Ever since I made ‘nduja back at the beginning of May I’ve been playing the waiting game while it fermented, cured and hung in my kitchen window, taunting me.
During that time my friends Larbo and Scott of This Little Piggy and The Sausage Debauchery (respectively) have been churning out all kinds of wondrous delights made with their versions of the piquant spread while I’ve been quietly biding my time. In fact, Larbo’s probably been the most prolific, creating ‘nduja di bufala, ‘nduja pate and most recently an ‘nduja mortadella to make us all jealous and drooling. Once I work through some of my own ‘nduja reserves I fully intend to build on his pate idea, but for now I’m holding those cards close to the chest. Lest you think that Scott’s some sort of slouch, let me tip my hat to him for single-handedly starting up a mail order business to bring ‘nduja-making supplies (and other imported Italian goodies) to the masses. As you can see, our combined aim is to completely blanket the planet in ‘nduja fever!
In an attempt to keep mine somewhat traditional, I’d let the ‘nduja hang for as close to the year I’d originally intended as I could possibly wait. Some of it will surely see a 1 year anniversary since my first attempt was a double batch, leaving me with close to 6 kg of ‘nduja hanging around waiting for inconspicuous consumption and culinary inspiration to strike.
This very weekend was the first time since I stuffed the ‘nduja that I’d had an occasion to cut down a finished link and give a taste, and words cannot express how truly excited I was.
From the look of the casing, which was dried, brittle and shrivelled, I wasn’t expecting much, but once I sliced it open the hot Calabrian peppers immediately began their assault on my senses. Prodding gently with my paring knife, I found the ‘nduja had indeed retained it’s semi-moist spreadability, and a tiny raw taste confirmed the assertively pleasant fire emanating from within. 10 minutes later I still wasn’t dead, so I ascertained that the folklore I’d been told about all of the salt and chilis warding off any chance of bacterial spoilage actually seemed to be true.
But, now that I had this wicked bounty to play with, what ever would I do with it?
For whatever strange reason, the first thing that popped into my mind was to make an ‘nduja burger. I’ve heard tales of Larbo melting his into its own pasta sauce, or spreading it on the thin crust of a pizza, but I wanted to go somewhere a little bit different. Given my extreme love of burger cuisine, I suppose it’s not much of a stretch. In the future I’m thinking something with eggs might be fun, but as to what shape that might eventually take, I’m not quite sure yet. So, for now a burger my ‘nduja would be.
To 8 ounces of organic grass-fed ground beef I added several heaping tablespoons of ‘nduja, erring slightly on the side of caution (just in case).
Next, I put on some disposable plastic gloves (recalling how burnt my palms had been the last time I mixed the moist Calabrian chillies by hand) and gently coaxed the spread and ground into a beefy suspension. After heating a skillet to absolute blazing, I quickly seared both sides of the patties to a perfectly browned and crispy crust. 7 minutes in a 250* oven (occupied by the ever-melting lard project) was all it took to cook the burger the rest of the way to edible (because I wasn’t taking any chances on this one yet and shied away from my usual medium rare).
The finished burger got some love in the form of a homemade Red Fife infused burger bun I’d whipped up the other day, plus a side of my delicious gherkin pickles.
The first bite sung with the subtly increasing ‘nduja heat, and I commented to the Everyman that next time I’d probably be a little more generous with the ‘nduja. By the end of the burger I felt my assessment was still correct, but the problem with ‘nduja is that the more you have it, the more you want it, so I doubt I’d ever truly have “enough” anyway.
At the very least, after my inaugural experiment with this incomparable spread, I’m looking forward to many other flights of fancy. As soon as spot prawn season comes around (though to be honest I have no idea when that is) I’ll definitely be attempting something similar to Grant’s smoked spot prawn and ‘nduja dish that I enjoyed so much. Yum!
Until next time…
Tags: 'nduja, beef, burgers, Cooking, New Projects, pork, Preservation, salami
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Congratulations! It is pretty amazing that your nduja could still be moist and spreadable after hanging at room temperature for the better part of a year. OK, now I’m really going to have to put some aside and see if I can age some for as long as a year.
“The more you have it, the more you want it.” That is so true! Those Calabrian hot peppers are seriously addictive.
I’d dreamed up an “ultimate burger,” with a melting slice of liver pâté in the middle, but never thought of mixing nduja into the ground beef for a burger. Doh! It’s such an obviously great idea, it hits you like a dope slap!
We will not rest until the whole planet is aflame with nduja fever!
Just wait ’til you see what I’m working on with the ‘nduja next…
stop taunting me with the nduja! i haven’t started mine yet…need a meat grinder attachment thingymabobber first.
also i would have been commenting long ago except that, well, i’m an idiot and it took me this long to figure out how to register for the site.
i suck.
If you have a food processor and a smoker in addition to a meat grinder, then you can have nduja in a day! In a few hours, I’ll be telling the world how!
Hi Jenn!
Sorry, I’ve just been so excited that it’s finally ready. I’ve been waiting for it to be ready since I made it in May!
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