CULTURE
Trifling with Truffles
By Scott Jacobs
No one has accused me of ever actually cooking, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know a culinary controversy when I see one, especially if it appears in the food section of The New York Times.
In the return of a column called De Gustibus as a forum for “opinion, argument and provocation” on all things food, San Francisco chef Daniel Patterson has thrown down the spatula against the widespread use of truffle oil.
As Patterson points out, the mushroom-like truffle is the piece de resistance of haute cuisine. Found mainly in southern France and northern Italy, truffles can be harvested only during a short spring season and appear on the market at prices ranging from $200 to $300 per ounce.
The great food writer Brillat Savarin wrote in 1825 that truffles are “the diamond of the kitchen” and praised their aphrodisiacal powers. To harness their flavor in meals that won’t pick the pocket of diners, the great chefs of the world use only truffle shavings to garnish their meats, fish and salads, thus sending customers into an orgy of taste with only a dab of extra expense.
About ten years ago, American chefs discovered they could get the same flavor from truffle oil. But Patterson has now peeled back the label on truffle oil to reveal that its truffle flavor comes entirely from a synthetic chemical called 2.4-dithiapentane mixed with olive oil. This is a controversy that a Food & Drug Administration who can’t even keep track of the ingredients in dog food probably won’t soon address. But Patterson and a number of other prominent chefs are incensed.
“The question is, why are so many chefs at all price points – who wouldn’t dream of using Vanillin instead of vanilla bean and who source their organic baby vegetables and humanely raised meats with exquisite care – using a synthetic flavoring agent?” he asked.
“I thought it was made from dried bits and pieces of truffles steeped in olive oil,” the chef at Café Cluny in New York said.
“I used to use white truffle oil a lot, but now I only use a little bit in my liquid black truffle ravioli,” said Grant Achatz, owner of the high-end Alinea restaurant in Chicago. “It adds a little more perfume, a slightly different flavor. I cut my teeth cooking at the French Laundry, and when we were using truffles there was always a bottle close by. But after I was on my own for a while, I started to ask myself why I was using it, and I didn’t have a good answer. It doesn’t even taste like truffle.”
In every controversy, there is outrage and there is opportunity. So I went down to the local Dominick’s the other day and bought myself a bottle of truffle oil ($2.25 an ounce) and a pound of steak. While I fired up the grill, my wife began preparing the meat. As soon as I walked into the kitchen, I sensed something was wrong.
“What’s that smell?” I asked.
“That’s your truffle oil,” she said.
“It smells like Keds,” I said.
“You mean kelp,” she said.
“No Keds, the gym shoe,” I said.
“Not my fault,” she said. “It’s your story."
I ferried the steaks out to the grill and began to work my magic. Patterson is outraged that “truffle oil has simultaneously democratized and cheapened the truffle experience.” But, as a fan of both democracy and cheap, I was beside myself with anticipation.
With a little sautéed asparagus and pasta in a cream sauce, my wife set our dinners out on the table. I patiently cut off a small corner of steak and popped in into my mouth.
“Well, how do you like it?” she asked. I waited a moment to savor the full effects.
“Tastes like Keds,” I said. As any boy from Wisconsin will tell you, you eat what you smell.
