Truffle Aroma by Tree: What We’ve Learned from 3 Years of Market Feedback

In this post, we are not only going to update you on how our experiment to explore the impact a trees has on truffle we will also look what science has to say about it, we’ll explore how the aromas of different trees—oak, hazelnut, pine, and more—play a pivotal role in shaping the flavors that make truffles so irresistible. From the moment the truffle spores begin to form beneath the tree’s roots, the surrounding flora’s influence is undeniable. By understanding these subtle interactions, you’ll gain a deeper appreciation for not just truffles, but the intricate ecosystem that supports their growth. Join us as we dive into the fascinating world where trees and truffles meet, creating a flavor experience like no other. Are you ready, lets dive in.

Most of our supporters prefer truffle from french oak trees like this big one. Truffle from the hazelnut tree in front are milder and less confronting particularly at the end of the season.

The Roots Above: How Trees Shape the Soul of the Truffle

Three winters ago, beneath the soft hush of frost-covered leaves, we made a decision that some thought a little eccentric. We began separating our black truffles not just by harvest date, size and shape, but by the trees they grew beneath—English oak, French oak, and hazelnut. It wasn’t a marketing move. It was a feeling. A noticing. A quiet conviction, rooted in the nose, nurtured by observation, and confirmed by the curiosity of those who visited our little stall at the Saturday market.

Week after week, we watched it happen. People would lean in, eyes closed, and inhale. Then pause. Then smile. “This one’s richer,” someone might say. “This has something sweeter… almost nutty.” Remarkably, even when they didn’t know which tree the truffle came from, they could still sense the difference.

What we had sensed with our noses and hearts, science has now begun to put into words and numbers.

A 2016 peer-reviewed study from Spain has cast light on what many truffle growers have whispered about for years: the host tree changes the truffle. Specifically, the researchers set out to determine whether the species of tree influences the aroma of Tuber melanosporum, the revered black winter truffle. Their method was precise and controlled—truffles harvested on the same day, from trees of the same age, in the same truffiere, using the same truffle dog. The only changing element? The tree itself.

They compared truffles from four host species—hazel, holm oak, kermes oak, and Portuguese oak—and subjected them to both chemical analysis and sensory panels. The result? A chorus of difference. Truffles from Portuguese oak (a close cousin of our English and French oaks) showed a bolder, deeper aroma—layered with “animal” and “mushroom” notes, the kind that fill a room before you even open the box. Chemically, these truffles carried higher levels of isoamyl alcohol and 3-ethyl-5-methylphenol, both tied to intense, savoury aromas.

Meanwhile, truffles from hazel trees—more delicate in stature and in scent—held more dimethylsulfide, a sulfurous compound with a softer, earthier edge. These truffles weren’t loud, but they had a quiet complexity—a creaminess that lingered on the palate and invited another breath.

This research was, to us, like someone bottling what we’d been feeling for years.

And yet, this idea—that truffle aroma is sculpted by the tree it communes with—isn’t new, and it certainly isn’t only European. Almost half a decade before this Spanish study, a chemist named Dr Gary Lee was already tracing the chemical fingerprints of Australian truffles. With support from the Australian government and others, Lee applied the same scientific tools—gas chromatography, olfactometry, and mass spectrometry—to examine Tuber melanosporum grown in from across Australian truffiers.

His work, though not widely published, became quietly influential within the Australian truffle community. He, too, found that aroma was not a fixed trait, but a conversation—between fungus and tree, between earth and air. His findings, shared among farmers and those curious enough to ask, offered early confirmation that the differences we sensed were not imagined. They were chemical. Measurable and real.

Gary Lee’s work gave courage to growers like us, who were beginning to wonder whether those subtle variations weren’t just in our heads. He was ahead of the curve, asking the right questions way before the broader scientific world turned its gaze to the base of the tree.

Over the past three seasons, our own truffle baskets have told the same story. Those found under English and French oaks (particularly) arrive bold and assertive—aromatic powerhouses that seem to carry the memory of the forest floor. Our hazelnut truffles, by contrast, tend to be gentler. There’s a softness to them—a kind of quiet refinement that sits somewhere between sweet cream and warm loam, an all rounder!

But perhaps most magical is how our market visitors have joined us on this journey. Each Saturday, someone leans in and says something like, “They really do smell different,” with a kind of wonder that never gets old. It reminds us that these differences aren’t academic. They’re sensory. Emotional. Memorable.

This is why we go to the effort of separating and labelling our truffles by tree. Because the tree matters. The story matters. And you can smell it. Whether you’re a chef chasing just the right note for a tree-paired dish, or a home cook crafting a truffle pasta for someone special, knowing where your truffle came from—really came from—adds something no recipe can teach.

For us, provenance doesn’t stop at the soil. It travels upward, into the roots, into the bark, into the very breath of the tree. Each truffle carries the signature of the life it shared in the darkness underground.

So next time you visit our stall, take a moment. Close your eyes. Inhale. Ask us about the tree. Because in the world of truffles, the secret isn’t just beneath the surface—it’s in the roots above.

Last Words

The complexity of truffle aroma never ceases to fascinate. So next time a waiter approaches with the truffle shaver, ask yourself—is that a hazelnut truffle? Or perhaps something else entirely? If you enjoyed this post, share it with someone who shares your curiosity for the finer things.

Next week, we’re diving deeper into the sensory world with a closer look at gastrophysics—the science behind how we experience flavour, aroma, texture, and even anticipation. We've brushed against it in past posts, but this time we’re taking a broader, deeper sweep. From plate to palate, what can gastrophysics teach us about unlocking the full potential of your truffle—especially when you're enjoying it at home? Stay tuned.