Mortadella Sandwiches

Like the Montreal-style smoked meat we’ve covered this month, Mortadella bears great similarities to another more familiar product. This time, it’s bologna. Like bologna, Mortadella is a forcemeat, or an emulsion of very finely minced bits of meat in fat. Unlike bologna, Mortadella is generally also festooned with cubes of pure fat, bits of peppercorn, and sometimes even pistachio. While at first glance it does seem similar to the plastic package of your youth, upon closer examination, there’s a lot more going on with mortadella. Yet while you’ll see mortadella featured in every Italian deli case, it still often takes a backseat to other, more intensely-flavored cured meats.

I don’t believe I’d ever had a sandwich that featured mortadella, though I’d had plenty of bologna sandwiches in my time. It’s a supporting player in many Italian sandwiches, including the Chicago style Italian sub, but it rarely gets a starring role. Unexpected circumstances a few weeks ago brought us within the vicinity of suburban stalwart Italian deli Frangella Italian Market, and I took advantage of the opportunity to pick up some thinly sliced mortadella, along with an Italian sub. Though the mortadella isn’t apparent upon first glance, I found it hiding under the Genoa salami and capocollo.

Left to my own devices, and without researching how others used the meat, my initial thought for a mortadella sandwich was a sort of melt–Italian bread brushed with olive oil, with a nice-sized pile of griddled mortadella between 2 slices of provolone piccante, a slightly more flavorful version of the mild Italian cheese.

This was great–the mortadella browned up nicely in the grill, and the thin slices, piled high, kept the center of the sandwich moist and soft, easy to bite through. The melted cheese helped keep the meat inside the sandwich, helpful when the bread, crisp from the sandwich press, had a tendency to compress the soft meat out the sides. The sharper provolone made its presence known, but the sandwich was all about the mortadella.

Which was the point. I even tried it with giardiniera, but that drowned out the mortadella flavor. With just the bread, mortadella and cheese, the balance was perfect. But I still wasn’t sure I’d gotten it right.

Not too long after that, I sought out Jim Graziano, proprietor of our favorite Italian deli in Chicago, J.P. Graziano. I asked him, if he were going to feature mortadella in a sandwich–not include it, but feature it–what kind of sandwich would he make?

Jim was right on point, as usual. “That’s a tough one. I think of mortadella as such a complimentary component, critical to an Italian sub or Muffuletta. On its own, it is difficult to balance flavor while still showcasing mortadella as the star. If I were at home with a few pieces of mort, I would fry it and make it like a fried bologna sandwich that I would have as a kid.”

Vindication!

Jim went on, “If I wanted to get fancy I would reach for a soft roll, probably skip cheese and go with a strong green like Arugula and smear on some good Italian mostarda. I would also be opting for mortadella with pistachio over anything.”

OK, that sounds good. That sounds even better than my attempt.

Then Jim said something that had me hopping right on a bike and heading over to J.P. Graziano as fast as my little legs could carry me. “In fact, I have some here, unopened, as a sample from Nduja Artisans that I would be happy to donate to the cause.”

I’d been planning on stopping by anyway. While I’d very much enjoyed the Italian sub from Frangella, J.P. Graziano is my standard and it helps to revisit standards from time to time to keep your expectations calibrated. They have never disappointed me in this.

This day was no exception. I often get a slightly modified Italian sub that includes prosciutto but today I went with the basic version, which at J.P. Graziano is anything but. The mortadella isn’t easy to spot but it’s there, the slightly lighter pink sandwiched between the darker capicolla and salami. While it’s not a presence in the sandwich as such, I think its absence would be noted.

While waiting to talk to Jim, I took a look at JPG’s deli case and while it is a much more targeted selection, simply containing the meats that they use in their sandwiches, I found mortadella to be a significant presence there as well.

Jim says that though it is his personal preference, they don’t use the mortadella with pistachios in their own sandwiches, as a safety measure for customers who may have nut allergies. This, in fact, was exactly why he had a chunk of mortadella he was willing to allow me to use for my sandwich testing. Nduja Artisans, formerly a producer only of Nduja (a spicy spreadable Calabrian type of salami), has been expanding their product range in advance of opening their new west loop deli and restaurant, Tempesta Market, and was offering these samples to their customers. He happened to have this fantastic product at the exact time I needed it. And I happen to have a deli slicer at home, so I was able to save him the trouble of slicing it. Hooray for serendipity!

I liked his idea about thin-sliced mortadella, cold, on a soft roll with arugula and mostarda that I immediately had to look up what mostarda is.

I’m kidding. Of course I know what mostarda is, though I’ll admit, I didn’t until occasional Tribunal contributor juliachildish wrote about it back in 2015. I’ve been describing it to people as a spicy fruit mustard, though a spicy mustardy fruit preserve might be more accurate. I couldn’t find one at any of the upscale markets I visited–even Eataly only has one on the shelves–so I found the Grace Parisi recipe on Food & Wine and made that. (Jim G tells me that homemade ones turn out better anyway). I also picked up some arugula (I planted a fall crop but it wasn’t ready yet) and then sharpened the heck out of my deli slicer before slicing the mortadella as thin as I could reasonably get it.

I picked up some “Kaiser” rolls at an Italian deli–they don’t look much like Kaiser rolls to me, as they usually have a star or knot pattern in the top, but they were soft on the inside with a slight crust and were perfect for this use.

I spread the mostarda–which didn’t have quite the sinus-burning mustardy kick I wanted–on the bottom half of the roll. I should have used mustard oil instead of Colman’s powder. Still, it’s a very tasty condiment, fruity, sweet/sour, and yes there is a bit of a kick there.

This would be a cold mortadella sandwich, so I skipped pan frying it, but even straight out of the fridge, this mortadella had a much richer color than the ones I’d used previously.

Then all I needed was a handful of arugula to finish.

That top bun looked bare, and I wracked my brain trying to think of something to put there–not just mayo, certainly, though it would go well with the arugula, but maybe something a little zippier, like a zesty vinaigrette, or even simple like a drizzle of olive oil. In the end, I decided that less is more and left it as is. I’m glad I did.

Jim Graziano knows sandwiches. If he tells you to make a sandwich a certain way, you do it. Thanks for the advice, Jim. This sandwich is a new favorite. The mortadella, to start with, was fantastic, and as good as fried bologna is, this particular specimen needed no crisply browned edges to shine. The dessert-like flavor of the pistachio was brought out by the sweetness of the mostarda, but the peppery arugula supplemented the mostarda’s spicy side to compensate.

That good mortadella is long gone, and I finally got around to looking at the Wikipedia article for mortadella sandwiches only to find out they’re a Brazilian thing, a big stack of griddled mortadella and melted provolone with mayonnaise and dijon mustard on a sandwich roll. It sounds pretty good, but I’m satisfied with what I made here. Brazil, if I ever make it down your way, I’ll try your mortadella sandwiches. Do yourself a favor and try this one though.