One a cold winter weekend we hosted a truffle and turducken weekend at our family place on the Gippsland Lakes. It was 48 hours of cold weather, roaring open fires, whiskey, black gold and stuffed meat of a kind that has to be seen to be believed.
To be clear, we did not combine the truffles and turducken. Because not even truffles can improve upon the sheer magic that is a chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey.
Together with our friends we bought an obscene amount of exquisite Australian winter truffle (which we were lucky to get at a wholesale price through my brother-in-law who is a chef) for a once-in-a-lifetime weekend of truffled dishes.
We had truffle-perfumed poached eggs with grated truffle.
O.M.F.G it was good. And did you see that yolk just about to ooze out. Oozeapalaooza.
We made our own pasta and hung it to dry, as all good Italians do, over the clothes drying rack.
Dressed with a simple sauce of sautéed garlic, olive oil and salt we then grated stupid amounts of truffle over.
We made truffled risotto and served it with yet more truffle shavings, truffled vodka (which seemed like a good idea the night before but turned out to be not that appetising with breakfast), and cut the top of a piece of brie, inserted a whole layer of sliced truffle and then gently heated it. O.M.F.F.F.F.F.F.G.
The turducken (no photos – hard to make a hunk of meat like that look good!) was good too but really we were all there for the truffle.
We made s’mores for dessert. My friend sourced Graham Crackers and Rocky Mountain marshmallows from a US providore here – essential for authentic s’mores I’m told.
After much experimentation, by the second night we had cobbled together this pitchfork of deliciousness to toast everything to perfection at once.
Some were worn out by all the excitement and in what was perhaps a world first for a child, nodded off mid s’more.
A cracking winter weekend all in all: good friends, good fun, good fungus.