By Maureen O'Hare

On a misty Italian morning, we crunch our way through green-yellow undergrowth as Pepe the dog darts on ahead, nose close to the sandy soil. His tail twitches as he catches the scent. Looking first to his owner, he jabs with his paws, earth shooting into the air as he gets closer to the prize.

I'm in the Tuscan town of San Miniato for the November "gold rush," when the Italian white truffle comes into season. This rare white fungus is as fabled as Moby Dick, and just as elusive. "The truffle is an emotion. It's not a product, it's not a taste," explains my guide Massimo Cucchiara, who's from a family of truffle hunters that reaches back three generations.

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Source: http://edition.cnn.com/