a burrata salad, a short story

Has it ever occurred to you, when faced with a plate of unassuming salad with a white ball placed before you, to think, 'When did burrata become a thing?'

Why did it become a must-order starter or that little something decadent crowning your main?

When did it become the IT girl of the cheese world?

And why am I so obsessed with it?

This unassuming white orb with its cute little top knot looks similar to mozzarella—soft and cloud-like, or perhaps like a lucky little money pouch waiting to be opened.

One of the most sensual things about burrata is eating it, but cutting through and revealing the treasure hidden inside? That's another thing entirely. It looks taut yet glossy at first, almost like a pearl. When you press it lightly with a knife, it resists just slightly, giving you a tantalising glimpse of what's inside. A little more pressure and it surrenders completely, suddenly releasing its heart. Thick, luxurious stracciatella pools out, flowing slowly in luscious waves. It was meant to behave this way—it knows exactly what it's doing.

What a tease.

One of my go-to burrata salads starts with fresh mixed leaves, slices of grilled nectarines or peaches, sometimes with slivers of prosciutto, but always finished with a generous handful of crushed caramelised pecans and a lovely drizzle of roasted tomato balsamic vinegar and good extra virgin olive oil. And of course, a burrata sits right at the heart of it all.

It has everything I love: sweet, savoury, tangy, and creamy; textures that are crunchy, crisp, yet juicy. So indulgent.

Even with just a crack of sea salt, black pepper, and a generous drizzle of EVOO, it's utterly delectable.

So, when did burrata become a thing? I'm not entirely sure. But I know exactly when it became my thing—the first time I watched that creamy heart spill onto my plate. Consider me converted and obsessed.