Customers at the three star Parisian restaurant where I work are crazy about truffles. At 1,900 Euros a kilo, I think the clients are crazy. But hey, if you’re willing to fork over 450 Euros to dine on the little black nuggets of gold, be my guest. The luster and allure has unfortunately worn off now that I handle them every day.

There are many people in Paris with lots and lots of money. Case in point – last night. Usually on Saturdays we have just one service: dinner. But last night was an exception to the rule. A private party of 60 people was booked for 5:00 PM, meaning all the staff had to arrive three hours earlier to prepare. By 7:15 the private party was out the door, the restaurant turned, and another 80 people arrived for dinner. By 11:00 PM, the clients were ushered out the door and the private party returned for more sumptuous dining.

But I digress. This story is about the truffles, not everyone’s resentment at working three back-to-back services in one night.

On the menu for the private party was the restaurant’s famous artichoke soup. Each day, I probably help prepare and serve 60 bowls, but usually over the course of three hours, not all at once. To get ready, my co-worker and I prepared eight plates of delicately sliced truffles.

We began by wrapping each plate in plastic wrap. Working as a team, Jack (not his real name of course) sliced the truffles and I gently laid each one on the plate, brushing it with a special blend of oils. Now if you’ve ever handled truffles, you know they’re sensitive. They crumble at the slightest touch, so I must be ever so delicate as I lift each slice after it’s been cut and lie it carefully down on the plastic. Next, I wet my fingers with the oil and gently spread it on each slice. This must be done with the fingertips as a brush could easily tare the precious slice in half. I barely exert any pressure as I spread the oil around, like touching a lover or caressing the skin of a baby. The oil creates a luxurious sheen and makes each slice shine like a precious stone. Once a plate is full, we wrap it again with plastic wrap and set it aside until the soup is ready.

At one point during the night, I almost drop one of the plates. Thank goodness my reflexes are on tonight. I can only imagine how much hell I would catch if the plate and its contents shattered on the concrete floor.

When the time is right, 12 of us work in a line, ladling soup into bowls, gently lifting the truffle slices from their plastic bed, and setting them atop the soup. Borders of the plates are cleaned and set on silver serving trays before waiting servers whisk them away to the hungry clients. Once the rush is over, my hands feel soft and supple for the first time in a long time, thanks in part to the oil. The faint smell of truffle wafts up from them, a vivid memory of a careful and painstaking process. I hope the clients enjoyed every bite and a few closed their eyes just for a moment to savor the experience.

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