Truffle Extinction?

       The French call them  black diamonds. Dark balls of buried fungus which can infuse  a winter breakfast of scrambled eggs with a perfume sent from heaven.

       This year in Provence they’ve been even harder to find in the wild than normal. They are falling victim, like so many other agricultural staples here, to climate change.

       At the truffle market in the town of Aups, the task of choosing the most pungent of what remains of this year’s crop of  culinary gems though was  one of the few pleasures of life NOT being hampered by the pandemic.

I bought mine from Davit Stephan. He said producers now are having to water around their oak trees to encourage the growth of their prized symbiotic partners.

        One hundred grammes of them cost me eighty euros. Still a bargain compared to the price they could have fetched in Paris.

        Our olive farm above Correns has at its heart a grove of oak trees rumoured once to have produced several kilos of Tuber melanosporum.

        We set out to find the buried treasure with the help of a local team led by Belle, a 12 year old truffle hound, and her guardian Monsieur Castelain, a man of few words but an eloquent range of facial expressions.

       Alas none were to be found. But the keen sense of anticipation was an enjoyment all by itself. The team said they would come again in March after the last frosts of the winter. WARNING. Recipe imminent.

If you are lucky enough to find one or have pockets deep enough to buy one you might try this version of scrambled eggs with truffles . First place your black diamond in an air-tight jar with some fresh free-range eggs.

Leave them together for two days. Drink a cup of freshly-brewed coffee. Then open the jar and inhale deeply. Extract the truffle once you have recovered. Clean the dark lady with tap water and a toothbrush to remove any gritty particles of soil and dog saliva. Do not attempt to peel it. Pick up and open the young, fruity and green extra-virgin olive oil just purchased from this website and once again admire the label of Sous Les Etoiles.

Dish out 4 tablespoons of the oil into a cup. Apply a damp cloth to the droplets on your dressing gown. Grate the lump of tuber until your thumb starts to bleed. Suck it dry and turn on France 24 to find out which year you will finally be vaccinated. After watching the whole bulletin and not finding any answer, the oil and truffles will have happily married. Beat them into a froth with the eggs and the bits of broken shell. Use a wooden salad fork because that’s all you can find in the kitchen. Add the plentiful residue of Roman sea salt from the beaches of Arles lying on the shelves of the pantry with the black pearls of pepper from Zanzibar . Start looking for a double boiler. (What the f*** is that? Consult Nigella Lawson. Get stuck on the Rhubarb and Custard Trifle) Pour the mixture into the top pan. Whatever you do …..keep stirring. It should take 20 minutes for the eggs to reach the consistency of a delicate cream. After 40 minutes mine still looked like the contents of a bathroom sink after a wet shave. But keep stirring. Squeeze a large lump of what the French call cream out of what looks like a tube of toothpaste someone has just sat on. And keep stirring! Upend onto a plate. Do not take too long photographing and arranging the props for Instagram, Facebook and LinkedIN. It needs to be eaten while hot.

Go and comfort the dog who has been waiting patiently for her poached turkey breast all morning.