There’s more than one way to find a truffle. But opinion on who makes the best hunters continues to be divided. We pitch the Italians against the French as food writer Kieran Falconer fights the porcine corner, while our Italian correspondent Matt Barker defends the dogs
In hog heaven
Pigs have an innate ability to sniff out truffles. Unlike dogs, who are tested as puppies and then trained, they are naturals. No need for pooch university and course 101 in snuffling.
Of course, pigs still lag behind in the popularity contest. Pigs have a bad rep. Dirty pig, fat pig, sexist pig. It can’t do much for their self-esteem. But let us not forget that Churchill had a point when he said that “dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.”
Behind those piggy eyes (you see, it’s endemic!) is real intelligence. Some dogs are so stupid they would chase parked cars. Pigs can refine their sense of smell, memorise terrain and remember
without being drilled hundreds of times. Standoffish at times or unexpectedly fierce, a pig is certainly no lolling-tongued, sloppy, sentimental beast. But they are loveable. In fact, it is impossible to spend the day in the company of a pig without loving it, as I found in France earlier this year.
It’s the bleak midwinter and the sooty hands of trees, leafless and alone, are spread out in front of me. An early morning fog clings to the edges of the fields and won’t burn away until noon, if at all. But it’s mandatory that we’re up before anyone can see us.
For truffle hunting is a closely guarded secret. I can’t even tell you where I was exactly, except to say that it was in the Cahors region. My truffle hunter – who I will call Monsieur – swore me to secrecy. I can’t even tell you the name of the sow, because of pig rustlers. Yes, that’s right. Pig rustlers. Monsieur’s eyes narrow at the mention of such low, base villains. So I will have to give the sow a pseudonym, and I’ve chosen Siena.
Siena takes no notice of me at all as she rumbles among the oak trees like a fat person learning to jog. She catches a scent, there is a squeal and she drops her nose in the dirt and roots around. No dice. She ups and leads on. There is no shame in a false trail, but Monsieur gives her a little tickle with his stick just to concentrate her mind.
Always on the lookout just in case she gets carried away and starts around the clumps of trees, before learning how to scratch at the dirt with their front paws to uncover the truffles hidden just below the surface. And most importantly, they’re trained never to try and move them with their mouths or even, perish the thought, actually eat them. Pigs, indeed. The very idea. And besides, have you ever tried shooing one off the sofa?
It’s a dog’s life
on’t get me wrong; I like a nice pig as much as the next man. However, training one of the big old beasts to follow any sort of basic instruction, including – crucially – the ability to leave well alone a nicely ripened truffle that’s potentially worth a small fortune is surely another matter. In Italy, pigs are a great no-no. Italian food-lovers (which is pretty much the whole country, of course) will tell you hair-raising stories of gormless hogs happily gulping down whole truffles in front of horrified hunters, or of owners having to frantically wrestle knee-deep in the muddy undergrowth with stubborn, squealing piggies. Dogs, with their eagerness to please, and a propensity for being taught all those little tricks of the trade, are the hunter’s best friend.
Truffles are no trifling matter in Italy. Little wonder when the top tubers – known as white diamonds – can command anything up to €5,000 per kilogram. Mainly found in the woody Piedmont region near Alba, in parts of Tuscany and over on the plains of Emilia Romagna, truffles have traditionally been sniffed out by specially trained dogs kept by trifolaù (truffle-hunters). And understandably, given the value of their quarry, trifolaù shroud themselves in secrecy. Rarely venturing out in daylight, they’re always keen to cover their tracks – some hunters don’t even like using dogs with light coats.
It can certainly be a risky business. The trifolaù have to apply for a special permit before they can go hunting and their dogs need to pass a strict training programme (until recently there was even a Truffle Dog University, in a converted castle near Turin). But increasingly, unscrupulous illegal hunters are muscling their way in.
More and more, truffles are being dug up by human hand before they’re ripe (the season starts in late August, and runs up until January, peaking in October). A shortage of truffles has been an annual concern throughout the country, and is giving rise to sniping between the competing regions: The Piedmont variety is overrated, the good burghers of Emilia Romagna will tell you, strictly for the gullible tourists, while up in Turin they sniffily dismiss their rivals across the Apennines as irrelevant interlopers with inferior produce. Worst of all, with a trained dog costing over €1,850, rumours of dog-kidnapping, and even stories of some of the poor hounds being poisoned, regularly surface.
So what makes these dogs so valuable? The very best are lagotti. Stout, strong and stocky, with thick, curly hair, they come from the flat marshlands of Ravenna, so they’re born and bred to do the job. They’re retrievers who love nothing better than mucking around in the water and, more pertinently, they have no hunting instinct, which means they’re rarely distracted by other smells.
At just three months old, they’re taught to play with balls of rags with pieces of truffle tucked away inside. They then graduate on to seeking out similar balls hidden away in long grass or chomping, Monsieur speaks as often to Siena as to me. Suddenly, her ears perk up and she makes a headlong descent into leaves. A small tug of war ensues as Monsieur jumps up and pulls her back. It is a small find – but what Brillat-Savarin called ‘the diamond of the kitchen’ is not to be sniffed at.
It may well be a triumph of heart over head, but I’ve got great affection for the truffle pig. There’s something refreshing about the full-blooded enthusiasm they bring to the task in hand. When truffles are ripe, apparently they give off a smell similar to the sexual pheromones of a male pig. A quirk of nature, which has probably put you off pigs and truffles for life, I’m sure. But it’s this instinctive passion that separates them from Italy’s performing dogs.
Monsieur perhaps puts it best when he says, “The difference between pigs and dogs is that dogs do it out of duty…” His eyes mist over as he looks at me intently and says “…Pigs do it for love”.
FR À la chasse aux truffes
Les opinions divergent sur la question de savoir qui font les meilleurs chasseurs de truffes. Kieran Falconer argumente en faveur du clan de l’espèce porcine, tandis que Matt Barker défend les chiens.
Les porcs ont une faculté innée de déceler les truffes. À la différence des chiens, leur instinct est naturel.
Derrière ces yeux de cochons, se cache une réelle intelligence. Les porcs peuvent arriver à aiguiser leur sens de l’odorat, ils mémorisent le terrain et se souviennent des lieux sans devoir être dressés. À cela, il faut ajouter qu’il est impossible de passer du temps avec un cochon sans s’y attacher, comme j’ai pu l’expérimenter en France plus tôt cette année.
La chasse à la truffe est un secret jalousement gardé. Je ne suis pas autorisé à divulguer où je me trouvais, ni le nom du cochon à cause des voleurs d’animaux. Mais je peux vous confirmer à quel point ce fervent enthousiasme avait quelque chose de remarquable. Lorsque les truffes sont mûres, elles dégagent une odeur similaire aux phéromones sexuelles d’un cochon mâle. C’est vraiment cette passion instinctive qui les diffère des chiens.
En définitive, on pourrait dire que la différence fondamentale entre les cochons et les chiens, c’est que les chiens sont animés par le devoir et les cochons par les sentiments.
Comprenez-moi bien, je n’ai rien contre un gentil cochon. Toutefois, c’est une autre histoire lorsqu’il s’agit de l’entraîner et de l’éduquer, et notamment lorsqu’il doit acquérir la faculté - cruciale - de laisser une truffe intacte.
En Italie, les porcs ont la spécialité d’outrepasser les interdictions. Les gastronomes vous raconteront des anecdotes truculentes sur des cochons un peu gauches, qui dévorent joyeusement des truffes entières. Les chiens, toujours d’humeur à faire plaisir, et qui ont une propension à être dressés sont plutôt les meilleurs amis des chasseurs. En Italie, on ne plaisante pas avec les truffes, compréhensible lorsque l’on sait qu’elles peuvent grimper jusqu’à €5000 le kilo. Un “gibier” si précieux nécessite un chasseur parfaitement entraîné, de là la valeur inestimable des chiens (un chien bien entraîné peut coûter plus de €1 850).
Comme ils n’ont pas d’instinct de chasseur, les Retrievers sont rarement distraits par d’autres odeurs, et chose essentielle, on leur enseigne à ne jamais prendre les truffes dans la gueule ou même à caresser ne fut-ce que l’idée de les manger. Les cochons…Rien qu’à l’idée. Avez-vous déjà essayé d’en déloger un du sofa ?
NL Truffelgesnuffel
Wie leidt de beste truffeljagers op? De meningen blijven verdeeld. In de ene hoek: Kieran Falconer, een voorvechter van varkens. In de andere hoek: Matt Barker, die zweert bij honden.
Varkens hebben een aangeboren talent om al snuffelend truffels op te sporen. In tegenstelling tot honden, zijn zij natuurtalenten.
Achter die varkensogen gaat een pak intelligentie schuil. Varkens kunnen hun reukzin verfijnen, terrein memoriseren en onthouden zonder onophoudelijk te moeten worden gedrild. En nog iets, je kan onmogelijk met varkens werken zonder er na een tijdje van te gaan houden. Dat heb ik eerder dit jaar in Frankrijk gemerkt.
Truffeljagen is een goed bewaard geheim. Ik kan je niet verklappen waar het was. Ik moet zelfs de naam van het varken geheim houden, uit angst voor varkensdieven. Ik kan je wel verklappen dat het hartverwarmend is om een varken met zoveel enthousiasme aan het werk te zien. Rijpe truffels scheiden een geur af die veel weg heeft van feromonen van een mannelijk varken. Die instinctieve passie onderscheidt ze van honden.
Het finale verschil tussen varkens en honden is dat honden truffeljagen uit plichtsbesef. Varkens doen het voor liefde.
Begrijp me niet verkeerd! Varkens zijn fantastische beesten… Maar ze iets eenvoudigs aanleren, zoals – heel belangrijk – van een truffel afblijven… dat is een ander paar mouwen!
In Italië zijn truffelvarkens een groot taboe. Italiaanse fijnproevers zullen je verhalen vertellen over stuntelige zwijnen die kwispelend hele truffels naar binnen werken. Honden, die zo graag behagen en gemakkelijk te trainen zijn, zijn de trouwste vriend van de jager. In Italië zijn truffels een ernstige kwestie. En dat is niet verwonderlijk als je weet dat ze wel € 5.000 per kilogram kunnen kosten. Zo’n waardevolle prooi vraagt dan ook om een goed opgeleide jager, wat meteen de hoge waarde van de hond verklaart (een getrainde hond kan meer dan € 1.850 kosten).
Retrievers hebben geen jachtinstinct en worden dan ook niet afgeleid door andere geuren. En belangrijker nog: ze leren dat ze de truffels nooit ofte nimmer met de mond mogen verplaatsen of – god beware – opeten. Varkens… Het idee alleen! En trouwens, heb je ooit geprobeerd er eentje van de zetel te jagen?
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