Truffle Kerfuffle (the word 'truffle' appears 28 times in the following article)

“We're going to the truffle market” Anna, my wife, stated. These were not usually the words I wanted to hear on a Saturday morning after a week's work. I am a creature of comfort and enjoy nothing more than sitting on my backside watching telly; the thought of having to engage with the outside word fills me with dread.

But, it was January...freezing outside and in. However many logs we chucked into the log burner the house didn't seem to warm up; I could see my breath when I entered the kitchen and had more layers than a lasagne. So the thought of driving around in the car with the heater on maximum did appeal somewhat. 

The market was in Availles-Thouarsais (a small village near Airvault). From quite a way off the country roads seemed busy for a Saturday morning and the line of traffic was just going the one way. Everyone was heading to truffle town. 

On our arrival I asked Anna if we could drive about a bit longer, she declined my offer. “Well if I'm good at the truffle market can we take the scenic route home?” After a withering look it was truffle time. 

The Salle Polyvalente was heaving, and with so many bodies in one room the temperature was very agreeable. “I like truffle markets” I told Anna who ignored me. 

The hall was full of all things truffle. Truffle sellers sat behind truffle tables with their orbs of black gold on display... and priced. Now, I'm not an expert in the ways of the truffle so the experience was quite educational. They ranged in size from 'big marble' to 'cricket ball' (my nomenclature, not theirs), as did their price. We got away with buying one (marble size) which came in at 23€, instead of an uber-truffle priced at over a hundred euros. 

For three euros you could have a taster plate of four mini truffle dishes. Truffle butter on toast, truffle and chicken, truffle and leek, and to finish tiramisu...with truffle. They were all absolutely delicious and we stood around our table, with some friends we had bumped into, like Marcus Wareing and Monica Galetti discussing the nuances of each dish. 

We compared the size of our truffles and I reassured everyone it's not the size of your truffle that matters, it's what you do with it. 

I was disappointed that there weren't any truffle hunting demonstrations. I wanted to see a crazed pig with the smell of truffle up its hooter running around the hall. They don't use pigs anymore, I was informed, apparently the pigs ate all the truffles so they use dogs instead. 

A truffle lasts for 15 days or you can freeze them we were told. Our truffle started going mouldy after a week. But what a week ...we had truffle with everything. Our favoured method of dégustation was to lightly grate as Anna was worried about the aphrodisiacal properties. The first time we had some she left about 4€ worth of the black stuff in the grater. 

Now, I have no sense of smell and uncultured taste buds, so only speak for myself when I say I couldn't really taste it, I did notice a suggestion of plasticine when the truffle developed a fine coating of fur. Even as I write there is a nubbin of truffle in a jam jar in the fridge. 

Small oaks trees could be purchased from the market (which had been infused with truffle goodness), planted in your own garden and then if you were prepared to wait for twenty years, could enjoy the taste of home grown truffle. Anna, who has a heightened sense of smell said she was, when the time came, prepared to rootle around in the mud so we didn't need to commit to a dog/pig. A tempting offer but one we declined when we realised Anna would be 77 in twenty years and her best rootling years behind her.

Addendum: many congratulations to all those who achieved a dry January. After over indulging at Christmas we felt a drying out period was needed. It has felt like the longest month of my life but I have slept better and feel ready to hit February running.