If I was to accurately describe it, I’d call it a cheese sack filled with cream, but that has to be the least appealing description of any foodstuff ever, so I’ll leave it to finecooking. “burrata is a supple pouch of tender mozzarella stuffed with stracciatella, a luscious blend of fresh cream and soft mozzarella shreds”. Supple pouch. Supple. Pouch.
I haven’t had burrata as i’m weird about cheese but it is similar to how I feel about Falafel and hummus together – I don’t understand why a ball of chickpeas is served with a paste of chickpeas?
We’ve been all over the world together – Paris, L. A. , New York, London, Tokyo – and I’ve been faithful, dear reader, choosing burrata over almost anything else when given the choice. But things are fizzling out.
You know burrata, the incredibly rich and creamy italian cheese – it looks like a ball of mozzarella di buffala, but it’s milkier and more surprising.
In my very humble opinion (I say humble, but I must have eaten over eighty thousand burratas, so in a way I’m probably a world expert) the best way to eat a burrata is with something ever so slightly sharp, or tangy, beside it.
Burrata should only be served one way – with heritage tomatoes and some sort of delectable herb oil, preferably basil.
Excellent blog post about burrata, and the only one (of all blogs ever) that I’ve felt compelled to comment on!
Of course the ultimate delight, if bodies didn’t have arteries that had to be kept relatively unclogged, would be a huge bowl of penne with an incredibly spicy tomato sauce and then a massive great big sac magique of burrata plonked on the top. Quivering.
It’s just faintly like guff, broccoli, and I love it but at the same time it’s not worthy of a place at the table with King Burrata.
Obviously been wasting my life as I’m unfamiliar with Burrata.