Giuliano Martinelli is a quintessential Italian man: passionate, warm, and hospitable. By the end of our four hours with him, we'd all been sent off with a hug. He is as loving as the many dogs with whom he hunts for truffles in the forest near Pietralunga, Umbria. He is the proud owner and face of Giuliano Tartufi, a truffle business housed in a modern white building that serves as a tasting room, production facility, and headquarters for truffle hunting.
Giuliano greeted us with his pack of mutts who are trained to smell out the truffles that are buried inches underneath the ground. They are working, happy dogs who inspired me to live more like a dog: purposefully and joyfully. Giuliano is similar to them in that his work is his life—and it couldn't make him happier.
We were served a "light" lunch after we'd successfully collected five or so truffles (thanks to Lola the chief hunter) and toured the factory. This is where Italian culture and American culture diverge in opposite directions: in the States, we would've been given a token dish with truffles and sent on our way. Our experience here could not have been more different.
Giuliano and his staff were the most generous and genuine hosts. He sat down and shared the meal with us, answered our questions, told us about his work and life, and continually grated more truffles on our plates.
The summer black truffles that we collected look like they could've been buried space nuggets. They have an outer dark, warty skin that has a paler meaty interior. They smell mild and earthy. They go for about €2/gram, so I'd be worth about €113,398 (slightly undervalued, if you ask me).
We started with an aperitivo of truffle spreads on bread, Giuliano's homemade salami and prosciutto, and truffle cheese (all topped with shaved truffle). The most enticing and surprising element was a truffle fondue—luscious, intense, cheesy yet bright. The white wine tasted sweeter depending on which bite I ate with it.
Next, we had red wine with a tender tagliatelle topped with truffle snow (thinly sliced truffles). It was a simple yet complete dish: the long strands of buttery, truffle-flavored pasta were complemented by the mellow nutty truffle snow. Raw truffle tastes and smells much less recognizable than truffle-flavored foods. The simplicity of the colors, shapes, and textures made this dish look beautiful visually.
Before I knew it, Giuliano was preparing gnocchi in front of us. "More than four ingredients is confusion!" he proclaimed as he added fragrant olive oil to a large skillet and then grated in a generous amount of truffle and added salt. The fourth ingredient, gnocchi, was added before he served each of us with another grating of truffle. The fresh, bright taste of the olive oil was surprisingly the most prominent flavor, and it reminded me of how important the quality of each ingredient is. When you only have four, each one matters.
It is a good thing we have auxiliary stomachs for dessert because we still had the lemon ice to try. Topped with a truffle-infused honey and truffle bits, it was the most refreshing and exciting pairing of truffle yet. Cold, tart, smooth ice with earthy truffle and sweet honey was a perfect finish to the meal. After my snowball was gone, I concluded that truffle might go best with something sweet.
A digestive, an espresso, and a hug later, we were full, satisfied, and loved. Thank you for being, Giuliano.
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