Once she is sure that Luna is on to something, Marta takes over to scrape gently with a hoe to dislodge the fruiting body without damaging it.
LUNA AND MARTA
Not content with merely tasting the fungus, I want to find my own, so I set off with truffle hunter Marta Menegaldo and her Lagotto Romagnolo dog, Luna, on a truffle hunt. Originally reared as duck retrievers, this Italian breed is renowned for its superior foraging abilities, and we follow Luna through woods of wild hazelnut and chestnut groves as she runs from tree to tree hoping to catch a scent. Although the ideal time for truffle hunting is from October through December, different varieties are found throughout the year, and it’s clear Luna loves the challenge. There are around 6,000 official truffle hunters operating with licenses in Piedmont, but in truth, many older truffle hunters remain under the radar of the authorities. Marta and her partner Daniele Stroppiana began their business, Bianco Tartufi, five years ago, inspired by Daniele’s grandmother, Irma, who foraged for mushrooms and truffles long before they were prized.
“It’s incredible to imagine that when Irma was foraging, no one had yet put a value on the white truffles.
They simply got tossed into soups to add flavor,” Marta tells me. With an obvious, deep connection with both her environment and her dog, Marta is an anomaly in this maledominated business. “It hasn’t been easy to be accepted,” she says. “My aim is to keep the biodiversity of the undergrowth unchanged and that’s a challenge. Not everyone understands that the work we do here is special because it is all about the smell of the forest, which evokes very powerful emotions and memories, and is part of our heritage.”
We watch Luna dig in a frenzy at the roots of a hornbeam, sending moist, brown soil and the occasional worm flying. Once she is sure that Luna is on to something, Marta takes over to scrape gently with a hoe to dislodge the fruiting body without damaging it. It is a white that Luna’s found, the absolute prize. Marta hands it to me and, brought to the nose, the smell is earthy and musky. Luna’s reward for this treasure is a titbit of black truffle she found earlier (said to have been created when the god Jupiter struck an oak tree with a bolt of lightning).
That evening I head to a stalwart on Langhe’s dining scene, Trattoria della Posta, established as a rest house and stables for passing travelers near Monforte d’Alb in 1875 by Sabino Massolino, the current owner’s great-grandfather. Marta’s advice is to eat truffles simply, so I order a “30 egg yolk” tajarin pasta doused with Alpine butter, with truffles shaved on top. Well, they certainly taste better than they look with rich, delicious flavors of oak, garlic, and, dare I say, mushroom? Spiraling another mouthful onto my fork, I really could not be more content than a Lagotto on a trail in a forest full of truffles.. ●