The procession of servers should have tipped me off but it was my birthday, weekend, so I felt worthy. It began with a regal “Ta Da” as server #1 lifted a giant crystal bell off my naked noodles. His trusted gloved assistant drizzled on zabaglione with a flourish. Reverential server #3 lovingly shaved ONE white truffle on his solid silver truffle shaver, and finally, the all-knowing uber-waiter with the fabulous jacket peered into my soul and assured me I would be back. My significant other’s rather pedestrian looking ravioli was delivered with neither pomp nor circumstance, but since I won we didn’t ask questions. But here’s one I’ve been mulling over ever since we got a look at the bill: when it’s peak truffle season, and they’re growing in the bloody wild, can’t the sous chef take his pet pig for a frolick in the forest and find some fungi NOT worth their weigh in gold? Next time I’m having mac & cheese.