Pay Dirt in Alba

Trofie Wife suspects that when most of you hear the word “truffle,” you think of delectable chocolates filled with yummy ganache. While I’m a fan of those too, when fall comes around in Italy, a different kind of tartufo is on everyone’s mind. Those would be the little, oddly shaped (and to some, oddly smelling) mushrooms uncovered by enterprising dog snouts in Italy and discerning pig snouts in France (either country, Trofie Wife’s in animal heaven!), which are fiercely guarded by the humans who get paid for the animals’ work.  These fungi don’t come cheap, with restaurants all over the world paying huge sums for seemingly small portions. We got to see the lumps on display at Alba’s famed market, behind glass as if they were jewels. We exercised frugality, however, and thankfully managed to spend less than 20 euros on one white truffle (Alba’s famous for these) and a handful of small black ones. 

Martello and I had actually selected to go that first weekend of November (the fair’s about a month long), because it was dedicated to the truffle-sniffing dogs and their owners (it might have been the other way around, but the dogs should always get top billing in my opinion). However, hard as we looked, said dogs didn’t seem to be on display anywhere. Yet fate shined down upon me anyway, and I met these guys in the piazza: 

Spinone!!

Sadly, they did not follow me home...maybe I should consider dousing myself in truffle oil in the future...

We had a delicious truffle-infused lunch (the local pasta is a thin egg variety called tajarin) and brought back a number of delicacies—the above-mentioned truffles, truffle oil, truffle butter, pasta, cheese, wine, and even some chocolate truffles (why not?). Truffles keep best hidden in rice, so we slipped the white and black ones in there for safe keeping. Later that week we made a risotto with the white and then just barely had enough time for another round of tajarin with the black truffles before they turned. 

Martello still thinks truffles smell a bit like stinky feet. But having soaked in enough Italian foodiness these past two years, he now appreciates them (but still thinks they’re ridiculously overpriced). 

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Feste di Maronne e Zucca

People who know Trofie Wife well know that fall is my favorite season. Leaves aflame in reds and orange, slight wind chills that call for boldly colored corduroys, apples and their byproducts, lots of birthday cakes. Well, that’s my riff on an East Coast autumn. Fall in northern Italy is a New York autumn bubbling over like Prosecco, on account of all the sagre e feste celebrating the bounty of this gorgeous land (not to mention the bounty of new fall fashions (secondo me, the only season worthy of slightly fiscally irresponsible splurges) in all the store windows). Autumn in northern Italy above all means tartufo (truffles; more on that in a few more posts), marrone (chestnuts), and zucca (pumpkin).

Martello and I spent last October chasing down sagre. First we headed to Cuneo, which borders France and is close to another of our beloved cities, Torino. In both on a clear day, you can stare at the Alps while standing in the town’s main piazza. Men whose families had probably served in such capacity for generations could be found roasting chestnuts in huge pots.

Chestnuts come in many varieties

Wizened chestnut roasters

We were overwhelmed by the selection of chestnut and general produce offerings (we bought and lugged home 3 kilos of carrots and purple potatoes; we couldn’t quite bring the 3-foot stalks of leeks on the train, nor would we have known what to do with them in the kitchen!). And with so many sweets on display, we finally settled on a single dessert at a famous and elegant café: chestnut gelato injected with chestnut cream and enrobed in dark chocolate.

Cavallino! A tiny horse (not sure why it was there...)

The next day we turned our attention to pumpkins, visiting the small village of Rocchetta di Cengio, where we rode the zucca bus (unfortunately not pumpkin-shaped) up the hill to view the pumpkins in gara (competition for largest and loveliest), buy pumpkiny treats, and dine on zucca frittelle e vellutata di zucca (fried and soupy pumpkin, respectively), all the while listening to mountainy folk music.

Pumpkin My Ride

We didn't make it back to either of these festivals this year, but we're still enjoying marrone e zucca, albeit bought at the mercato!

Baci e gelato,
Martello e Trofie Wife