Truffle chips, truffle honey, truffle burgers: how a taste conquers Switzerland

Thomas Flammer's passion for truffles began with a liverwurst and a deception. He inherited his love of mushrooms from his father, a well-known figure in the mushroom world. As a doctor and mycologist, he had written such an influential reference work on poisonous mushrooms and mushroom poisoning that it was nicknamed "the Flammer" in expert circles.

So one day, their father brought home a "truffled liver sausage" from St. Gallen. This was a rarity in the 1990s; back then, there were hardly any products made with the rare and expensive mushrooms. But when the Flammers tasted the sausage, they were disappointed. Although it was speckled with black, it didn't taste of truffles.

Instead of getting annoyed, the Flammers analyzed the sausage mixture under the microscope.

The result: no trace of truffles. Instead, they found pieces of salsify. Olive skins. Medicinal charcoal. "A terrible scam," his father said, Thomas Flammer recalls. It was a fraud that hardly anyone could uncover, as food inspectors lacked the necessary knowledge to catch cheaters. So, father and son Flammer wrote a guidebook: "Truffles – Guide to the Analysis of Species Found in Trade." It was the first handbook to combat truffle scams.

Today, thirty years later, Thomas Flammer is considered a mushroom expert himself. The retired computer scientist maintains the mycopedia.ch directory, gives lectures on truffles, and provides expert opinions on authenticity and ripeness. On this August afternoon, he is sitting in his garden in Schaffhausen, tasting the mushrooms that have recently become extremely popular. Global sales of truffles and truffle products have been rising for years. In 2024, they significantly exceeded one billion dollars, and by 2034, they are expected to nearly double.

Flammer, however, isn't enthusiastic about the products he tastes. The truffle chips? "A marketing gimmick." The truffle mayonnaise? "Awful!" The truffle-stuffed olives? "Life's too short for such things."

Truffles were considered a luxury item for thousands of years. 4,000 years ago, the first desert truffles appeared on Sumerian clay tablets as gifts to kings. The ancient Greeks praised them as aphrodisiacs, the Romans dedicated poems to them, and the Prophet Muhammad called them the biblical manna.

In the late Middle Ages, black truffles were gifts for princesses and popes in Europe; the Florentine Caterina de' Medici introduced white truffles to the French court in the 16th century. And ever since, writes author Christian Volbracht in his book "The Truffle," the two have been in culinary competition: the black Périgord, the "diamond of the kitchen," and the white Tuber magnatum, the truffle of the powerful.

Whether they enriched the tables of wealthy citizens, were served at state banquets, or were shaved by the gram over dishes in gourmet restaurants, truffles always signaled that one could afford them. They were an edible status symbol.

Today, their taste is ubiquitous. There's hardly a food product that doesn't contain truffles: Retail shelves are filled with truffle honey and cheese, truffle snacks, truffle pasta, and truffle salt. Restaurants serve truffle fries and truffle burgers. And some bars mix truffle Negroni or serve truffle gin.

Why are truffles suddenly affordable?

The democratization of luxury products is a well-known phenomenon. When people crave delicacies from the rich, the market finds ways to fulfill their desires. There are several strategies for making expensive food accessible to the masses, and they often intertwine.

First: transport. The price of exclusive tropical fruits like pineapples plummeted after the invention of refrigerated containers – and pineapple varieties that rotted less quickly. Second: the industrialization of production. Smoked salmon transformed from a festive treat into an everyday commodity when it no longer had to be fished but could be cultivated in aquaculture. Third: substitute products. Instead of the desired product, a comparable but cheaper alternative is offered. Prosecco, for example, is also so popular because it sparkles like champagne without costing as much.

But with truffles, a fourth strategy comes into play: "You sell people the cheap taste instead of the expensive product," says Thomas Flammer. In his garden, he studies the list of ingredients for the truffle chips. They contain 0.4 percent truffles, less than half a gram per package. "You can't taste any of it," says Flammer. What you can taste is listed further down: "Truffle aroma." This is the ingredient that made the truffle boom possible in the first place.

Flavorings are the tasty and dirty secret of the food industry. Their names seem to have been invented solely to confuse laypeople. "Flavoring," "nature-identical flavoring," or "truffle flavoring" have nothing to do with real truffles; the flavor is created in the laboratory, not in the forest. The main ingredient is usually truffle sulfide, a volatile sulfur compound. It is extracted cheaply from liquefied natural gas.

"Natural flavoring" doesn't come from truffles either. The term means that a flavoring isn't synthetic, but rather made from plant or animal substances. This can include some cheeses, cooked meat, or shiitake mushrooms, which also contain the typical sulfur compound of the white truffle. However, this flavoring is more expensive than that from liquefied petroleum gas and is therefore used less frequently. What is almost never listed on the ingredients list is "natural truffle flavoring." Then—and only then—would the flavoring come from real truffles.

There are even fewer truffles in the truffle mayo than in the chips—zero percent—but they're flavorful. "Terrible," Flammer says again. "But at least it's honest." It makes no difference in taste anyway. Sprinkled with truffle pieces, it serves only one purpose: to deceive the consumer into believing they're responsible for the flavor.

Flammer continues tasting: "green olives filled with truffles" from a can. In Switzerland, products labeled "truffled" or "with truffles" must contain at least three percent truffles. Therefore, the chips and mayo simply say "with truffle flavor."

Truffle olives actually contain six percent truffle puree. "But that immediately raises the question of what kind of truffles they are," says Flammer. There are various types that vary enormously in taste and price. The noble black Périgord truffles (Tuber melanosporum) cost up to 2,000 francs per kilo, while the aromatic Burgundy truffles (Tuber uncinatum) cost 800 francs. Summer truffles (Tuber aestivum), with significantly less flavor, are available for around 250 francs. And Chinese truffles (Tuber indicum) can be had for under 100 francs, but they are almost tasteless.

The situation is similar with products containing "white truffles": one thinks of the precious Tuber magnatum, which costs 5,000 Swiss francs per kilo, but usually contains the white spring truffle (Tuber albidum pico or Tuber borchii), which is only a tenth as expensive and tastes completely different.

Whether it's truffle creams, truffle sauces, or slices of truffle in oil, it's usually a cheap kind infused with artificial flavoring. And once that flavoring is in place, the quality of the truffles no longer matters. Flavors are designed to saturate human taste. You can't enhance truffles with flavoring. Even the smallest amount overpowers the real taste.

Truffle flavoring is the cartoon version of the truffle: blatant, one-dimensional, and overly intense. Some restaurateurs detest it as fervently as they do eloquently. Especially artificial truffle oil, the vanguard of today's boom. British celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay called it "one of the most penetrating and ridiculous ingredients." American cookbook author Martha Stewart warned that it ruins almost every dish. And Anthony Bourdain, the gourmet adventurer, derided truffle oil as the "ketchup of the middle class."

Thomas Flammer emphasizes: Everyone's taste is different. Some people can't even perceive the smell and taste of truffles, while for others it seems so strong that it reminds them of urine or sweat. Some people think they don't like truffles because they only know the artificial flavor. When they try a real truffle, they're suddenly thrilled. Conversely, many have become accustomed to industrial products and find real truffles lacking in truffle flavor. That's why restaurants often drizzle artificial truffle oil over real truffle dishes. They don't want to disappoint their guests.

What advice does Flammer give to someone who's never tried truffles, either as artificial flavoring or fresh? "Start slowly and build up later," he says. He recommends starting with a Swiss Burgundy truffle. These can be found, for example, at the Swiss truffle markets, which take place every September. Buy a small bulb and use it to make something simple, perhaps scrambled eggs or pasta. "It will be wonderful and might cost a twenty-franc note."

Actually, you don't even need a twenty-franc note. Burgundy truffles are also free. Like hidden treasures, they grow in the forests and parks of Switzerland, often even in the heart of the city. Unless it's mushroom season, anyone can harvest them. There's just one problem: They're 5 to 30 centimeters underground. To find them, you need a truffle dog.

For example, one like a burrito.

The seven-month-old male isn't quite ready yet. He's fidgeting between the trees in a forest in Aargau. Burrito is a Lagotto Romagnolo, a breed also known simply as a truffle dog because of the traditional Italian aid in the search for truffle meat. So he has excellent qualities and is highly motivated. Perhaps even a little too motivated. He's so excited that he can hardly stand still. "He's very, very fidgety," says his owner, Olivia Kiefer, a veterinarian. "He's a bit like me."

This afternoon, Burrito is attending the truffle school. For this, instructor Denise Stalder has placed hollow plastic truffles filled with a piece of truffle along the side of the road. Burrito has just discovered such a dummy by the side of the road. "Now praise him, praise him hard," Stalder calls out. "So he knows you really like this!" Olivia Kiefer says, "Fine, Burrito, fine," and unscrews a tube.

Even a truffle dog like Burrito isn't born with the ability to find truffles. Like any sniffer dog, he must first be conditioned to a particular scent, as the jargon goes. Whether that's truffles or drugs makes no difference for training purposes. The principle is simple: Burrito should associate the scent with something wonderful. That's why, over the past month, Olivia Kiefer has frequently ostentatiously cheered, praised him effusively, and repeatedly unwrapped Burrito's favorite snack: liver paste, straight from the tube.

The truffle boom isn't just about the aroma of truffles, but also about people like Olivia Kiefer. Truffle hunting has become a hobby for people who enjoy spending their free time outdoors, like hiking, mountaineering, or mushroom hunting, only with a dog.

Humans have always relied on animals for truffles. Initially, they relied on the truffle pig. Unlike dogs, pigs search for the scent of their own accord. However, they damage the soil, dig up unripe mushrooms, and prefer to eat their finds themselves. When people learned to train dogs to detect the scent, they replaced the pigs.

Insects can also help. The truffle fly often hovers over the areas where the tubers grow, laying its eggs nearby. But this method requires a keen eye, patience, and a high tolerance for frustration, if you compare its yield to that of a dog.

Truffle hunters have existed in Switzerland for a long time. Thanks to them, an immensely popular product once came onto the market. In 1950, the Fribourg food manufacturer Claude Blancpain presented a "sandwich cream with truffle liver": Le Parfait. The truffles for this product were supplied by hunters from the region. However, they were soon replaced by autumn trumpet truffles, which grow above ground and are easier to find. After that, the art of truffle hunting fell into oblivion, if not entirely.

Today, thousands, perhaps even ten thousand, truffle hunters roam the Swiss forests with their dogs. No one knows the exact number. How the boom began, however, is clear. It began when dogs trained to detect scent, often from Italy, began to appear in this country again. And the hobby really took off with the first truffle courses for amateurs. From that moment on, every dog ​​was a potential truffle dog.

Denise Stalder has now taught hundreds of dogs to search for truffles. She was the first trainer to offer professional courses in Switzerland. Today, the selection of training options is vast and confusing. They range from a purely online course for 35 Swiss francs to multi-part private intensive training for 1,200 Swiss francs.

At Stalder, the theory and practical parts each cost 100 francs, and she only takes dog owners into the forest who have completed the theory first. Stalder, a trained cynologist, doesn't want to offer a quick fix. "It's not about a dog finding as many truffles as possible as quickly as possible," she says. Success depends on the owner. "Actually, I teach people how to hunt truffles, not dogs."

Olivia Kiefer, along with Burrito, has already invested a lot of time in her future as a truffle hunter. A month ago, she took part in Stalder's theory course, which has been held online since the coronavirus pandemic. In one and a half hours, participants learn the basics of truffles: What are truffles? (Ascomycetes that grow underground in symbiosis with certain trees.) Where can you find them? (In calcareous soils, near trees like oaks, beeches, or hazel bushes.) How do you harvest them so that new ones grow back? (You carefully dig them up and refill the hole with soil so that the fungal mycelium, the invisible root system, doesn't dry out.) And of course: How do you get your dog to search for the scent?

The answer: with praise and liver paste. Olivia Kiefer has been practicing with a truffle dummy every day for the past month. At first, she made it easy for Burrito. As soon as he sniffed the dummy, she squealed and let him lick the tube. Later, she hid the dummy in the apartment, then in the garden. Now, Burrito finds the plastic truffles immediately. But that doesn't mean he's internalized the truffle smell yet. Perhaps he's following the scent of the plastic. Or that of his owner, who held the dummy in her hand while hiding it.

On this Tuesday afternoon in August, the next step is on: practical training in the dog's natural habitat, a deciduous forest. Here, too, the difficulty is gradually increased. First, the dummies are placed along the side of the path, then they are lightly buried. Finally, real truffles are hidden in the forest. And as a climax, the dog is supposed to search the area and find wild truffles. "Praise," Stalder says repeatedly, or "bring more calm" if the dog and owner become too fidgety.

Denise Stalder's passion for truffles began with a demonstration and an unexpected discovery. In the early 2000s, she visited a dog show with her daughter Maja and their dog Aysha. An Italian truffle hunter demonstrated how to hunt for the mushrooms in his homeland. First, he let his own dog search for hidden truffles on a hillside, then the spectators were allowed to try their luck. Maja was eager to try it with Aysha. The dog ran up the hill and picked something up at the top. "At first, we thought it was dog poop and wanted to scold her," says Stalder. "But it was a truffle."

Shortly thereafter, Stalder read in the newspaper that dogs had found truffles in Bern. And there were also supposed to be some on the Rhine, near her home. Stalder set out to search without much hope. And Aysha found her first wild truffle on the very first afternoon. Her success at the exhibition had already been enough to train her to smell.

When Stalder then called the mushroom inspector to ask whether truffle hunting was even permitted in the area, he replied that she could search as much as she wanted; there were none anyway. The discovery caused a minor sensation. Soon after, Stalder developed a method for teaching dogs to hunt for truffles. And she began breeding truffle dogs. Her breed is called Spirito del bosco, the Spirit of the Forest.

Back in the forest, another team is searching for truffles: Sandra Berger and Hailey. The four-year-old is a Jack Russell Terrier. Denise Stalder has also had Golden Retrievers, Chihuahuas, and, of course, many mixed breeds in her classes. Breed is unimportant, as long as a dog has a good nose and enjoys searching.

Hailey has been training a little longer than Burrito and remains more relaxed. She quickly sniffed out the hidden dummies and truffles, and now she's allowed to search for wild truffles. She's digging under a beech tree. Her owner looks over. "There's nothing there, maybe she smells a mouse," she says. Denise Stalder hesitates. "The way she's digging—it looks like truffle hunting to me." But Hailey loses interest, moves on, and her owner follows. "They're both close," says Stalder. With Burrito and Olivia Kiefer, however, it might take a while. "Truffles are found by those who stay calm."

On this day, success is lacking: Neither team finds any wild truffles. But at the end of the training session, Stalder's daughter Maja has her own two dogs search the wooded area. It takes less than a minute for them to find them—exactly in the spot where Hailey had been digging.

Most course participants later harvest truffles for their own use. Denise Stalder also says: "I quickly stopped selling truffles." If you want to make a business out of it, you just run from tree to tree. And no one gets rich from it in Switzerland anyway. "At most, it's a supplement to the feed and the vet."

Truly diligent truffle hunters can earn a few thousand francs a year by selling their finds at markets, online, or to restaurants. However, this could change in the future. The noble black Périgord truffles are now also being found in Switzerland – and even the white Alba truffle, the most valuable species of all. In 2012, a truffle dog unearthed the first Alba truffle north of the Alps in a Geneva city park; as of 2021, several finds have been reported around Zurich.

That sounds promising, but not all truffle hunters are happy. With Alba truffles priced at 5,000 Swiss francs per kilo, a hobby is turning into a lucrative business, possibly with the excesses that are commonplace in Italy. Competitors there steal truffle dogs—or poison them; hundreds are said to be found each year. The fight for the "white gold" is intensifying because the number of finds is declining. Climate change also threatens one of the world's most expensive delicacies.

If truffles are so valuable and in such high demand, why not simply grow them?

High above Büren an der Aare, Stefan Spahr walks through a forest he planted himself in 2011: the first truffle plantation in German-speaking Switzerland. Growing on an area the size of six tennis courts are a good 100 trees, including hornbeam, black pine, and shrub hazel. 100 trees isn't a lot, but Spahr doesn't want to harvest as many truffles as possible. His artificial forest is a display garden and a kind of experimental facility for the mushroom species of the future.

Stefan Spahr's passion for truffles began with this piece of land and too many dead animals. The 15 acres belonged to the single-family home he acquired in 1991. He wanted to use the land wisely. First, he kept chickens there, later rabbits. But they didn't survive long. There are foxes and other predators up here. "The forest is simply too close."

One day, Spahr's father returned from a trip through France and told him about truffle plantations. They have a long tradition there. Two hundred years ago, farmers deliberately planted oak trees to cultivate Périgord truffles. After phylloxera destroyed a million hectares of vineyards starting in 1865, plantations on the abandoned land experienced a boom. At the end of the 19th century, 1,000 tons of truffles were harvested annually in France.

In the 1970s, it was one-fiftieth of that. Most plantations had disappeared due to the world wars, rural exodus, and intensive agriculture. Growing wine or fruit seemed safer and more profitable than cultivating truffles.

In the meantime, however, the plantations have been revived. This is thanks to advances in research. Scientists had succeeded in inoculating tree seedlings with truffle spores. This virtually guaranteed that truffles would grow later. Moreover, the tubers had become so expensive that farmers sensed a new business opportunity.

In 2011, Stefan Spahr began transforming his fallow land into a future truffle paradise. He turned to the Austrian company Trüffelgarten, which analyzes locations and soils and sells trees inoculated with truffle spores. The seedlings grow for two years under strict supervision to prevent other fungal spores from reaching their roots.

Foreign fungal spores are also a problem on Spahr's plantation. The forest is actually too close not only for chicken farming, but also for truffle production. From there, the spores of 900 other fungi migrate in, competitors to the truffles, most of them more dominant.

"But the forest is there," says Spahr. That's often the case with truffle plantations: You're working with reality. And it takes patience. "In the first few years, you put money and effort into it, but you don't get anything out of it." Depending on the type of truffle, it takes three to six years until the first find. For Spahr, it took seven. He harvested his first Burgundy truffle in 2018.

The adult educator has since become an expert in truffle cultivation. He has taken over the Swiss representation of the Trüffelgarten company. Since then, he has helped establish 40 plantations in Switzerland, covering a total of 20 hectares. He also trains the dogs required for this purpose. Even in plantations, truffles are almost impossible to find without their help.

Farms without dogs can count on the Swiss Truffle Producers' Association, of which Spahr is president. The association provides harvest helpers with dogs. On large plantations, such as those found in France, but also in Spain, Australia, and New Zealand, harvest helpers are even a job. The farms, some of which cover 15 to 20 hectares, hire truffle hunters with dogs. They regularly walk the rows of trees and mark the locations so that the truffles can be dug up later.

A professional truffle dog shouldn't dig for the tubers themselves; they only point them out with their paws. That's what Ava, Stefan Spahr's Border Collie, does. She excitedly toddle beneath a hornbeam tree. Spahr kneels down and carefully pulls a tennis ball-sized Burgundy truffle from the ground. Although the Burgundy truffle is particularly common in Swiss forests, it's not easy to cultivate because it reacts particularly sensitively to other fungal spores. "It's a bit of a Sissi. And it's not the future," says Spar.

The Swiss Federal Institute for Forest, Snow and Landscape Research (WSL) has been studying the impact of climate change on Burgundy truffles for fifteen years. The conclusion: bad. If the average summer temperature rises by one degree, the harvest drops by a quarter. If it rises by three degrees, Burgundy truffles are no longer found.

Spahr is therefore also experimenting with other varieties, including winter truffles, spring truffles, and even Périgord truffles; he harvested the first in 2020. These "diamonds of the kitchen" could benefit from climate change in Switzerland; however, they don't like the clayey soils common here. But when they thrive, they have many advantages: They can be harvested after just four years. And they are lucrative.

Stefan Spahr calculates how much money a Périgord plantation covering one hectare can bring in. One can expect 40 to 50 kilograms of truffles, about half of which are top-quality, for which around 2,000 francs are paid. The other half fetches about half as much. That's around 75,000 francs a year.

The white truffle, however, remains a dream for now. Like many other experimental farms around the world, Spahr is experimenting with it. But nowhere is it working to a level that would make it profitable. If Tuber magnatum were to be cultivated one day, it would revolutionize the truffle world. Spahr suspects this could happen in ten to fifteen years.

Anyone who's now keen on truffles can start the smallest possible plantation: buy a single truffle tree for around 40 francs and plant it in their own garden. Detailed care instructions are included. But sometimes laziness pays off. One of Stefan Spahr's clients planted a small plantation and then simply did nothing. Ten years later, Spahr came by with his dog and collected kilos of truffles from the overgrown forest.