Spread the Love of Real ‘Nduja

Posted on by Matthew C. Reilly

Whether lovingly schmeared across golden crostini, or spooned into a sizzling pan to lay the foundation for any number of southern Italian pasta sauces, there is little doubt that if served outside its native Calabria, the unique spreadable salami evokes curiosity, and sometimes controversy.

Historically, ‘nduja was produced by peasants from the leftover parts of a recently slaughtered hog, after the prized market cuts had been first offered to the ruling classes. Today, in the area of Spilinga in Calabria, they specialize in the craft of ‘nduja. Similar to many traditional pork salami, ‘nduja has been improved by only using whole muscle cuts like jowl, belly, and shoulder. About a decade ago, American producers of cured meat became aware of this esoteric southern Italian specialty, and started to create and market their own interpretations.  Unfortunately, without a true understanding of how it is produced, these products bore very little resemblance to authentic ‘nduja. There were, and still exist, many versions that take advantage of the increasing promotional value of the term ‘nduja, but are made by using the trim from already cured meat and pureeing them into a ready to eat paste, and others which go a step further and actually mix old and waste pieces of spicy salami which after being pureed, are mixed with acid, tomatoes, and sugar; aka: ketchup!

Map of Calabria esp Spilinga

About 50 years ago, Agostino Fiasche left his homeland of Spilinga, and emigrated to America. Bringing with him his family’s traditions of hospitality, and food production, by the mid 80s he and his wife opened Agostino’s Ristorante Gustafino in Chicago.  Among many of the traditional foods that Agostino and his family continued to produce was ‘nduja. The craft of butchery and salumi production has always been a valued part of the Calabrian heritage, and many Calabrian immigrant families in America still gather together once a year to make the traditional products of their home region, like salssicia (dry sausage), soppressata, capicola, and in the case of the Fiasches, ‘nduja. For this reason, it is extremely rare that any family from south of Tuscany would consider making artisan salumi for the wholesale market.  Actually, other than the Fiasche family, who started “Nduja Artisan” (now “Tempesta Artisan Salumi”) in 2012, there are none. Since Calabrians have their own homemade supply enough for their family for the year, why sell it? As for the purchase of salumi produced by northern Italians, available for purchase, why buy it when you know how to make it better?

3 Generations of Salumiere Fiasche
 

                                        Three Generations of ‘Nduja Artisans…                                (from left Agostino Fiasche, his father, Antonio Fiasche Sr. and Agostino’s son, Antonio ”Tony” Fiasche)

 

‘Nduja is a simple recipe, and is made like any other fermented and dry cured spicy salami.  Fresh pork muscle and fat are ground together, mixed with a puree of chilies for the desired amount of heat, seasoned with salt, stuffed into casings and allowed to ferment.  Finally, depending on the diameter of the casing, the ‘nduja salami are slowly dried over a period of weeks to upwards of 6 months or more.  Like any other salami, this drying or aging period draws out moisture so that it is eventually safe to store without refrigeration. After this aging period, most salami become hard, are able to hold shape and can be sliced thinly. On the other hand, because of higher fat content, plus the softening effect that Calabrian chilies have on fat, even once the proper amount of moisture has been removed, ‘nduja will remain soft. Any additional drying will intensify the flavor, but it will never become firm.

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Traditional ‘Nduja “Orba”

 

In 2012, after tasting the ‘nduja-like products available by American salumi producers, Agostino and his son, Antonio decided it was important to present an authentic ‘nduja to the American market.  The father and son team felt obliged to honor their family’s heritage by starting a salumeria focused on making the real ‘nduja. In Agostino’s words, “‘Nduja is a salami. It’s made from only three ingredients: fresh pork, Calabrian chilies, and sea salt.  If it has anything else, or is made any other way, it cannot be ‘nduja!” Initially named “Nduja Artisans”, by 2019, after much praise and awards had been bestowed on many other products in their extensive line of salumi, including back to back sofi gold wins for finocchiona and culatello, as well as a bronze win for Wagyu Bresaola, the family decided to change the company name to “Tempesta Artisan Salumi”. Nduja is still at the heart of the company, though, and being their top seller, will likely always be their flagship product.

 

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Grandfather and Grandson Fiasche producing Prosciutto di Parma DOP

Centered on their original mission to bring the genuine experience of this unique Fiasche family tradition to the national audience, they start with fresh whole muscle cuts, not scraps of cured meat, no off cuts, no organs, and still only the best heritage pork they can buy. Considering the chilies, they tone down the heat a bit. Unlike the version that Agostino’s father, Antonio Sr still makes at 84 in his home in Spilinga, which will light your mouth on fire, the ‘nduja produced by Tempesta Artisan Salumi is still spicy, but not quite as hot as Calabrians may be familiar with. It is hot, but balanced, so you won’t be reaching for a glass of water right away, and it will not interfere with other flavors on your plate.

Tempesta makes a 6 ounce “grab-and-go” sized retail package, one-pound units for foodservice, aged for about a month, and also produces the traditional “Orba” which takes a few months to age because it is encased in the tradition hog middle cap casing. This is the product you are likely to recognize hanging from the ceiling from every salumeria in Spilinga. The “Orba” can weigh anywhere from three to seven pounds, and even some custom ‘nduja which are aged in a stitched natural casing and can weigh more than 40 pounds!

The exact origins of Nduja are still a mystery, though there are a few theories regarding early production and where the name ‘nduja came from…

  • The name Nduja may be derived from the word “Enduille”, and conveyed that way during the initial French occupations of Calabria
  • Salam d’la Duja, “la duja” or “la doha” from the Piemontese dialect for clay pot where salami is initially dried, then preserved under fat in a basin or vase. This is another rare use of the letter “J” in the Italian language. The letter “J” is not generally considered part of the Italian alphabet, and may have contributed to the unique spelling of ‘nduja.
  • The Spanish tradition for preserving meat like salami, was in Calabria since before the time of Columbus, through the end of the Arogonian periods leading up to the rule of the rule of the Bourbons. The Spanish introduced chilies to all of Europe and Asia following their discovery in the New World in the late 15th The Spanish were also curing meats throughout their history, though the spreadable version of spiced salami, Sobrasada (from Majorca) may or may not have preceded Nduja, and it is certainly possible that they are linked due to trade amongst all those under Aragon rule, which started in the early 11th century in Majorca, and the 15th Century in Calabria.  This led to the subsequent rule by the French Bourbons of both regions.

So, it seems likely there was an evolution of spreadable salami over time, with chilies of course being introduced to both areas around the same time, and may certainly have come after a tradition of preserving meat was already established.

If the first question posed by someone encountering ‘nduja for the first time is “What is that?”, typically, the next question is, “How do you use it?”  The fact that ‘nduja is a particularly regional product, often causes people to think it is only useful in exclusively Calabrian cuisine. Whereas, due to its uniquely spreadable texture, and the exclusive use of Calabrian chilies as seasoning, ‘nduja is actually much more versatile than any other salami. The soft texture allows ‘nduja to be incorporated into any liquid without any need for a knife, as you would have to chop a typical hard salami.  Also, the deep flavors developed during the curing time, means that adding the product last minute to any dish will create the illusion that the spiciness was cooked into the dish from the beginning. Chefs who understand this will quickly replace the red pepper flakes on their dining room tables with a small jar of Nduja mixed with oil to a pourable texture guests can easily mix into their dish for a deep, robust spiciness. There is a plethora of chilies produced around the world, and often the intensity, depth of burn, and particular flavor profile is associated exclusively with the given region’s cuisine.  Calabrian chilies, however connected with the particular flavors of Calabrian gastronomy, can be used in cuisines around the world without changing the inherent ethnicity of a dish. The heat of a spicy Calabrian chili falls squarely balanced on the palate, and though will build a slow burn, has a distinctive sizzle when it first touches the tongue. ‘Nduja has become popular in Japanese restaurants, as an accompaniment to ramen or brushed on sashimi, used as an alternative seasoning in picadillo for empanada filling, used as a marinade for meat or vegetables, and can be formed around a scotch egg before frying.  ‘Nduja Pannacotta is a top selling gelato served at Tempesta Market, the Fiasche’s deli in Chicago. Who thought meat could be used as a marinade, let alone salami for dessert?

nduja scotch egg
Scotch Egg made with ’Nduja

Keeping it real, didn’t we always suspect that there must be spreadable salami out there?  After all, why would anyone use the term hard salami, without at least subconsciously recognizing the existence of soft salami???

Electric Watercress

Posted on by Matthew C. Reilly

It was 9 years ago.  I was working at the Tasty Singapore pavilion at the Fancy Food Show at the Javits Center in NYC. My buddy, Neil and I had some time to take a break and walk around the show for a bit.  Walking around such a large space filled with the best in gourmet and craft food from around the world is an awesome experience.  If you ever get the chance, definitely go to the Fancy Food Show.  Anyway, as we were walking around we came across a micro-green and edible garnish purveyor.  Micro-greens are basically baby versions of herbs and vegetable sprouts that are often used to finish a plate of food in a fancy restaurant (see the micro cilantro used to top off my perfect bite). Well, all of a sudden I hear this exclamatory yelp from Neil.  No sooner do I look up, when he presents me with a tiny flower.  The bud is tightly formed and bright yellow, just like a miniature sunflower, but spherical. It’s the size and shape of a very small marble. He tells me to eat it, and as I take it in my hand I see a menacing look begin to form on his face.  As he starts to grin, I hesitated.  He said, ” No man, it’s fine, it’s totally cool…  It’s like electricity.”

Wait…what? Why would I eat this?  I thought, What is the taste of electricity??

“It’s totally cool.  Just eat it.”

I felt like I was back in middle school being taunted to do something I would surely regret.  But then, what the hell… I popped it in my mouth.

My tongue LIT UP! Neil was right. The only thing I could think of was that I just pressed a 9-volt battery to my tongue.  It tasted…just like ELECTRICITY.  Then I realized that I have had a similar, yet much less intense sensation before.  If you have ever eaten a sichuan peppercorn, that is the sensation.  Slightly tart, almost spicy-hot, but not exactly.  The big differences was that it was like one hundred times more intense, and it was a fresh little bright yellow flower bud.  I remember the guy told me the name of the plant.  I know I asked all about it, and how to get more.  I probably even took the purveyor’s card.  I was really excited to introduce this new find to all my fellow cooks, friends and chefs. Then, we went back to hawking products for the Singapore Trade Commission.

After the show, Neil and I did what any sensible cooks in training do.  We sat at the end of a local restaurant bar, proudly ignorant and most inappropriately, still wearing our chef whites, and proceeded to drink our faces off.  (Here’s a pro-tip for budding culinarians:  if your at a food service establishment or event, and you are not a chef of said establishment or event, you should not be in whites.  And unless you are THE CHEF, or THE OWNER, you should definitely not be in chef garb at the bar.  It’s a real bone-head move) We were a couple of real bone-heads, and of course I remembered the taste sensation produced by that super cool flower garnish about a month later.  Of course, by this time I could not remember anything other than it being yellow and tasting like a battery.  Back then, this was not enough to go on for an image search on the internet, and the instances it came up over the following years were often during cook drink-fests when the subject of weird foods arose.  I would start to describe it, nobody would know what I was talking about, and I would have just enough info to make myself sound like a moron.  I literally brought this up intermittently for years.  Then, I went to Brazil.

I was asked to go to São Paulo to help set up a cheese counter – very exciting stuff – totally exotic place with super weird, yet fascinating foods, especially plants and fish and meats, actually all the food is strange if you are from New Jersey, like me.  Well, there’s all kinds of cool stuff because most of the stuff comes from the garden out the back called, the Amazon Jungle.  One of the coolest things for me while working the counter was enjoying some amazing aged artisan cheeses that were incredibly well crafted and super tasty!  The coolest thing about them is that they were also totally illegal to sell.  Now, I knew the producer and the cheese itself was even pasteurized, not that this necessarily makes them safe, it’s just that the milk treatment was not the issue of legal concern, in this case.  You see, the government of Brazil makes it very challenging to sell cheese across state lines.  These cheeses were produced in Minas Gerais and our market was in São Paulo.  These cheeses were very small production and came from the best milk producing area in the country.  Most of the milk produced in São Paulo is produced on a commodity scale and much of it comes from zebu.  Zebu in Brazil give poor milk, shitty for use in cheesemaking or drinking or really anything.  So, if you want good cheese, you have to go the wink-wink, nudge-nudge route.  The problem I faced was that I had made a commitment to building the most impressive artisan cheese offering in the city, so 2+2= We are going to buy and sell contraband from small producers in Minas Gerais.  Now, the reality is that there are only a couple of other cheese shops in town and they do the same thing.  You come to discover that the laws seem to be more or less a deterrent to moving mass quantities of cheese from outside the state, keeps the commodity producer lobbyists at bay, and the laws don’t seem to be enforced anyway. Well, that justification seemed good enough for me.  This was very good stuff, and I was very excited about it.  The other thing that I was excited about, was CULATELLO DI ZIBELLO P.D.O..  If you don’t know CULATELLO, look it up, find some and eat it.  It’s the crown jewel of Italian cured meats, the Jupiter of the Salumi Pantheon.  Basically, it’s the most prized muscle of the prosciutto, seamed out with just the correct amount of fat cap remaining, seasoned, stuffed into a pig’s bladder, tied, cured and dried. If it’s done best, the texture is like butter and the flavor is like Parmigiano Reggiano DOP.  If it’s done poorly, it tastes like dried out, salty prosciutto.  One thing is for sure, you pay premium prices either way.  We were selling the PDO product from Emilia-Romagna, and unlike in the USA, this stuff was actually legal to sell in São Paulo!  Go figure.  Cheese from a few miles away, contraband. Cured meat from the other side of the planet that isn’t legal at home, NO PROBLEM.  What a strange place, Brazil.

We got the counter ready, and the market open (that’s a story!). In came the first rush of Brazilians, with their mouths drooling and their wallets open!  I decided to work the counter, since I knew the cheeses, wait not really, and I spoke the language, wait not at all, and the counter was set up – I lied before, it wasn’t.  Actually, it just made sense because as little as I had to go on, I was still the only person prepared to actually sell a piece of cheese.  The scales didn’t work right, we had no usable plastic wrap, and most of the cheese was illegal.  I was smiling.  I was excited.  I had knives, a cutting board, paper, tape and a marker.  What else do you need, other than customers, and here they came!  One of the first people I encountered was a small woman with a huge smile and a lot of moxie!  She was very curious about Culatello di Zibello.  I was amazed that anyone in the country even knew what Culatello di Zibello was, and she wanted to taste it.  So, of course, I shaved off a paper thin slice for each of us and we discussed it’s merits.  I sliced her a couple hundred grams, and then we started talking cheese.  She obviously was a gourmet and I was super excited to share some of the tasty aged lactic set ashed goat cheeses made by a skilled woman in Minas Gerais.  We tasted through a few, and she made a couple of purchases.  Then, I introduced her to my friend Fiorenzo and while they had a conversation, the manager of the counter took me aside and said, “Do you know who that is?”

“No”, I said”

He said, “She is a very important chef in Brazil.  Her name is Jodie Foster (that’s not her real name). She owns a number of important restaurants, and has her own television shows!”

I said, “Well she’s really friendly, and she seems to really like shopping for good food, so she’s awesome in my book!”

Then she came back to me, along with Fiorenzo, and asked the manager to take a picture of all of us in front of the counter.  Next, she invited us to dine at her house the next evening.  We both agreed, we exchanged contact info and let her on her way to continue shopping.  The next evening Fiorenzo was not feeling well, and so I decided to go alone.  I hopped in a taxi and we made our way through the city to Chef Jodie Foster’s house (I don’t want to use her real name, but you get to see her picture). When I got there it was like a jungle fantasy house.  She had a rock path leading through her entry way to what looked like a banyan tree growing out of her living room floor.  All around me were one of a kind pieces of native art and crafts.  Her kitchen was appointed with various indigenous cooking implements, some on the stove being used to prepare our meal.  Along with her sous chef, she had prepared a meal for myself and two other guests, a beautiful female friend from Trieste, and a world renowned lighting expert – though he usually does commercial and entertainment design, he designed the lights in her house to follow a scheme which reflected her mood at any given time of day.  I think the mood that evening was fucking awesome jungle tasting menu for four!  The meal started off with a rare roasted palm of a varietal only legally sold to natives, followed by a  her own special feijoada, complete with indigenous rice, hand delivered by the cultivator that morning, and two of her own unique blends of farofa.  We finished with a ganache spoon, with a chocolate straw over an espresso flavored liquor.  And then came the digestive.  She broke out the cachaça.  LET THE PARTY BEGIN!

She said that one was very special and that I should definitely try it because it is infused with the flavor of a very unique herb that will make your palate dance.  Huh, I wonder what she means by that… then I saw the bottle.  Right there, on the label was the word JAMBU and under it was an illustration of a flower I had seen before.  Once I tasted it, I was immediately transported back to that moment, years ago, when I tasted electricity!  It was JAMBU!  I mean, maybe that was what the guy at the Fancy Food Fest called it, I still couldn’t remember, but this was definitely the flower!

We finished the evening and I even went back for another meal. She is an incredible person and if she gives me permission I will add her name.  In the mean time, I hope Jodie Foster doesn’t mind her inclusion in my story.  Everything else is true, and I sure learned the value of being a welcoming salesperson.  If I hadn’t cultivated a wonderful moment at the cheese counter with an enthusiastic attitude toward an interested guest, I would still be yammering on about some unidentified flower bud that tastes like a 9-volt battery, but it’s really good and cool, seriously!

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Other uses for Jambu

“‘Nduja” is Not ‘Nduja

Posted on by Matthew C. Reilly

Well, I guess we should answer what it is before we consider what it is not, right? Okay, so first of all, what is ‘nduja?  ‘Nduja is spreadable, spicy, fermented, aged and sometimes smoked sausage¹.  ‘Nduja is made from the soft fats and off cuts that typically are not used in the production of other salumi² when a family has processed a hog.  These other salumi include lonza, prosciutto, fiocco, coppa, pancetta, guanciale, spallaccia, a few others including salsiccia, and yes, sopressata and salame.

Not all salumi are typically fermented. ‘Nduja is fermented. You can identify fermentation in a cured meat by the taste of acid.  Acid produced by bacterial activity lowers the ph to the point that pathogens find the meat inhospitable.  It is one way (or in HACCP speak, a critical limit) that salumiere use to help keep the product safe and even shelf stable³ for consumption.* Nduja is cured, but uncooked. This occurs during the aging process, when the sugars in the sausage mix are metabolised by the cultures present, producing lactic acid. When   These can be added, like a powder, they can be present enough in fermented products like wine which can be used to inoculate the sausage mix, or they can be incorporated through a process called back slopping**.

‘Nduja is spreadable.  That’s an easy one.

‘Nduja is spicy.  Now there is merit to the debate that nduja should only use calabrian chilies.  However, I think that argument does not consider the practicalities of production and somewhat dishonors an essential aspect of Italian cuisine.  Is it practical or efficient to acquire only calabrian chilies for the production of a calabrian style product here in America?  Well, if you want to get down to the nitty gritty, I would say that’s argument is a slippery slope to the conclusion that outside of calabria, or any specific place a traditional product is made, you cannot possibly replicate a dish, or food product, or anything really.  There are components that cannot be replicated, like the air, or the water, or the feed that was given to the animal, or the specific breed of animal, or even the materials used to produce that product.  You have to draw the line somewhere, and for me, they type of chili used should approximate, or improve to your palate, the heat level and balance you aim to achieve.  Also, various types of chilies are now grown in Italy, and certainly in Calabria.  I really like cayenne.  I like it’s balance on the palate, and I like it used in all types of spicy salumi.  Is that wrong?  Maybe we disagree.  That’s good. Everyone should come from a place if informed opinion.  And that’s why I hope there will be various excellent ‘nduja produced in America someday. That is very different from using the term “‘nduja” as a marketing scheme to sell either extra scraps of finished product, or emulsified hot sopressata and ketchup. Such a product is not ‘nduja.

Nduja can be smoked.  That is a point of practicality if you are using smoke in the process of curing, or smoke could simply be your flavor preference.  Regardless of intensity: strong, light, or non-existent, it’s still ‘Nduja to me.

Now, this is basically for home or restaurant production. I don’t know of any artisan retail producer that doesn’t already understand this, but of course you need to source good pork.  Why?  Sure, you could say that we are using off cuts and soft fats, and who really cares about how good the pork is when there’s all that acid and spiciness to obscure the nuanced flavor brought by using good pork?  If that’s your opinion, you are ignorant. Sorry, but first of all you should understand that you cannot achieve good results without good ingredients.  And, as a hobbyist or chef, if you are unwilling to experiment with a quality ingredient that is still less than $9 per pound, then you are in the wrong game, on the wrong side of the isle, and/or simply don’t care enough about animal welfare.  Listen, off cuts are super cheap, even from heritage breeds that are raised humanely.  However, I don’t suggest coming out of the blocks with your first nduja experiment having loaded up on the kidney and liver meat.  It will probably just turn you off the ‘nduja thing, all together.  Get jowl meat, belly meat and supplement with shoulder, but get from a well raised animal.  No need to necessarily source a heritage breed right away, or really at all.  (Although, if you produce for the market, it is likely that you do whole muscle cuts and various other cured pork products that will only be viable in a quality market if they are of quality breeding.  This is because of the percentage of hard fats, the distribution of those fats, and how the flavor of those fats are influenced by what the animal is fed)  So heritage breeds aside, the animal should always be raised and processed humanely and in a clean and economically fair environment.  The goal is to be informed of these aspects of farming and processing so that we can collectively achieve a more wholesome food system.  Relating to the product’s organoleptic qualities, it will taste better if you use humanely treated pork.  When pork is fed crap, your meat will taste like crap, no matter how much chili and salt you use.  If you aren’t sure what it was fed, then you don’t really know the potential for flavor.  When pork is stressed during or before slaughter, the meat becomes exudated due to a depletion of muscle glycogen. This will make your ‘nduja gummy.  Gummy meat always sucks. I probably already have belabored the point, but to finish it off, the more you know about the source, given some knowledge of what you are looking for, you will understand that, like milk†, pork is not pork. (I sense another post just around the corner…)

Lastly, To reiterate what is NOT ‘nduja, nduja is not just a catch all marketing term for meat spread. It is a traditional product that has a long heritage and comes from a specific place in and around Spilinga, in the province of Catanzaro in Calabria  We should make it here in the USA, but we should give a little respect to where it came from by honoring, as best we practically can, how it should be produced.  In the same sense that reducing red wine vinegar and grape must is totally NOT Aceto Balsamico Traditionale, you can not emulsify production scraps with whatever other ingredients, squeeze that into a tube, or jar and call it salumi, let alone ‘Nduja. ‘Nduja is fresh, high quality pork, salt, cultures and chilis, with enough soft fats emulsified so it will still be spreadable once it ages for a few months. In this case, be wary of what you see on the shelf that is labelled “‘nduja”.  Look at the ingredients.  It still may taste delicious to you, but understand that just because it is marketed as “‘nduja”, does not mean it is ‘nduja.

¹In place of sausage, some would insert sopressata, or salami.  In this case I am not.  I have spent years working with both sopressata and salame and one thing I have learned is that though it may be reasonable to throw around labels based on taste or appearance, there are few people that agree on what defines either. So, in this case I am saying sausage. Sausage is ground meat. There are few disagreements on that.  A square is a rectangle, and ‘nduja is sausage

²Salumi is the Italian word for preserved meat.  This can be accomplished by cooking or curing uncooked meat, usually pork.

³Shelf Stable is a term the USDA use to guarantee that a product can be safely held indefinitely at room temp, like on a shelf at 70ºF.

*Another critical limit control is lowering the water activity (aw), otherwise known as the excess water which may be available to support things like pathogens. Kinda how dry, salty or sugary something is, but that’s a very simplified way of understanding the concept. For more info on developing a HACCP plan, go to the FDA: HACCP Principles & Application Guidelines

**Back Slopping is a traditional way of ensuring a consistent cure, and end product, by adding some material from a previous batch to your current batch of sausage mix.  This is not allowed in the USA, and is a sure fire way of having inspectors make you toss your entire inventory.  However, in my opinion it is safe.  Yeah, duh, you have to know what you are doing, but go ahead and try curing something with powdered culture and pink salt without knowing what you are doing and see what happens (Don’t do that! I was being facetious. You could kill someone for crying out loud). Back slopping tastes better for the same reason that Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale, Parmigiano Reggiano, and adding yogurt cultures in cheesemaking produces more complex flavors.  You get much more diversity in types of bacteria, which are responsible for a spectrum of flavors.  When the original cultures used in back slopping came from the flora in the air, like in lambic style Belgian beers, you create a consistent result every time which has the flavor characteristics unique to the place where it is, and always has been made.  Terroir, right?

†Milk is not “Milk”