Christmas has left a borderline-harrowing trail of leftovers in its wake. Opening the fridge this morning was an object lesson in facing up to the consequences of my actions. Getting through it all may require a small amount of creative cooking, if only to find even passingly healthy ways to use all the cheese. But for lunch today, I just mixed a bunch of stuff together and fried it.
All these are is a few spoonfuls of stuffing, beaten together with a couple of leftover potatoes, a little goose from the carcass, and a bit of salt. They’re shaped into small patties and carefully fried. More potato or some breadcrumbs on the outside might have made them a bit less fragile, but the result is tasty enough. What makes them is the stuffing.
Ok, so, there’s not a lot to see here – it’s just more in the genre of “put roughly three savoury things over pasta”.
One of the things I brought back from Rome was a decent-sized chunk of prosciutto. It was bloody delicious, and it wasn’t even one of the better bits in the shop. No, the chap in Volpetti managed to up-sell me on an end piece, after I’d obviously betrayed my pork lusts and stocked up on salami.
I am glad he did.
Casting about for something to do with it, I ended up just slicing it thin-ish and tossing it over pasta with ricotta and wilted spinach and rocket. On the one hand that’s barely a recipe; on the other, it was one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth.
Seriously. The prosciutto wasn’t overpoweringly salty, the fat was rich and creamy, and that cured, rich, piggy taste was fucking close to perfect.