The snuffle of the Truffle - January, in France.

Truffles have been around since the Pharaos were in short pants. Quite why the first sandal kicked the first truffle, prompting its wearer to bend down and take a mouthful, is another story altogether. But we have been loving them ever since...

King Francis I of France (let's hope he didn’t endure the challenges of rhotacism) was the first noble notable to put truffles on the royal platter. His truffly gusto was duly noted by the brilliant lawyer-turned-chef, Jean Brillat-Savarin, coiner of the word "gastronomy." Brillat-Savarin considered the truffle so delightful that he named it "The diamond of the kitchen." He even had a friend mix some into a sweet, fresh cheese, and named it in his own honour. How jolly French of him...

Truffles have gone in and out of foodie fashion, like flared trousers. It wasn’t until the 1960s that the French and Italian Ministries of Agriculture got together to promote their popularity and commercial cultivation. The rest, as they say, is recent history. Now, European White truffles can fetch an eye-watering €3,000 a pound, making them the most expensive food on the planet. "Where can I find some?" I hear you ask, as you glance around for a suitable dog you may not actually own yet. The good news is that they are relatively abundant; the bad news is they could be, like real diamonds, absolutely anywhere.

Truffles grow underground in symbiotic relationships with the roots of certain trees, such as oak, beech, poplar, and hazelnut. This symbiosis occurs as an exchange of nutrients between the truffle and the tree. "Fine... whatever... where can I find some?" you beg wearily. Truffles are notoriously difficult to see, as they hide beneath 30cm of well-drained, alkaline soil. Luckily, they wear one of Mother Nature's most pungent perfumes, as they rely heavily on being dug up and propogated by through the poop of wild pigs. They need a scent that will attract the snouts of those porky miners...

Next, you will need a dog. A pig would also suit, but pigs tend to eat what they find. So unless you plan on pre-truffled ham, you’ll need to train the neighbour's pooch. Dogs can pinpoint the scent of a mature truffle with remarkable accuracy. Although not all dogs are suited for this task. Our dog Vito could not find a ham sandwich on a plate of many other ham sandwiches. We love him for many reasons, but a Truffle Hound, he is not.

Here in South West France, near the home of Platform 13, truffles are plentiful—legion, in fact. Our annual local truffle market took place today, showcasing them in remarkable quantities. Our region of Périgord prizes the truffle. Cold-infused into butter and cream, shaved wafer-thin over scrambled eggs or foie gras, this is "ambrosia"—the food of the gods.

As well as being hideously difficult to find, the smell and taste of a truffle are challenging to describe. So, I asked "my truffle guy" at today's market (no, I do not have him on speed dial) to encapsulate the fragrance in a phrase. To describe the smell of a truffle... In words. Five words or less (not easy for a French bumpkin). "Wet leaves and soil-covered nuts" is the best translation I can come up with. Not exactly a ringing endorsement that would stop me dead in my tracks on aisle five... This is indeed the trouble with the pricey old truffle. It is one of those "love it or hate it" foods—like Marmite, durian, oysters, and tofu. The price also makes them easy to dismiss. A mouthful that rivals my mortgage... hmmm, I think not.

Truffles, like most of their mushroomy cousins, are extremely nutritious. They contain intact proteins rich in methionine and lysine, along with minerals like sulphur and magnesium. But so does halibut, and at €3,000 a pound, there would be plenty more fish in the sea at that price. It’s the designation as a delicacy that gives truffles their unaffordable "value." January is the height of their season, and chefs, cooks, and culinary enthusiasts alike are out in force, spaniels and spades in hand, hoping to score a few black diamonds while stocks last.

Vanessa and I are "either way" with truffles. We enjoyed many during the five years we lived in Tuscany, as many were gifted to us as part of an unspoken, tax-exempt barter economy. We like seeing things "truffé"—anchovies, oils, cheeses, pâtés, and pies. It would be lovely if our trusty Vito (himself Italian) could snout out a black diamond or three, but he prefers the more approachable scent of a roasting chicken or the whiff of a baking lemon drizzle cake to even remotely raise his nose from his pink, faux-fur blanket.

Maybe treat yourself to the truffle experience in the comfort of your local bistro. Take the hard work out of the tiny-tuber season. I’m sure your dog would prefer a warm snooze under the table rather than trudging through a thick, wet forest. In any case, to echo the immortal words of travel writer Sybille Bedford, "All foods are the gifts of nature, and all foods have something of the miraculous about them. The egg no less than the truffle."

Omelettes it is then, and hold the truffle...