Frostine and the white truffles

Deep, deep within the south west forests there lays a little Ville with a river winding all the way around it. It is only reachable by five ancient bridges and the entire town is inhabited by mice. This is the wintery tale of Frostine so pour yourself a hot cup of tea, sit back and be transported to a magical land of black forests, fairy tale towers and mousey tales.

Frostine lives in a tiny apartment above the haberdashery where she works. She spends all day, every day knitting using pins as needles. Everyday that is until the silvery sun of winter arrives.

As soon as the last russet leaf has dropped onto the black mossy forest floor, Frostine's little nose begins to twitch. Not for cheese as you might expect but something far more precious. High on the wooded hills around the Ville the Oak and Ash trees harbour a very unusual fruit, in fact it's not a fruit at all...it's called a truffle, a black truffle. Frostine is regarded by some to be the best truffle snuffler this side of the main river. For two whole weeks before the Marche du Noël she sets off in search of her earthy treasure and this year was no different, apart from one thing - there was not a truffle to be found.

Now Frostine relies dearly on finding her truffles for her Christmas Eve supper money, if she has no truffles to sell at the marche, she will have no Cabécou or Chaumes to nibble on.

So with only an hour of afternoon winter sun left on the last day before the marche, Frostine's tiny mousey heart began to sink...but wait...her whiskers were beginning to twitch. There, beneath the bows of a grand ash tree something was glimmering amongst the frosty forest floor. Gently she pawed away the earth to reveal something remarkable - no, not a black truffle but a white truffle! Then another, and another, and another! 

The next day at the marche du Noel, Frostine sold her truffles for a tidy little sum affording her some extra treats for her Christmas Eve supper.

That evening, tucked up in her cosy apartment she dined on her favourite Cabécou and Chaumes cheeses served on the crustiest pain du campagne and drizzled with truffle oil. She washed it all down with hot apple tea, her mousey tummy full and mousy heart happy. So as the rest of the mice in the Ville snuggled up in their own little beds, Frostine picked up her knitting and click clacked away until she fell fast asleep.

Frostine is available to purchase and is here should you wish to do so. There are various other mousey treats to peruse also.

Now that I have told you all the tale of Frostine, I must pick up my needle and thread as a new mouse is on the sewing table this wintery afternoon.