Mortadella and Pistachio

The Year of The Sandwich pt. VI

I know it’s the first of July and what I bring to you now is actually the second sandwich of June. So first of all I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I can only throw myself on the mercy of my readership and plead extensive demands of a working father and husband as my excuse.

Having gotten that out of the way, I’m thrilled to announce the halfway point of The Year of The Sandwich. An auspicious accomplishment if I do say so myself. I’m sure I’m not the only one struck by the range of this unassuming menu item. The variety to this point has been delightful as far as I’m concerned and this 6th installment of the year’s carte du jour is no exception. The Mortadella and Pistachio really rounds things out.

I made and enjoyed this sandwich yesterday (the last day of June which should count in my favor). And honestly I didn’t like it all that much. I couldn’t quite pin it down but there was something about it that just struck me as not quite what I want in a sandwich. But as I tried to isolate exactly what it was that threw me, I realized that the descriptors I was indexing were all things I want in my food.

Was it too smooth? Was it too rich? Maybe it’s just so unique and caught me off guard…

You get the idea.

The more I thought about it, all the while trying in vain to remember quite how it tasted, the more it struck me that this masterpiece truly is one of a kind.

The distinctive nature of this sandwich begins, I think, with the pistachio. When’s the last time you considered the pistachio? When’s the last time you even had one? I’ve eaten my fair share of them but yesterday was the first time I really contemplated the drupe. It’s so complex and robust. Salty and buttery and hearty. Elegant somehow. We used to spend hours breaking open hickory nuts out in the backyard at my grandfather’s house to get at the meat inside. Pistachios taste a little like that but deeper. They’re also beautiful to look at with colors like an exotic snake skin. Poison green and royal purple.

As you’ll see, even though it’s called the Mortadella, the pistachio is at the center of it, in all it’s mystery and profundity.

Alright, let’s get to it.

The Bread.

The bread for this creation is ideally Focaccia and, as always, it should be home made. Having said that, I must be honest and admit that I got mine from Panera. I’m not proud of it but it’s the best I could do.

It honestly wasn’t bad but it also wasn’t anything to write home about. I tried to get one of their loaves made with rosemary and onion but they were out so I had to settle for their “cracked pepper” variety which didn’t taste much like pepper but which was better than wonder bread. So at least there’s that.

The nice thing about focaccia, even a mediocre one, is that it’s a big canvas on which to build a massive sandwich and perfect for sharing. You can cut it up like a pizza and give a piece to all your friends.

To prep it for the sandwich, cut it in half through the middle so you have two large dinner plates of bread. Drizzle them with olive oil and toast lightly in your cast iron. You’ll probably have to do this one at a time unless you have an inordinately large pan which would be wildly impractical. If you don’t have a good toasting pan you could probably get away with tossing these under the broiler for a minute or so. Just keep an eye on them. Cracked pepper focaccia is good but not great. Blackened charcoal focaccia is neither.

The Cream.

This is the first element which puts the pistachio to the fore. Pistachio ricotta cream. It starts with a cup of shelled pistachios in a food processor. You can shell them yourself like I did but if you want to save your fingernails and spend just a little bit more money you can buy them with the job already done for you.

Pulverize them into a texture like coarse sand. Add them to a bowl with 1 1/2 cups ricotta cheese, two tablespoons of olive oil, and a healthy portion of coarse black pepper. Mix thoroughly and what you’re left with is a decadent cream filled with all the nuanced flavors already mentioned. The pepper’s actual potency is largely offset by the cream which means you get less bight but a whole lot of flavor.

The Meat.

Obviously the meat called for is Mortadella. And if you’re asking yourself, what even is that?, you’re not alone. I’m not sure I’d ever even heard of it before I took it upon myself to make this panino. Mortadella is a kind of Italian sausage made with at least 15% cubed pork fat— say it again pork fat— before it’s cooked. The real fancy stuff has pistachios in it.

I did not get the fancy stuff but even without the nuts it was a delight. I keep on using the words rich and decadent and I’m really struggling to come up with another way to describe the meat. Indulgent? Extravagant? Let's go with that.

Get your Della from the deli and when the time comes, pile it high.

The Assembly.

As you may have noticed, this is likely the most straightforward of the sandwiches to date. The only element that really requires any culinary technique is the cream. And that’s hardly any work at all especially if your pistachios are purchased already defrocked as it were.

Of course if you decide to fulfill your calling as a true hero of the American empire and make your focaccia from scratch, you can actually say you made this sandwich. The rest of us just put all the different parts together in a neat little stack. The rest of us are just pretending.

Start with the bottom disc of your focaccia. Spread a thick layer of your pistachio cream over the whole thing and then pile on the Mortadella. I got a half pound and used all of it but in retrospect I may have gone a little heavier. 3/4 lb would probably do it.

Overtop of the meat should go a strong layer of cheese. And not just any cheese. The name of the game is burrata. Burrata is a supple sphere of cheese the outside layer of which is mozzarella while the inside is filled with fresh curds and cream. Any adjectives coming to mind? I can think of a couple.

Unfortunately, and somewhat anticlimactically, I couldn’t find burrata so I used fresh mozzarella instead. Which was good but almost assuredly not as good as it could’ve been. C’est la vie.

Topping it all off is a handful of, you guessed it, pistachios— coarsely chopped— as well as a generous squizzle of olive oil and another go ‘round with the pepper grinder. Cap it with your other focaccia half, cut your desired portion— or don’t— and serve.

All the ingredients of this veritable layer cake exude royalty and choice. The various forms of fat and cream transmogrify the pepper into nutmeg and the toasted bread crunches like crisped bacon. The rest of the bread, it should be noted, is like biting into a cloud. The cheese oozes and the drupes crunch.

This is how you eat like a king.

The Pairing.

I had determined that this would pair with chilled white wine. A summertime sandwich with a frosty glass of refined seemed proper. This turned out to be a mistake. Truly its hard to make clear how contrary these flavor profiles were. Brussels sprouts and chocolate milk. Capers and cherry pie.

My failure is your opportunity. Use your imagination. Explore your inner gastronomist. The opportunities are virtually endless and the perfect pairing is out there but I suggest you try eggnog. I could be wrong again but I’ve got an inkling it’ll slap.

Make this one at home and thank an Italian for the gifts of pork and cheese.

And as always, stay hungry.