Treasure hunt
Ye Lizzy ye! Ye Lizzy ye!”
The only sound in the woods was Natale Romagnolo calling to his chestnut-haired dog, Lizzy. She was running through the fallen leaves, sniffing at the bases of the oak and hazel trees where she’s dug up truffles before. Romagnolo, a fifth-generation trifulau (truffle hunter), walked with a cane in one hand and a pick-like zappino hooked to the back of his belt, never letting Lizzy from his sight as she followed her nose, furiously searching for the earthy, garlicky notes of the food world’s most precious fungi.
Suddenly, the dog stopped and started pawing at the rich, dark soil. Our host, who is in his early 70s but still runs truffle tours from his house in the hills of northwestern Italy’s Langhe region, hurried over, — a notoriously expensive delicacy with an aroma so intoxicating that it was once deemed by the Catholic Church to be a food of the devil. Under a cloudless October sky, we tramped back to Romagnolo’s terrace to consume it — with no thoughts of repentance — shaved atop fresh robiola cheese with oil-soaked bread and some Barolo wine.
