I’m sorry we put our truffle in your fridge! I felt like a ninny saying this when our B&B hosts commented on the unmistakable aroma that pervaded the breakfast room, but in fact, they did not mind it at all. Who doesn’t love truffles? White, black, and in all shapes and sizes, Murisengo’s “gold” or Trifola d’Or as they call it, was an initiation into choosing and buying the precious tuber magnatum pico at a fair. Friends from the area who are seasoned truffle shoppers were invaluable as guides, and after learning how quality, quantity and climate will affect the borsino del tartufo (think truffle stock market) of each year, I don’t believe we’ll ever go back to supermarket truffles again. There’s just no fun in it!
I speak for us both when I say that we’re all truffled out, and the kids headed straight for the toy box when we got home. Don’t ask me why they prefer (sometimes) this spot over their dog beds, but the surprising thing was that the westie did not nip the doxie for invading her space. As the saying goes, “A tired dog is a good dog!”