Drizzled
over romaine
greens. I wonder
at the pleasure
these pungent
fungi bring —
gold in a chef’s pan.
White truffle oil,
my preference,
more peppery
than the black.
Makes sense —
being part Sicilian —
that the
robust Italian
whites appeal more
than the tamer ebon
French ones.
All sub rosa
root-clinging
symbiotic fruiting
tubers — a
cabal
of crafty warty walnuts.
Beware
the poisonous
false ones. A bit of
truffle oil in brash
hands can be
dreadful
excess. Know
the supreme risk —
a snuffling sow
with a bent
for ravenous love
when
that special
pheromone flares. Still,
it’s
truffles’ hidden
nature that intrigues —
concealed
like the echoed
treasure of my
memories,
my musings,
secrets
I let
drizzle
in
my
mind.
― appeared in The Whistling Fire, 2009 |
