asparagus black truffle

Asparagus with Black Truffles and Butter. 

Just reading it made her mouth water. She hadn't known that she craved it until that moment. There was no need to read through the menu. 

The plate was set before her unceremoniously. Three fat stalks of naked asparagus. No truffles. No butter. She suddenly understood the agony of pigs who moved earth with bare snouts, driven by a primal fervor, only to have the object of their desire snatched away. 

She ached with unrequited truffle-lust.

"Yes ma'am, I assure you that there are truffles in the asparagus."

Had he spoken with less conviction, she would have handed the dish back and demanded satisfaction.

Had he not been so lucid, she could have come unhinged.

 

She poked the asparagus, moved them around the plate. 

Come out, come out, wherever you are.  

Nothing. 

He said they were in there.  

She lifted one to her nose, sniffed for evidence, found none. 

Was he lying?  

She caught his eye. 

I assure you...

Even before taking a bite, she knew that the asparagus were perfectly cooked. She had cooked enough of them herself to recognize the graceful arch; the way they bowed from their own weight when lifted. Familiarity did not diminish the pleasure she took in the first resilient bite and hexanol flavor that transported her to grassy green meadows, concertos of birdsong. 

Sparrow grass. 

Asparagus always elicited these sensations; they were welcome and expected. 

The surprise came a moment later.

It began as a peripheral warmth, skirting around the edges of her tongue. Wave after wave of volatile compounds, unleashed by the grinding of teeth, undulated and rose up through her olfactory bulb. Odor molecules mated with receptors in an orgy of scent. 

Caprylic. Pheromonal. Primordial. 

She began to feel a sound welling up in the back of her throat. She fought to suppress it as the server returned to inquire about the asparagus. Afraid to speak, she could only mumble and nod and let her eyes say the rest. He was well out of earshot when she dared to release it. 

Part snort, part grunt, it arose from a place of deep satisfaction; a gleeful pig giggle... the ecstasy of the sow.