Название: Dry Store Room No. 1: The Secret Life of the Natural History Museum
Автор: Richard Fortey
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Прочая образовательная литература
isbn: 9780007362950
isbn:
The small nematode ‘worm’ Coenorhabditis elegans – so important in working out the genetics of all animals
Nematode worm. Coenorhabditis elegams. Photo © Phototake Inc./ Alamy.
Evidence from molecules was quite quickly incorporated into the intellectual armoury of the more forward-thinking systematists. For a while there was resistance in some quarters by experts who trusted implicitly their traditional characteristics for classification – colour, or hairs on legs, or behavioural patterns – and did not like the suggestions of new evolutionary relationships thrown up by molecular studies; and it was also true that in the early days some dubious conclusions were drawn from using the wrong ‘designer gene’ for a particular job. However, it was soon recognized that sequencing evidence could provide answers to questions that had been troubling systematists for years. I will give just one example. Edible truffles are subterranean fungi, belonging to the genus Tuber. There are several species, and gourmets dispute their relative merits. Tuber magnatum, the white truffle, which grows in Italy, commands the highest prices – up to about $5,000 a kilogram. It is the most expensive foodstuff in the world. The Périgord truffle, T. melanospermum, is mostly French in origin, and black rather than white. The warty summer truffle, T. aestivum, grows in England, but is less sought after, although it is the only one I have found in the wild. All are remarkable for having an extraordinary, and some would say irresistible, odour, which suggests a kind of mushroom/meat hybrid. This intense fragrance is imparted to oil or eggs, and indeed the simplest way to eat truffles is to use them to flavour an omelette, or to grate them finely over scrambled eggs. Pâté defois truffé is such stuff as gourmet dreams are made of. The edible properties of the truffle are not matched by their aesthetic ones, for most truffles look like some kind of knobbly animal excreta, which have been passed with not a little discomfort. They do not have to impress with their appearance, for it is the smell that matters. In the wild they grow close to the roots of trees, particularly oak (Quercus) and hazel (Corylus); they are one of a very large number of fungi that form a symbiotic relationship with the tree host, their mycelium enveloping or penetrating the roots in a so-called mycorrhiza. The host benefits from ions such as phosphate that the fungus can ‘hunt’ from the surrounding soil, while the fungus receives products of photosynthesis from its tree host in return. The problem for the fungus is how to spread its spores from underground and hence ensure its survival, and this is where the smell comes in. The spores are enclosed in chambers or fissures inside the truffle. Animals such as wild pigs find the smell of the truffle attractive, and will greedily grub up the fruit bodies. ‘Truffle pigs’ are trained to smell out the subterranean booty, which is removed from them before they can gobble it up. The spores will eventually pass out of the animal, unharmed, in droppings, having by then been dispersed widely from their point of origin. In rainforests in south-eastern Australia I have seen holes scratched by marsupial potoroos in search of truffles – very different creatures performing the same favour for a truffle on the other side of the world.
The author handles an edible black true truffle (Tuber) from Sardinia.
Edible black truffle. Photo © Jackie Fortey.
When the truffles were first recognized as fungi rather than some spontaneously generated freak of nature, it was thought that such curious productions comprised a single group of organisms – a reasonable assumption, one might think. They deserved one of Linnaeus’ high-level classification tags – an Order. But when microscopes came to be focussed on the tissues inside the truffle, where the spores were developing, an interesting discovery was made. Not all truffles were alike. Those that graced the tables of the rich and hedonistic showed features at the microscopic level like those of another gourmet treat, the morel (Morchella esculenta). In other, and more technical, words they were ascomycetes. These fungi bear their spores inside minute sacs or asci of the order of a tenth of a millimetre long – there are usually eight such spores, so the asci have a very typical microscopic appearance, rather like eggs wrapped in a sausage. However, some other truffles, for example a genus called Hysterangium, showed evidence that they were related instead to the gasteromycetes – the group of fungi that includes puffballs and stinkhorns. These are basidiomycetes, which carry their spores in an entirely different way from the ascomycetes; they are typically borne atop a special cell called a basidium, usually four spores in a loose cluster. The white mushrooms that fill vats in supermarkets are distantly related basidiomycetes, as are the majority of fungi that troop through the woods in autumn. The ascomycetes separated from the basidiomycetes very early in earth history, and certainly more than a billion years ago. It is preposterous to classify truffles together that have such different evolutionary origins – and so the ascus-bearing truffles were separated from the basidium-bearing truffles: so far, so sensible, and resulting in two Orders. For common names we now had ‘truffles’ and ‘false truffles’.
However, the story did not end there. From other microscopic hints there were suspicions that there were several origins for truffles in both the ascomycete group and the basidiomycete group. Truffles might have arisen repeatedly, on separate evolutionary trees, for all their superficial similarity. The closest relatives of a truffle might prove to be one of several different kinds of more normal-looking mushrooms and other fungi. The truffle shape, including its subterranean growth, is a specific adaptation – a mode of life, if you like. It was not so difficult to imagine a ‘truffle habit’ originating several times, because most fungi do indeed develop underground, and only later erupt at the surface. If development were somehow ‘arrested’ at the early stage – well, then you might have something like a truffle. The trouble is how could you pair the truffle with its closest-related mushroom, since there is so little general resemblance between them? This is where the molecular evidence should come into its own. The appropriate mushroom partner should, in principle, show more similar sequence patterns at the molecular level to its truffle relatives than it does to other truffles or indeed other mushrooms. So it has proved. Using the appropriate genomic tool, especially one known as ribosomal ITS (Internal Transcribed Spacer), the complexity of the origin of truffles has been demonstrated. It turns out that at least six different kinds of mushrooms – that is, the basidium-bearing kind – have become ‘truffleized’, to coin a term. To add to this there are several more origins of truffles of the ascus-bearing kind, of which the true truffle, Tuber, is one. Far from being a natural group of organisms, the truffles originated from numerous different fungi on several different occasions, and it all probably happened millions of years ago.
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