The black diamond.

I've successfully weaned myself from the annual state of holiday gluttony, with the exception of a persistent hankering for one dirt-encrusted little jewel. And so it was I found myself making the pilgrimage this past weekend to Uzès for the truffle market, held as always the third Sunday in January. While the truffle season begins in October, the truffles are at their most fragrant in January--as long as Mother Nature cooperates and there hasn't been too much frost. (This year, as you can see from earlier posts, hasn't been great for truffles.)

Just as last year, I took the winding roads past the austerely dormant fields of Uzège grapevines, and drove under a Roman aqueduct, Uzès having served as the spring for Nîmes in Roman times. I stared rather hard at the surrounding trees, particularly the oaks and hazelnut, for under these trees a mysterious and symbiotic relationship may perhaps be blooming. About 15 centimeters underground, that is.

Some choice tuber melanosporum.

The truffle is a fungus appreciated since antiquity, but finding it has never been simple. Certainly at least since the 1600s, the truffle hunter depends upon the better sense of smell of a certain type of fly (yes, there are fly-trufflers!), a dog--or a porker. Specifically a sow, for she is apparently more manageable and adept at locating the truffle than a male pig. Among the odors a truffle exudes is a musky substance similar to the male pig hormone, and a piglet can be trained within three weeks to hunt for one. Working with a sow requires quickness, endurance and strength, however, as she can weigh a stubborn 220 pounds, and unlike a dog, she very much wants that truffle for herself. As you might imagine, dogs are becoming far more common.

Some truffles receive official benediction.

Today, about 80% of French black truffles are cultivated (as opposed to the white truffles of Italy, which grow only in the wild). Most black truffles thus come from truffle grounds, where oak or other trees have been infected with the fungus and planted. As at least a decade goes by before any chance of harvest, many farmers plant lavender or grapevines alongside to ensure some source of interim income. Cultivation of the truffle remains a demanding and uncertain endeavor.

Some argue against formal truffle production, as there has been a steady decline in truffles since the late 1800s, which is when truffle cultivation began. To give you an idea: in the early twentieth century, about a thousand metric tons of truffles were harvested annually in France, while today a good annual yield may reach thirty tons. It is argued that the modern agricultural and forestry methods being used have resulted in the destruction of natural flora and fauna. This loss negatively affects truffles, whose development is delicate and depends on an exceedingly complex interaction and precise balance of the soil, climate and biosphere.

Once harvested, the most sublime culinary marriage, as argued historically and by those in the know, is perhaps truffle and foie gras. The heady melding of flavors is inoubliable-- unforgettable--but this is also a pretty decadent double-whammy of a luxury if done right. I tried something new this time over lunch, an aperitif made of white wine, chestnut brandy and truffle essence. My verdict? Put the pungent truffle in dishes rather than drink. And keep to raw shavings, or add as late as possible in the actual cooking. Truffle plays to perfection with scallops, potatoes, pasta and risotto, and chicken. Or with pâté, as in the tasty little pastry-covered traditions from Nîmes in the photo below. Don't forget how easy it is to make your own truffle oil using extra virgin, mild olive oil, as the possibilities then extend even further.
And of course there's the simple egg. Grab some very fresh eggs, organic if possible, put them in a mason jar, tuck in a truffle, close and refrigerate for a day or two, then take a moment to make scrambled eggs. The Romans were convinced truffles, cloaked as they are even today in certain mysteries, have distinct aphrodisiac properties. Perhaps they had this dish in mind.

OEufs Brouillés aux Truffes/Scrambled Eggs with Black Truffles

Serves two. Of course, this can be doubled if you're feeling especially starved--or social.

30 g fresh black truffle
1 small garlic clove, split and the bitter green sprout in center removed
15 g butter or olive oil
6 room temperature eggs (that have preferably been stored with the truffle)
fresh ground pepper and salt to taste
walnut bread or hearty country bread

Cut two generous slices of truffle, set aside, and finely chop the remainder. Lightly rub the bottom of a frying pan with the split garlic. Add a spoonful of butter and the minced truffle. Just warm the minced truffle over low heat, do not overheat. Transfer the truffle to a mixing bowl, add the room temperature eggs and briefly beat with a fork.

Cover and set aside to "infuse", for twenty minutes. Toast slices of bread, cutting into quarters lengthwise (so they look somewhat like long ladyfingers). Warm two plates in the oven at low heat.

Melt a spoonful of butter in the frying pan, add the infused eggs and salt and pepper. Cook over low heat until the eggs are just set, and the consistency of a quite moist omelet. Serve the scrambled eggs on the warmed plates, and garnish each serving with a trufle slice.

Mozart redux and other citified stuff.

What is there to do in Paris on any given evening, besides eating as well as a god might and paying as lavishly as a king can? There's Mozart, for one. I'm not referring to the airy, refined sort of work one might listen to at the Palais Garnier, also known as l'Opéra de Paris. Anything there is sold out months in advance, well beyond my normal capacity for planning.
For Mozart in full technicolor version 2009, you take the Métro line 12 to the Palais des Sports, a much more modest Palais that clings to the edge of the Péripherique (Paris' beltway/ringroad, a highway that circles the sprawling city). There, surrounded by the mostly very young (read: pre-adolescents and teenagers), you'll find yourself carried away on a frothy, occasionally bombastic, musical tale of Mozart the composer. Do not expect much in the way of historical accuracy or his own indelible, influential music. Imagine instead a show that inhabits the space between the 1980s hit Rock Me Amadeus of German group Falco (don't pretend you don't remember; for a refresher, pop into YouTube) and Tom Hulce's prancing, bravura performance in the film Amadeus.
The musical's audience anticipated many of the songs performed, and flipped on their cameras for their favorite parts which, while anthropologically mildly interesting, was somewhat horrifying, as occasionally, the darkness was lit by a veritable sea of small glowing rectangles. They were busy recording instead of experiencing...Judging by the applause and raising of cameras, the darker musical performance of the actor portraying Salieri, the Viennese rival to Mozart, was actually somewhat favored over the lead of the eponymous show. He did seem to display somewhat greater range and vocal fortitude (and he is performing in the video above). All in all, a few catchy numbers and a fun evening. It is now being performed in Paris but will also be touring the rest of the country; for more information click here.
As for other ongoing shows, the Musée du Luxembourg, just off the charming Place St. Sulpice, is exhibiting Tiffany (the glassware, not the jewelry beloved of Audrey Hepburn). American artisan, yes, but well-respected by the French, and executed with more virtuosity than I had previously realized. The small but interesting show runs through January 2010.Doesn't that sound a decade or so away? It isn't.
But the best show of all isn't going anywhere: the endless, endlessly changing Parisian array of small shop-windows, streets, galleries and squares are just made for extensive exploring, and you can easily break from the milling hordes of tourists by taking a side-street or two--or better yet a bike.Even the locals are resorting to them (in the form of the sturdy-looking low-cost, pay as you go Velib') in greater and greater numbers, as navigating the city by car becomes ever more wearisome.

If the thought of all this walking, riding and exploring makes you hungry (or am I the only one?), I have a excellent antidote to weighty bistro food: authentically bright, fresh Italian. At lunch hour, head to moderately-priced Alfredo Positano located at 9, rue Guisarde (just off Place St. Sulpice again) where you'll find yourself in the lively company of more than a few Italians with their kids, and well-heeled local suits (the Sénat is on the other side of the St. Sulpice church). The restaurant bustles, the staff is animated and jovial. There are a lot of regulars. I was in heaven, between the steak-like slices of porcini mushrooms and generous shavings of Elba white truffle, both of which are now in season. Heaven!They also serve pizzas with great toppings and fabulous crunch here, if that's what you're craving, but for a near-religious experience, order a simple caprese salad with bufala mozzarella, underpinned with peppery arugula--and a side order of unforgettable (really, I swear) foccacia. You don't go for the decor, you go for the buzz, and the sway of spoken Italian. You go, above all, for the food. And then it's out the door, back to all things Parisian.

The blessed truffle.

The most well-known truffle market of the Gard (in the Languedoc) takes place in Uzes. While the Perigord in the Southwest is arguably better known for its black truffles, it is actually the southeast--primarily the Provence and the Languedoc--which produces by far the lion's share of French truffles. (France as a whole accounts for nearly half of the world's supply of this costly fungi, the tuber melanosporum).

Uzes remains one of my favorite cities to wander--in the off-season. The first duchy of France, Uzes has had a long, extremely wealthy past that can be traced to the Romans. In fact, the 17th century chapel in which the remains of the dukes are buried was built upon the remains of the first century temple honoring Octavian Augustus, the first Roman emperor.
I arrived early in Uzes in order to attend mass at Cathedrale Saint-Theodorit. While I am not a Catholic, I am incurably curious, and this was no ordinary mass: there was to be a benediction of truffles involved.With pomp and pagentry, some of the finest truffles were carried to the altar. There was a large choir, and the priest made interesting parallels and invoked lessons from the life and harvest of the humble, precious tuber. Afterward, we all gathered behind the truffles to slowly make our way toward the main square where the auction of the blessed truffles was to be conducted (with proceeds to go back to the parish).
Mr. le President of the trufficulteurs du Gard waits for the blessed truffles, empty basket in hand and daughter by his side.

The auction was competing for visitors' attention with the preparation of the giant brouillade aux truffes (scrambled eggs with truffles--didn't it sound more special in French?) This involved a gigantic saucepan that was stirred simultaneously by four strong men over a bonfire. For those with higher culinary expectations, a number of Michelin-starred chefs had prepared mouth-watering menus. The rest of us just wandered from vendor to vendor, eyeing every possible culinary permutation of and/or literary treatise on the truffle.

You can buy special truffle-delivering oak trees (certified--of course--as having been impregnated with the fungus), and products to help train your dog in the art of truffle-sniffing. You can watch demonstrations of truffle-sniffing dogs (no pork was present). You can buy all the requisite tools to harvest and prepare truffles--all sorts of hand picks, brushes, mandolines, etc.
Or you can get a little light-headed with the dense, enveloping aroma of the truffles, seek out a slightly dirty, fresh treasure (of a quite modest size given the cost), find an empty conserves jar at home, tuck the little black purchase in with five new eggs and close the lid tightly.

We'll be having our own little brouillade in a few days, once that truffle has infused the eggs, through their porous shells, with the deep dark essence of itself.