Norcia sits in the mountains of Umbria, where the forests give up their treasures to those who know where to look. The black truffle of this region is less celebrated than its white cousin from Alba, which is a mistake. It has an earthiness, a depth, that speaks of the woods in autumn.

This is not a recipe that hides behind technique. There is no technique to speak of. You pound truffles with oil until they become paste. You toast bread. You spread one on the other. The only skill required is restraint: the courage to leave out everything that does not belong.

Americans want to add garlic. They want cream. They want to complicate what needs no complication. The truffle has traveled from the forest floor to your table. It does not need your help. It needs you to stay out of its way.