Truffles

I have never been on the “inside” of anything. My perspective has always been somewhat from the outside. I guess you should know that my views tend toward the conservative. You will not find my name on the subscribers list of Politically Correct Monthly. In fact I think that if I go through a day with offending someone then I haven’t been trying hard enough. I don’t apologize too often. I am Polish and if I took the time to apologize for every insensitive or stupid thing I said or did I wouldn’t have time to ask, “Dondez esta el bano?’ and I would have to start wearing depends before my appointed time.

Now, with that out of the way, it’s down to business.

I have a relative who has been living and working in some foreign countries for the last several years and they have all been countries where it seems the mainstay of the carnivorous is pork. I can’t tell you were he has been working (well I could tell you but then I would have to shoot myself - I know, I know, but I told you, I’m Polish), but considering the pork thing you can pretty much rule out the Middle East, Pakistan, Tres Tragique-istan, Captain Kirk-istan, Make a new Plan-istan, and any other of the stans that popped up about 20 years ago.

But it was weird because just about every time I would talk or “chat” with him it would be about his dinner time and he would tell me he was fixing ribs, or pork chops, or pork roast. I think one time he actually told me he was fixing chicken, but then it turned out it was wrapped in bacon. I started to worry. I kept remembering the old saying, “You are what you eat”, and it sounded like a little snorting had crept into his laugh when I would regale him with the occasional joke or humorous anecdote.

I told myself I was being silly and had pretty much put it out of my mind until he came to visit a while back. One afternoon I came home and found him in the back yard down on his hands and knees crawling slowly along with his snout (er I mean nose) a half inch off the ground. I asked him what the heck he was doing. He looked at me like only an idiot wouldn’t know and said, “Hunting for Truffles”. I was stunned. I ran for the phone book. But in that moment of hesitation while I was trying to figure out whose number to look up first – a psychiatrist or the ASPCA – I realized he looked really happy out there. In fact you could say he looked “as happy as a pig in – well you know the rest” so I just let him be.

When he came in he looked a little disappointed that he hadn’t found any of the fungus (I later learned they don’t grow in Florida), but overall still happy. While he was visiting I ate my year’s ration of ribs, and he continued his “hunting” every afternoon.

After he left I did some research and, Holy Moley, those dang white truffles can bring $1,600.00 a pound. However, in the US, they only seem to grow in the Northwest so I am thinking about moving to Seattle or Portland and inviting him over for a visit next fall during the height of truffle harvesting season. In the meantime I am going to keep in touch with him overseas (and I still can’t tell you where because if I did I would have to drink a bunch of shots) and for his birthday send him a copy of “The World’s 500 Greatest Pork Recipes.

I have my eyes on the new Lexus convertible if it pans out.