these things are truff-erific

In gumboots, hiking boots, runners, and even Uggs, we squelched through clay-clumpy terrain, scurried up hills and slipped on wet leaves. All in the name of truffles. With two  truffle-hunters as our noses - they are dogs in Italy rather than the piggies used in France- we too became honorary truff-divers. A special thanks goes out to Zorro, the little blonde dog that could, who despite being outshone by the tarty black and white one, pigheadedly sniffed high and low and in the end hit gold (we had hoped it might be oil). I pocketed that little off-white beauty and with my housies bit into its unwashed reminiscent-of-beetroot-earthy goodness.

A tartufo nero. Photography by h.bobbiro.