Day 39: a fiery, fuzzy, bolstering butteriness

A few years ago, my friend and I were at a work conference in Madrid, and on the penultimate evening, there was a big party in a huge Spanish farmhouse (a fair good bus ride away from the city center). The farmhouse had clearly been renovated and set up for such occasions, and the different rooms were filled with impressive spreads of hot and cold foods laid out on five-meter-long tables. As you walked out onto the cobbled patios, through thick-beamed doorways, you were greeted with stunning scenery and more cold prosecco than perhaps even we could handle. It was a truly spectacular vision.

After an hour or so of soaking up the atmosphere and chatting in the evening sun – and of course, a fair few glasses of prosecco – temptation overwhelmed and we were unable to resist the call of the feasts that awaited inside. We (very) greedily filled our plates with cured meats, salchichón, chorizo, cheeses, fresh breads – probably a salad leaf or two – and all manner of delightful things. The rather impatient human beings that we were (before even sitting down), at the same time, took a mouthful of this deep red, soft, chorizo-looking sausage cut into thick coins. Also at precisely the same moment in time, we both heaved and, rather grossly, had to spit it out into a napkin. Apologies for the visual there. Now, cold salamis and cured meats/sausages are above all one of my favourite things; I could consider becoming a vegetarian but when it came to thinly sliced chorizos, German salamis, and mortadella (my favorite), I would have to reconsider that notion rather rapidly. Whatever just went in my mouth, however, did not fall into my category of much loved cold meats; both texture and taste repulsed. On research, I believe it was sobrasada, and my only reason for researching this was to ensure that it didn’t land on my plate again in the future. There’s a big chance that perhaps this particular sobrasada had been out too long, sweating in the mid-summer Madridian heat to the point that it turned. We’ll never know the real reason, but it put me off for life. Or, so I thought…

I’ve noticed ‘nduja on menus before, but, rather ignorantly, had no idea what it was - probably because something else took my fancy, so I never bothered to find out. Anyway, on a trip to my local Italian restaurant (out of lockdown), it was listed as one of the ingredients in a shellfish pasta that I had my eye on - so I looked it up on my phone. Needless to say, what I saw initiated flashbacks and feelings of mortification to whatever I had tasted in Madrid, so I asked for the pasta without the nduja. In fact, on every trip since then, I’ve ordered it without the ‘nduja. That was until my last visit there (just before lockdown), when I decided to bite the bullet and give it a shot. I was very pleasantly surprised; the flavour and heat were just delicious.

So, that (finally) brings us on to today’s choice: Nigella’s Pappardelle with Cavolo Nero and ‘Nduja.  

Nigella’s Pappardelle with Cavolo Nero and ‘Nduja

It was after my last to trip to said restaurant that I brought the nduja; there was a table of Italian culinary wonders from which you could pick and choose and take home with you (after paying of course). It was then I also brought a very nice jar of cherries in amaretto, which I am thinking will be delightful warmed through and ladled over ice cream.

This recipe uses very few ingredients, but they are all high impact in my humble opinion. As recommended in Cook Eat Repeat, I also tried a spread of this ‘nduja on toast, which was lovely – although it did nearly melt my tongue; I don’t think I quite realised how spicy it was, or just how intolerant to spicy foods I have perhaps become. There was panic in the house that this pappardelle was going to be too hot to handle, but the fuzzy, bolstering-butteriness from the potatoes and butter acted as the perfect buffers (but not inhibitors) to the spicy-smokiness of the ‘nduja.

We thoroughly enjoyed this pasta - as we do all of Nigella’s pasta recipes - and the next day it was enjoyed as a very happy, welcomed lunch; adding extra ‘nduja, toasted pine nuts, and generous glugs of extra virgin olive oil.

Flavour musings

Even though I have seen a few pasta recipes featuring potato (across several of Nigella’s books), I had never actually tried this combination until today. Not that I have ever had hesitation or issue with carb-on-carb action. It’s a beautifully buttery-tasting pasta, with a gentle smoky-kick from the nduja and iron-rich textures from the cavolo nero.

Let us perhaps just say that our experience in Madrid was not the best to go on, and also agree to possibly give things a second chance as you never know how accurately representative of the truth your first attempts may have been. Because, despite all of my pre- (and indeed, mis-) conceptions of this soft, spreadable pork sausage, Nigella’s ‘nduja pasta is incontestably (to us anyway) lip-smackingly good; with the fiery, fuzzy, bolstering butteriness needed to warm the gelid grip of a cold winter's night.

And there it is: I really do like ‘nduja, and can strongly relate when Nigella says “…and once you start cooking with it, you won’t be able to stop.”