolate. They turned up on various cooking shows, and the Iron Chefs seemed to toss them about with gay (yet deadly serious) abandon, like excited ninjas. Last week I saw them used not only twice, but in the kind of simple recipes designed to show off their unique flavour.
Aha. God is trying to tell me something, I thought. My excuse that I'd just spoil something wildly expensive because I didn't know how to cook it has vanished (it's an excuse that continues to work for avoiding domestic experiments with crocodile meat, and really it should have kept me away from the Roast Bambi Incident). It's time to do something about it, I said. Loins were girded.
My goal was black truffle oil, my target, the David Jones food hall.
Good heavens there are a lot of ways to package olive oil expensively. I looked at several hundred before attempting to flag down a staff member to ask after truffle oil. I guess I wasn't wearing my Face of Command because several of them looked through me for a while. I think they can sense when one is tired, has sore feet and is increasingly disenchanted with the retail experience.
Note to self: Don't shop tired.
Anywho, once I nabbed someone this lovely lady whisked me off to the Asian section where she showed me some Truffle Salsa made in Italy. She was nice enough to not brand me a fool to my face for failing to locate this delicacy of the Far East by myself. Truffle salt was also an option, but they'd sold out of the oil. Very popular, apparently. I felt a warm glow of Belonging.
No price tags, naturally. If you have to ask then you can't afford it. Well, you don't go truffle shopping without a bit of financial forewarning, and I'd found 250ml of truffle oil on the net for $35 including delivery. "Icon" truffles of perfect shape and nose coming in at $3 per gram. The shape only resembling a nose if you have an unfortunate skin condition.
$22.75 lighter later and somewhat relieved I'd been let off relatively lightly, I betook myself home with my little jar of garlic, sundry mushroom species, olive oil, fillers of various descriptions and the bits of truffle scraped off the truffle-hunting pigs' dental floss. Well, for that price...
Came the big moment later in the evening I cracked the jar open and took my first heady whiff of WHIFF. Oh. Bearing in mind the average USAlien's failure to understand vegemite I cautiously spread a tiny quantity of the stuff on a small piece of fluffy white bread. No distractions.
I was rewarded with the complex flavours of garlicky dirt, and an immediate sense that I'd made a terrible mistake. I'm still not entirely sure exactly what bits of that interesting palette can be attributed to the Queen of Fungi, but it's certainly a taste that lingers. Husband didn't pass the initial sniff test ("OH GOD!") so I fear our relationship will remain sadly platonic until I've sweated out the relevant molecules.
A second attempt with a moderating layer of avocado between bread and mulch spread was more successful. Clearly it's an acquired taste, and expectation plays a vital role. Actually, it's been several hours now and the flavour seems to be improving. I wonder if the mouth enzymes (amylase?) continue to work on the tiny traces for a while. That's one hell of an aftertaste.
I'd still like to try the pure stuff one day, but not too soon. For the foreseeable future I will have an expensive little jar in my fridge giving me the Evil Eye.
Perhaps it's time to invite friends over for nibbles.
PS In happier culinary news I can report that finely cut herb and garlic fetta over freshly cooked asparagus is full of win, as the young people say.
Have you had a truffle experience? Should I be shunned from society for failing to immediately appreciate a delicacy? I've always suspected that "delicacy" was the culinary technical term for "practical joke". Must I now abandon my middle class pretentions?
Aha. God is trying to tell me something, I thought. My excuse that I'd just spoil something wildly expensive because I didn't know how to cook it has vanished (it's an excuse that continues to work for avoiding domestic experiments with crocodile meat, and really it should have kept me away from the Roast Bambi Incident). It's time to do something about it, I said. Loins were girded.
My goal was black truffle oil, my target, the David Jones food hall.
Good heavens there are a lot of ways to package olive oil expensively. I looked at several hundred before attempting to flag down a staff member to ask after truffle oil. I guess I wasn't wearing my Face of Command because several of them looked through me for a while. I think they can sense when one is tired, has sore feet and is increasingly disenchanted with the retail experience.
Note to self: Don't shop tired.
Anywho, once I nabbed someone this lovely lady whisked me off to the Asian section where she showed me some Truffle Salsa made in Italy. She was nice enough to not brand me a fool to my face for failing to locate this delicacy of the Far East by myself. Truffle salt was also an option, but they'd sold out of the oil. Very popular, apparently. I felt a warm glow of Belonging.
No price tags, naturally. If you have to ask then you can't afford it. Well, you don't go truffle shopping without a bit of financial forewarning, and I'd found 250ml of truffle oil on the net for $35 including delivery. "Icon" truffles of perfect shape and nose coming in at $3 per gram. The shape only resembling a nose if you have an unfortunate skin condition.
$22.75 lighter later and somewhat relieved I'd been let off relatively lightly, I betook myself home with my little jar of garlic, sundry mushroom species, olive oil, fillers of various descriptions and the bits of truffle scraped off the truffle-hunting pigs' dental floss. Well, for that price...
Came the big moment later in the evening I cracked the jar open and took my first heady whiff of WHIFF. Oh. Bearing in mind the average USAlien's failure to understand vegemite I cautiously spread a tiny quantity of the stuff on a small piece of fluffy white bread. No distractions.
I was rewarded with the complex flavours of garlicky dirt, and an immediate sense that I'd made a terrible mistake. I'm still not entirely sure exactly what bits of that interesting palette can be attributed to the Queen of Fungi, but it's certainly a taste that lingers. Husband didn't pass the initial sniff test ("OH GOD!") so I fear our relationship will remain sadly platonic until I've sweated out the relevant molecules.
A second attempt with a moderating layer of avocado between bread and mulch spread was more successful. Clearly it's an acquired taste, and expectation plays a vital role. Actually, it's been several hours now and the flavour seems to be improving. I wonder if the mouth enzymes (amylase?) continue to work on the tiny traces for a while. That's one hell of an aftertaste.
I'd still like to try the pure stuff one day, but not too soon. For the foreseeable future I will have an expensive little jar in my fridge giving me the Evil Eye.
Perhaps it's time to invite friends over for nibbles.
PS In happier culinary news I can report that finely cut herb and garlic fetta over freshly cooked asparagus is full of win, as the young people say.
Have you had a truffle experience? Should I be shunned from society for failing to immediately appreciate a delicacy? I've always suspected that "delicacy" was the culinary technical term for "practical joke". Must I now abandon my middle class pretentions?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-09-10 01:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-10 01:49 pm (UTC)Oh, and by East I meant West.
Living in Newcastle-upon-Tyne for a while, where the sun rises over the ocean, has completely demolished my sense as to which is which.