Life as a Truffle

No one said that being a Christmas truffle was going to be easy. Christmas trees have to deal with being cut down in order for their glory to come inside, all duded up with ornaments and lights. Decorations languish in the closet 11 months of the year, waiting for their moment of glory. And Christmas stockings never get to warm anyone’s feet!

But being a truffle is a trial by fire.

Now, everyone likes chocolates (or at least almost everyone), from Valentine’s Day to Halloween. Imagine winter without a sip of hot cocoa or those chocolate oranges you crack against the table before opening the textured foil to uncover the magical slices? Candy canes and sugar plums can have their piece of the stage, but there’s really no leaving chocolate behind for the holidays.

There’s chocolate covered pretzels, chocolate covered almonds or peanuts, and some would have their chocolate covered insects of choice, but down on the farm, homemade truffles make their way into the world as chocolate-covered fudge.

Grandma and Grandpa would always make fudge at Christmas time, pouring the molten goodness into foil containers that left classic crinkled edges when cut into cubes and served. It was a labored stovetop experience, and if the humidity or barometric pressure (or how you held your jaw) wasn’t JUST right, then Grandma wouldn’t be quite happy with the texture. That fudgy perfection was illusive.

Now Kara is the fudge-master of the family, turning out batches like deep chocolate bases with peppermint oil, Baileys Iris Cream, or cappuccino. She also makes white chocolate fudge bases with themes of raspberry, almond, coconut, and others. And that peanut butter fudge? Ahhhh!!!!

The Farmstead Creamery kitchen is a whir with smells and little chocolate splatters. It’s a hot, glisteny world for the fudge, until it’s poured into foil-lined pans and tucked into the fridge to slowly solidify into something firmly cuttable. But it doesn’t know that yet, not until the big bench knife comes out to chop them into precise little cubes of fudge, each quickly hand rolled to round the corners.

And if that wasn’t enough of a shock for the fudge, out comes the hot dipping chocolate and a specialized ladle to lower each fudgelet, one at a time, into the deep, then plop onto a pan to cool. They stand like brave little soldiers, cloaked in their mantle of shiny chocolate. But the ordeal is not over yet! Oh no, there’s more! Because, how would you know to tell the difference between all these yummy flavors?

Taking a dollop of the coating chocolate, Kara will stick a slice of almond or half a peanut on top. For others, colored icing marks the occasion, like a green zig-zag for peppermint, pink swirls for raspberry, or a white spot for maple. Now they look like little edible presents, all dressed up for a night downtown.

And then the waiting game begins. Maybe this is the hardest part for the truffle, the waiting, but then again, maybe it gives them a chance to wonder, like Christmas trees hoping for a home. Some of the smallish or lop-sided ones are munched up right away…because, well, every batch should be tested, right? Others are ordered to be shipped to friends and relatives as gifts of the season. Some folks stop by the farm to snatch one as a treat or take a box home for later…if they make it that long.

The little chocolate gems fill the gelato case, since it’s much too cold and snowy outside to think about a cone full of ice cream. And, unless you’ve got some serious cold packs, gelato isn’t conducive to shipping. Today, as I packed up boxes to take to Hayward’s first day of trying out an indoor winter farmer’s market at the Co-op’s Cabin Stop, it was fun to notice the sense of character in each little piece.

This reflects so much of what makes life on the homestead so interesting and equally full of character. Some might see the process of making truffles as boring and repetitive, which it can be, just like chores. But each piece is unique, just like each day on the farm, with turkeys that got out or Lena’s wild chase of a rabbit through the barn. And instead of expecting every truffle to turn out exactly perfect and the same, like in a factory operation, each expresses its own sense of individuality, like the sheep or pigs or chickens.

There’s time and care and attention that is an integral part of allowing this uniqueness to thrive. It’s much easier to crowd pigs into large buildings with metal bars to keep them confined, feed them a standard ration, and view them as “units” rather than individuals. Allowing a pig to express its “pigness” involves building and maintaining fences, gathering goodies for porcine enjoyment, providing ample room to graze and root, and hauling comfy straw to bed down in at night. In the end, the animal is healthier and happier, less stressed than its cousin living on a slatted floor, trapped in a world of fear and insane boredom. When you take time to taste the difference on your plate, it becomes keenly obvious that happy pigs make better pork too.

So why not with all things? Grandma’s homemade cookies always taste better than a quick grab at a convenience store. If I had a dollar for everyone who has told me my eggs outshine any others they could find, I wouldn’t have to worry about the next feed bill! They’re happy chickens, getting to do what chickens love most, with high quality food and plenty of goodies. Those bright yellow/orange yolks say that yes, food could always be this good, if we employ that extra effort towards ingredients and care.

Wishing for you a holiday filled with homemade goodness, delicious food, and awesome chocolate. We all deserve appreciation for our uniqueness, and our food should too. I think it’s about time for another truffle! See you down on the farm sometime.

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