It was an urgent call to action the other Friday from Prahran Market’s Twitter stream:
“Stop press! Black WA truffles in an hour ago! These were in the ground this time yesterday! Damian puke (sic) mushrooms”
Pretty soon I was on the tram from South Melbourne to pick up the car in St Kilda. The tram terminating at Mart 130, I marched across the Albert Park and was drenched for the first time that day to pay $60 for 15 grams of sensual pleasure and a treat for the gorgeous wannabee wog in my life.
I know that $4,000 a kilo seems a lot to pay for the first West Australian truffles of the season. And soon I learned from George Biron that Otway truffles are now in season, costing a mere $1,500 a kilo. But if you are one of the few people who can smell the aroma, it is very sexy indeed and a small amount goes a long way over a winter long weekend.
And you know, it’s still cheaper having truffle at home than eating out somewhere posh and I managed to squeeze two meals out of mine.
With truffles it’s best to keep thing simple, especially if you are a home cook like me. First, I stored eggs in a container with the black gold and on Saturday morning we inhaled the truffle aroma of infused scrambled eggs.
Now it is time to make fresh pasta, whizzed up in the Magimix to a simple Jamie Oliver formula of one large egg to 100g of Tipo 00 flour.
One of the many things I love about Adriane is her long, strong fingers and toned arms developed from a lifetime as a painter. I can think of nothing better than them massaging my shoulders or head, although seeing her work the pasta dough is pretty hot too. Talk about sexy.
Soon I was inhaling truffle aroma from the plastic container doing a passable impression of that depraved “mummy loves you” scene with Dennis Hopper and the oxygen mask from the David Lynch film Blue Velvet.
When Adriane had finished giving the dough a working over that I could only dream of for my shoulders, it is left to rest for one hour while we hoe into the wine, a pinot gris from French Island. The pasta was then rolled as thin as a silk ribbon – number 8 on our machine – and sliced into tagliatelle.
If only my photography was up to taking a decent picture of the dish.
All I can say was the aroma was sensational, although the taste was patchy. I suspect the exposed edges of the truffle lost flavour while the centre of the fungus kept it. The tagliatelle really was as thin as silk ribbons, although a little overcooked.
But there was no better way to spend a cold, miserable Sunday night.
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