Let’s keep some foods for special occasions, for Perigord’s sake

There is much excitement in the Marches, with the discovery of one tiny black truffle in them there Welsh hills. Where once the phrase black gold might have referred to coal, now the big money’s on fungus.

It’s hardly surprising when black Perigord truffles can sell for between £1,500 and £2,000 a kilo.

Scientists from the Universities of Cambridge and Stirling, working with truffle geneticists (what’s your line?), have produced this precious 16g specimen in the roots of a Mediterranean oak and they are optimistic that we may be able to replicate their experiment in other parts of the country.

While truffle production may be declining on the Continent because of climate change, the shift in our own climate might work to our advantage. Could what was once the exclusive produce of southern France, northern Spain and northern Italy be coming soon to a farmers’ market near you? Could truffles become as ubiquitous as kale? As cheap as cèpes?

Stranger things have happened. In the 1990s, Australia had no truffle industry and now production is booming. It’s a veritable culinary Klondike. In 2014, Oz produced nine tonnes of truffles, compared to France’s 12, and it has become the world’s fourth largest producer.

Even in this country, before this exciting development, companies such as Suttons Seeds and The English Truffle Company have sold hazel saplings with roots impregnated with summer truffle spores. But both state there is no absolute guarantee of truffles, which for me punts them straight into the what-do-you-buyfor-someone-who-haseverything gift zone.

And, honestly, is that such a bad thing? Shouldn’t some ingredients remain precious? We’ve already ruined smoked salmon with intensive farming. What was once a special treat enjoyed at smart parties is now something you can pick up in any reasonably-sized service station, alongside that giant bag of proseccoflavoured crisps.

I don’t know if I want to go to work on a truffleseasoned egg. Scarcity can pique the appetite.

I admit, I enjoy strewing a summer potato salad with tiny jewels of cod’s roe from Ikea, but it has none of the eye-widening excitement of opening a tin of Beluga.

In a world where so little remains truly luxurious and where many of life’s finer things have been debased by vulgar excess, some culinary experiences should remain special.

Shaving exquisite slivers of Perigord truffle over your risotto, pasta or scrambled eggs is one of them. It has all of the decadence of tucking into ortolan, with none of the joyless cruelty.

If you, like me, want to save something for best, then the good news is that truffles are probably never going to be cheap.

Prices aren’t kept artificially high. Their production is difficult and fraught with risk. Though we have enjoyed them for thousands of years, in truth we know very little about how they grow. Much depends on the state of the spores, the acidity of the soil and slight fluctuations in climate. Once you’ve planted suitable trees, they can take up to 10 years to produce truffles around their roots and often they don’t produce anything at all.

Truffles are no one’s get-rich quick scheme, so much so that surely the Joe and Eddie Grundy truffle orchard is an Archers storyline waiting to happen. follow Debora Robertson on Twitter @lickedspoon; read More at telegraph.co.uk/opinion