Rite of passage, the journey from boy to man for instance, are key moments of significance. My transformation from Huckling into Incredible Huck included colouring my blonde insinuation of a moustache with a black Artline and dousing myself in Old Spice – the arrival of adolescence veiled in the signature eau de toilette and I wasn’t even on a horse, backwards. Fool. These days I don’t wear aftershave but I’m constantly reminded of my sins when trapped in lifts with suits swamped in the stuff. Why am I writing this? Truffle oil is the cheap cologne of the culinary world. Splashed over the creations of chefs that know no better. A smoke and mirrors attempt at luxury that merely masks mediocrity.

Anthony Bourdain once said, “Let it be stated here, unto forever and eternity, truffle oil is not food.” The truth is, most truffle oils are a synthetic adaptation using aromas found in truffles combined with a neutral vegetable oil.

So I venture to WA during the annual Truffle Kerfuffle festival to put my hands in the soil and nd the real deal. Winter’s chill hangs over the Southern Forests of Manjimup 300km south of Perth, making the ground wetter than a John Dory’s swimming costume.

“I see you found us then,” says Australian Truffe Traders (ATT) co-owner David Pottinger when I arrive 30 minutes late – let’s hope we’re not relying on GPS to find a truffle. The family-run business – consisting of three couples (two Pottinger, one Booth) – is one of the most productive trufferies per acre on the planet. The cool climes and rich Karri Loam soil producing a stunning black truffle e that can fetch anywhere from $2-3000 per kilo. Although most truffles are still foraged in Europe, here in Australia it’s boutique agriculture, with mystery still surrounding how to produce them consistently.

David leads me to a plot on a steep slope where 1000 trees (nine hazelnut for every oak tree) work with the elements. There’s no room to harvest hazelnuts because truffles lie right at the surface of the soil. “Anything that unsettles the surface, a human foot, a leaping kangaroo, can have an adverse effect on the truffle, even kill it,” he says. You can’t plough along and dig up truffles, plus, you have to find them first.

Truffles are connected to the trees by laments as fine as spider’s webs. “They get all the sugar they need from the tree, and give the tree extra minerals,” he says. But it’s not that simple. “Once the male and female laments are in good proportion they can branch over each other, sexually, and produce the truffles.”

Wait. What? Male and female? Who knew Barry White was laying down his dulcet tones under the hazelnut trees?

They also produce a toxin that kills grass, which helps indicate where they lie between the rows of trees, but that’s no sure thing. That’s where the truffle-sniffing hounds come in. “If the truffle is ripe the soil around it will smell like truffle,” he says. Some use pigs, beagles and even kelpies, but here they use labradors. “They’re are a bit slower, but have a great nose. They go through the trees like a road map.”

Earlier that day, Mel Booth (another owner) led a pack of labradors on a search. After a dog finds one, Mel scrapes the dirt off gently and lightly scores it with a knife to check the colour. She then leaves a steel nut with a pink ribbon tied to it for David to collect. David kneels down to where a fresh truffle lies in wait. The mossy soil is pushing up from the ground as if something is coming up for air. He gently uses his finger to loosen the soil and the black bulbous fungus reveals itself. All glorious 80 grams of it. “That’s an A-grade truffle right there,” he smiles.

The aromas are intoxicating, but they’re not all perfect. Truffles are graded and sold in accordance to quality.“ Some people don’t like truffles with fissures in them.” Just as people love fruit that’s round and without blemishes, it seems they want truffles that look like potatoes. “Nature doesn’t work that way,” he says. “What’s important is the skin, the weight, firmness, and each truffle has its own aroma too. Here you can keep this one,” he offers.

Later that week I chanced my arm at Armando Percuoco’s truffled egg fettuccine, where egg, pasta, parmesan and a black truffle entwine in an unholy embrace. It seems hazelnut trees aren’t the only place for Barry White’s dulcet tones.