Zak Frost supplies England’s best restaurants. And he couldn’t do it without his truffle hound, Stanley
My train leaves Paddington and drones through the bleak industrial penumbra of London. I’m on my way to meet the planet’s top truffle dealer. He’s given me almost disturbingly precise instructions. Which train to take, what time, where to get off. “I will collect you from the station. When you arrive please walk out of the station, turn left immediately and go up the stairs. I’ll be in a black Mercedes.” I can’t say which station, beyond the fact that it’s somewhere in the Wiltshire Downs. I can’t say much. Not where he hunts, who he buys truffles from, or who he sells to, beyond the fact – obvious to anyone who stalks him on Instagram – that most of the London restaurants that care get their truffles from Zak Frost.
In terms of volume, Frost is far from the planet’s top truffle dealer. The Italian heavyweights dwarf him. But in terms of the quality of his clients, his truffles, and even the information he puts out online, Frost is tops. Unlike dodgy dealers, he sends out an email with his price list every Monday, and he never haggles. “You’re not selling cheap tracksuits,” he says. “It’s a high-end, magical, mysterious ingredient. You have to have a bit of class.”
