The beautiful technique of confit began as one of the oldest methods of preserving meat, used most commonly with poultry or pork. The meat is first rubbed with a dry marinade or brined for up to 24 hours, then cooked slowly in its own fat under low heat for 10 to 12 hours, and is finally submerged in the cooking fat with enough poured over the top to seal it to ensure proper preservation. The confit is then ready to be stored in a cellar for up to six months. Today, now that we have refrigeration, we continue to make confit only because it tastes incredibly good. I was able to try duck confit for the first time at Waltham's La Campania last week, after having read about the history and glories of the dish for more than a year in magazines and cookbooks. For my first experience, it did not disappoint, as La Campania's presentation of the confit was wonderfully executed: a large leg of duck confit, perched atop a generous mound of escarole "affogata," with a dollop of mashed sweet potatoes and a seared duck breast drizzled with a sauce of reduced balsamic, citrus, and honey.

First, the duck leg: it had a deep, intense, caramelized flavor, with sweet and slightly crispy skin-the single most satisfying piece of duck I've had. The slow cooking made the duck perfectly tender, easily picked into with only a fork, and went nicely with the seared breast, which had the firm, tender texture and depth of flavor of a steak. The vegetables, as the meats, were perfectly cooked: the sweet potato was smooth, light and brightly colored and had great clarity of flavor. And the escarole (a bitter leafy green) was great in its Italian "affogata" preparation-sautéed in olive oil with white raisins, olives and capers. These accompaniments to the escarole were less vividly flavored, except for the capers, which added a nice, mildly pert tang. In the middle of all this, the chef, across from my seat at the bar in the somewhat open kitchen, asked simply: "The duck good?" To which I could only nod and mumble my appreciation incomprehensibly.

The restaurant itself is a great environment to experience such comforting meals-the atmosphere is infused with the warmth of the patrons and wait staff alike, the air filled with the genial conversations of couples and groups of friends relaxing after work. One can sit at the portion of the bar across the kitchen to see the cooks finishing plates and pulling flatbread pizzas out of the properly hot Neapolitan brick oven (held at a constant 707 degrees Fahrenheit), or at tables inside or outside in the front courtyard, strewn with ivy and flowers.

But the first thing you taste for the night may cause you to become oblivious of your surroundings anyway: the superb plate of olive oil. Good- quality olive oil is like nothing else in its strength and simplicity of flavor; so focused and pure, yet not "strong," exactly, because olive oil has more of a subtle taste. This subtlety of flavor makes bread the perfect accompaniment to it, simply as a vehicle for the oil, especially the more plain, crusty wheat that was served with it-though the other, bolder breads were great as well, especially the one studded with pistachios and large fragments of good prosciutto.

Not everything I had was as spot-on as the duck, however-an appetizer of King oyster mushrooms with arugula, saffron cream and aged balsamic served in a deep-fried bowl of Fontina cheese, was too heavy and unbalanced; so, too, was the pappardelle, with Parmesan, (too much) butter and black truffles.

Yet the last dish was an important milestone for me, as my first generous (and expensive, at $18) portion of truffles-about 15 slices of fresh black truffle and tiny shards of black truffle, which had probably been infused in the butter. I had expected the flavor to be overwhelmingly strong, but it was instead more of an undertone flavor-subdued, yet still deep, complex and earthy, somehow. It is hard to describe. But despite the shortcomings of the dish itself, the taste of the truffles came through, and I found myself craving another taste of them later that evening, and the next day as well.

Truffles seem to connote unnecessary extravagance and wealth to those who haven't had them-at least, this is the impression I got whenever I heard about them growing up. Who would pay so much for such a tiny piece of food, which disappears in a matter of minutes? Can they really be worth it? I can only say, as one who really loves to enjoy and try new foods, and now as one who has finally experienced them, that for me, truffles are certainly a very special culinary treat and have an incredible flavor that will stay with me for a long time. Truffles are an experience for which I will now happily pay, perhaps several times a year.

So thank you, La Campania, for two great meals worth remembering.