white truffle, hen egg, robiola pizza with Bolognese sauce

I did not intend for 2012 to start somberly, but I can’t seem to lighten my loafers. All I can think about is change. Once I start to lose my personal struggle with change, it shrouds everything I see, taste and touch like a thick, mocking apparition.

Let me back up. Ever since I was small, I have had a heel-dragging reaction to stagnancy. At the merest whisper of stillness, my tiny self leapt on to the next dragon, slaying it with the unbridled passion of a wild-minded child. When I was six I attacked the art of spelling fiercely, until I won the Idaho State Spelling Bee. Granted, the state’s population was only a million at the time, but still. I drank in words and letters like a parched vulture, eventually conquering every volume of an encyclopedia. Read more

It’s truffle season again, my darlings; get out your sniffers and let’s get down and get woodsy with it.  I have heard tell that this season isn’t considered a vintage year in the grand scheme of things, but my craving is so strong once I go an entire year without a whiff that I’m willing to do just about anything for a fine white truffle from Alba.  I asked my friend Shane who works at DeLaurenti to keep his ear to the ground about impending truffle arrival and he gave me the heads’ up a few days ago that now is the time.  I headed down to pick up the fine specimen he hand-selected for me, and we did a mini photo shoot with Rachel, the Pike Place Market pig before I collected my prize and hunted for the rest of the ingredients of the feast. 

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