Sniffing out the tastiest truffles in town — and some much more affordable 'shrooms in the woods

It's white truffle season in Alba, Italy, and the folks at DeLaurenti Specialty Food & Wine are saying, "Come and get 'em" at (gasp!) $4,000 a pound. The Pike Place Market shop (1435 First Ave., Seattle, 206-622-0141, www.delaurenti.com) is proudly promoting the famously fragrant fungi, importing Piemontese truffles in weekly half-pound increments. It's first-come, first-served for those with lotsa lire.

With the American dollar weak and demand for these autumnal treasures strong (unusually dry weather has ill-affected this year's harvest), the truffle pipeline won't be as prolific as in years past. Which is why DeLaurenti encourages truffle "hunters" who don't want to be left out in the Seattle rain to call two or three days in advance — with credit card in hand for prepayment. And DeLaurenti isn't the only local middleman for the monetarily motivated.

Seattle Caviar Co. (2922 Eastlake Ave. E., Seattle, 206-323-3005, www.caviar.com) is also taking special orders for white truffles. "I'm not bringing them in just to have them around," says owner Betsy Sherrow, whose cost is currently running about $3,200 per pound — before mark-up. What she does have around are Italian black truffles. Those pungent perishables, imported weekly and sold at $740 per pound, are kept refrigerated in vacuum-sealed bags. Looking to shave black truffles over your pasta or polenta? That'll run you $46.25 an ounce, which Sherrow describes as "about the size of a walnut."

Or, you can go out to dinner.

Last Thursday, chef Holly Smith was gearing up — literally — to inspect her first delivery of white truffles at Cafe Juanita (9702 N.E. 120th Place, 425-823-1505, www.cafejuanita.com). "This is the first week I jumped in. We signed the UPS-track at 12:11 p.m.," said Smith, speaking by cellphone as she drove to her Kirkland restaurant. Having jumped, Smith's customers said, "We don't care how high!"

"I'm not looking to make money on the truffles," said Smith, who paid $900 for her quarter-pound shipment — reputed to have been rooted out two days earlier in Piedmont (she later reckoned she'd made a whopping $9 profit selling them). "I'm looking to provide the experience. It's an exciting thing to have in the house." That very evening she was expecting a houseful of guests whose ship(ment) had come in: patrons who'd been clamoring for truffles for weeks.

Smith's first attempt to bag the great whites — in late October — proved a classic case of you snooze, you lose. "By the time I woke up and got the e-mail [from her purveyor, touting their availability], the East Coast chefs had already taken them."

You never know what you're going to get before you get your hands on an order, Smith told me. "You just cross your toes" — and put your trust in your purveyor. Arriving at the restaurant, she made a beeline for a small bag marked "Smell Me" — then put her nose to the test. "Ooh! They smell great," she said, noting that these were the smallest truffles she'd ever received, but that her trusted source had, in fact, come through with a quality product. "These are good. They're solid." Given her good luck, she expects to purchase "one more batch" of white gold for her frenzied foodies this week.

Though the raw truffles are traditionally shaved tableside with a sharp, handheld plane, Smith prefers an inexpensive Japanese mandolin to get the job done at Cafe Juanita. She uses only the most "impeccable" of the homely tubers for shaving, while lesser specimens are processed into truffle-butter and foie gras torchons. Occasionally, she resorts to shaving the garnish in the kitchen, noting that, while working tableside, "I've gotten out there and had hunks of truffle fall onto the plate" — costing her big bucks.

Last week, nobody balked at paying a $21 supplemental charge for their favorite fungi — about a dozen thin slices shaved over poached eggs with fonduta, raviolo with truffle butter and a cruda of raw Nantucket bay scallops and yellowtail, with additional grams available at $8 a pop. But at $900 a quarter-pound, Smith said she balked a bit when her initial truffle delivery weighed in at 3.8 ounces rather than the promised four.

Chalking the difference up to moisture loss, she acknowledged, "They smell and taste amazing, so I shouldn't complain." But she complained anyway: when the truffles sold out within 32 hours of arriving at her restaurant's door. "I should have gotten half a pound, at least."

Lampreia's Scott Carsberg was complaining loudly last week at the price — and quality — of this year's truffle harvest. Apparently, nobody knows the truffles he's seen.

"This is the worst year ever," said the chef/owner of Lampreia (2400 First Ave., Seattle, 206-443-3301, www.lampreiarestaurant.com), whose autumn menu has famously offered a multitude of dishes touting "tartufi bianchi." Not this year. The truffles he's gotten his hands on in recent weeks "weren't even worth serving," said Carsberg, who has been doing business with the same respected purveyor for more than a decade. "He's a great guy. He always takes care of me, and this year he's saying, 'Don't do it!' " Carsberg believes the highest quality truffles — the very ones he's after — are staying in Europe.

With prices double last year's, "It's over-the-top expensive, and you can't really justify the cost to the customer," said the guy who once shaved a blizzard of Piedmont's finest over a plate of Northwest chanterelles and charged me $70 for the pleasure. (Hey! I was working — and charging that pleasure to The Seattle Times.) And speaking of culinary pleasures, stalking fabulous fungi is one of the great joys of living in the Pacific Northwest — and it doesn't have to cost a red cent.

To prove my point, allow me to direct you to that lovely basket of chanterelles in the photo accompanying this column. I picked 'em with my own hands! Granted, I had help — from my husband; my son; and the principal watershed steward for Snohomish County, a fun guy named Dave Ward, who regularly walks the woods in search of incredible edibles.

My husband met our friendly forager through the Stilly-Snohomish Fisheries Enhancement Task Force, where Dave sold his mushroom-hunting services at a charity auction for the nonprofit, promising to lead the highest bidder to his "happy hunting ground" during the fall chanterelle season. The highest bidder — thanks, Hon! — spent a whopping $75 on the gift that keeps on giving. I'd be happy to tell you exactly where Dave's happy hunting ground resides, but then, of course, I'd have to kill you.

As a novice 'shroomer who has come home empty-handed more times than I care to count, I was in seventh heaven traipsing through the forest on a recent Sunday with an expert guide capable of distinguishing the golden chanterelle from its deadly cousins (we found those, too). Dave made suggestions regarding where to look (in mossy patches and under low-lying hemlocks) and showed us how to identify various mushrooms with the help of David Arora's exceptional guide, "Mushrooms Demystified." He explained how to tread softly and cut our quarry at its root end (gently, on both counts), offering a wealth of knowledge that every uneasy forager could hope to ask for.

And when I got my big, meaty chanterelles home, brushed off the dirt and errant needles before cooking them (first sautéed in butter with fresh razor clams, later with onions, cream and thyme in wild mushroom soup), they were every bit as delicious — perhaps even more so — than $4,000-a-pound truffles.

Nancy Leson: 206-464-8838 or nleson@seattletimes.com.

More columns available at seattletimes.com/nancyleson.