The Great White Truffle of Alba

WC 837

The Great White Truffle of Alba

By Jack Rawlins

In a dark and twisted forest, there grows a giant white truffle that may at auction bring over one-half million US dollars. Only Bruno Bologna’s dog, Alfonso, knows its exact location.

All truffle hunters in the town of Alba in the Langhe area of Italy know that casino owner Stanley Ho paid $330,000 for a 3.3 pound white truffle auctioned in December 2007. Every day each hunter prays the Lord will bless him with such good fortune--or at least a one-pounder.

Bruno’s dog, Alfonso, known locally as “the best nose in the business,” sniffed out The Great White on the first day of the 2008 Oct. - Dec. season. When Bruno scraped away the loose loam and revealed the giant tuber he gasped; he needed no scale to estimate its weight at well over four pounds. He had discovered his fortune.

Quickly, with his cell phone camera he snapped a picture of his treasure and the surrounding area. Then, ever so carefully, covered The Great White without leaving a trace and sat on a fallen log to plan how to harvest, protect and market it.

Truffle hunters are like cats who bury their scat; they leave no sign to aid others in finding their best hunting grounds. They guard their secrets as they would their daughters’ virginity, their wife’s honor and the family recipe for minestrone.

In celebration, Bruno and Alfonso shared a bottle of Barolo, king of Italian reds, and a pepperoni. But they were jolted from their jubilation by the squeals of a nearby sow being punished for gobbling up a truffle before her owner could harvest it.

That’s one of the reasons dogs often replace pigs as hunters of choice. To a sow, the truffle smells like a boar. That gets her to rooting. But when she doesn’t find a lover she eats the truffle—unless the hunter beats her to it. Slow learners are often eaten themselves.

Less the chastised pig try to make amends and come snorting after The Great White, Bruno and Alfonso scurried from the scene of the find. They were soon in an unfamiliar part of the forest. The day was cloudy and as they thrashed and wiggled through thickets of fallen trees and brush, darkness came suddenly.
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Even skilled woodsman can become disoriented at times. There was no sun to guide them. No visible North Star. No path or creek to follow. No road signs.

“Oh, ca-ca,” swore Bruno. “We’re camping out tonight.”

Alfonso whimpered a small protest. He thought of his comfortable bed with the eider down quilt and of his usual hot meal of lamb and rice, followed by a hazel nut torte or a dish of gelato. Alfonso was not one for roughing it.

Bruno built a crackling fire and after they shared the last of the Borolo and pepperoni, they settled down for the night. One hour later an unseasonal violent rain storm with lightening flashes and dog-frightening crashes of thunder doused the unhappy campers and turned the fire into a hissing pile of cold ashes.

When the storm cleared and the daylight he had prayed for finally arrived, Bruno said, “God, what took you so long?”

After reluctantly sharing a few expensive slices of truffle and with the sun as a guide, they hiked back to their regular hunting grounds.

Bruno soon discovered the camera image was of no help in the dark and twisted forest unless you stood close to the exact spot of The Great White. And now he had labor problems; Alfonso refused to hunt.

“Come on, fetch our fortune good boy,” pleaded Bruno. But Alfonso was adamant. Usually cooperative and good-natured, he was apparently miffed that he had been forced, not only to spend the night in a scary storm with no place to hide, but also to give up his posh digs and vittles for a slice of tuber that smelled like a pigs’ testicles
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Bruno tried reason. He tried threats. He even tried beating. But he didn’t have the heart to apply the lash with enough enthusiasm to change Alfonso’s attitude. So after a fitful, fruitless morning, they retreated to their pickup and headed back to their cottage in Alba.

The next day they began joint weekly session with a dog trainer-psychiatrist in Pisa who reportedly was also a dog whisperer. Alfonso didn’t hear a word he said. After a full week of daily sessions, they had made no progress.

Finally, in desperation, the mild-mannered Bruno decided to try tough love. “Alfonso,” he said, if you don’t forgive me for making you spend a miserable night in the woods in the rain and get back to work, I’ll have to let you go. I will get another dog and give him all your things, plus the love I always gave you.”

Alfonso understood every word. He trotted to where his leash hung on a peg in the hall, took it down, and with tail wagging, led the way to their pickup.

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