Black pudding is a culinary curiosity, an oddity even, a food item that can excite strong dislike, and one which is rarely seen at dinner parties, as it crosses too many taboos and prejudices and is obviously an acquired taste. To chance it with the dietary requirements of divers visiting diners might be considered a host or hostess’s bridge too far. After all we are talking about a product made mainly of congealed pigs’ blood.
I acquired a taste for black pudding early, my mother frying rounds of it sliced off a Don horseshoe-shaped sausage. I didn’t always wait for the frying; being a teenager I could eat the stuff chilled, straight off the roll, straight out of the fridge. Delicious.
I bought some recently after a long hiatus. The meal I presented to a certain party featured black pudding in a pasta dish and was an undoubted success, but I had had to resort to a certain subterfuge to enhance its acceptability. I told my dining partner that the recipe for the meal had been the invention of a chef from one of Melbourne’s oldest and most-loved restaurants, the Florentino. The story was not disingenuous: it happened as told. But only with black pudding would I ever need to invoke a supposedly higher authority in order to pre-sell what I had cooked.
Rigatoni with black pudding, toasted pine nuts and cream.
Slice and fry the black pudding on a lower heat than usual until toasted on both sides: black pudding will crisp quickly. Fry some garlic and a little onion in olive oil; add cream and gently reduce. Meanwhile, cook pasta.
Combine pasta, cream sauce, pine nuts and crumbled black pudding. Sprinkle with chopped parsley to serve.
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