If you’ve a fat wallet, a broad palate, and a pica-driven yen, truffles are your fix, the methadone to your dirt-eating ecstasy. But at the bottom of it, you should know this: you wanted to eat truffles because someone like me told you to eat them. Without me and people like me, food commoners would be like Sims characters, turning endless, aimless circles, appetites spinning them into unrequited nothingness.
