The first bite of Cherry Burrata Salad with Pistachios and Basil happened on a Tuesday afternoon in Polignano a Mare, in a kitchen that smelled like crushed basil and warm stone. Our instructor, Mariella, had pulled the burrata out of the fridge before we even arrived. She said it should be the temperature of the room before it sees a plate.
I was the only American in the class. There were two Germans, a couple from Milan, and a woman from Tokyo who took notes in three colours of pen. Mariella did not write anything down. She just kept handing us cherries.
A Cooking Class in Polignano a Mare
The class was in a small whitewashed kitchen four blocks back from the cliffs. Through one window you could hear the sea. Through the other, a dog barking somewhere up the street.
Mariella had set the day’s ingredients on the counter like a still life. Burrata in a paper wrap, a wooden bowl of dark cherries, a paper twist of unsalted Bronte pistachios, and basil so small the leaves were the size of my thumbnail. She started with a rule. Never cook burrata. Never warm it. Never break the casing more than a few minutes before serving.
We did three dishes that afternoon, and the burrata one was the only one I could not stop thinking about on the train back to Bari that night. I made it again the next morning in my little B and B with cherries from the market, eaten on the balcony with a flat coffee. By the time I was back two weeks later I had written the proportions on the back of a boarding pass.
Why Burrata Means Andria
Burrata was invented in Andria, a little inland from where we were, in the 1920s. Most accounts credit a cheesemaker named Lorenzo Bianchino, who reportedly wrapped a pouch of mozzarella around leftover curd shreds and cream so nothing went to waste. Commercial production was documented by 1956, and in 2016 Burrata di Andria was granted Protected Geographical Indication status.
Mariella told us that in her grandmother’s time burrata was eaten the same day it was made. Twenty-four hours, max. You bought it in a paper-wrapped parcel and ate it at lunch.
This is also where I want to be clear about something. Burrata is not just fancy mozzarella. It is a mozzarella shell stuffed with stracciatella, those soft curd shreds soaked in cream. That is the whole point. Cook it and you destroy it.
The pairing with cherries, pistachios and basil is not ancient. It is a modern composed salad, a summer riff on the same antipasto logic that gave us caprese with tomatoes. Mariella was honest about that. She said the version her mother made was burrata with peaches in August. She used cherries because it was June.
What I Used
- 8 oz fresh burrata, ideally Burrata di Andria PGI, sat out for 30 minutes
- 12 oz ripe dark cherries, pitted and torn or halved
- 1/3 cup shelled unsalted pistachios, preferably Sicilian Bronte
- 1/2 cup small fresh basil leaves, loosely packed
- 3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil, the best bottle I have open
- 1 tsp fresh lemon juice
- 1/2 tsp flaky sea salt, plus more for finishing
- 1/4 tsp freshly cracked black pepper
Cherry Burrata Salad with Pistachios and Basil at My LA Table
My version at home is almost identical to Mariella’s. The only thing I changed is the sourcing. I cannot get Burrata di Andria flown in cheaply, so I buy mine fresh from the Italian counter at the Hollywood farmers’ market on Sundays, when the cheesemonger gets it in on a Saturday night flight. It is twenty-four hours old when I serve it. That is my bar.
The cherries I get from the same market, from a stand near the back run by a family out of Lodi. They have the dark Bing cherries by mid-June and the Rainiers a week later. I have made this with both. I prefer Bing for the colour and Rainier for the sweetness. Use whichever you can taste before you buy.
The pistachios are the one place I will not compromise. Sicilian Bronte if I can find them, otherwise good unsalted shelled pistachios from a Persian market over on Westwood. Never the pre-roasted candied ones. Never. The salt and sugar fight the cream and you lose the whole point.
I crush them on my old wooden cutting board with the flat side of my one good chef’s knife, the one with the slightly wonky handle my dad rewrapped in twine. You want a mix of coarse pieces and fine rubble. Not powder. Powder turns to paste against the cheese.
The first time I tried this in my own kitchen I made a small mistake. I dressed the cherries too far ahead and they wept a pink puddle into the burrata cream before anyone had sat down. Now I season them five minutes before serving and not a second sooner.
I assemble in this order. Burrata on the platter. Slice the top of the casing and pull it gently open so the stracciatella spills out. Salt the cream. Then the cherries with their juices spooned around and over. Then pistachios scattered so they stick to the cream. Then basil torn by hand, never chopped, because a knife bruises the leaves and they go black within the hour. Then olive oil in a slow spiral. One more pinch of flaky salt. Pepper. Done.
Small Variations Worth Trying
A few drops of aged balsamic at the end is very American and very good, even if Mariella would lift an eyebrow. A thread of hot honey is also good and very not Italian. I do it anyway. Sometimes.
I serve this with grilled bread, brushed with olive oil and rubbed faintly with a cut clove of garlic. Wine wise, a cold Verdicchio is what we drank in Polignano. A dry rosé works too. So does a glass of something cold and sparkling on the back step at 6 pm in July, with my window-box basil still warm from the afternoon sun.
Make it at the very last minute. Eat it standing up at the counter if you have to. The cream waits for no one and you will be glad it does not.
Cherry Burrata Salad With Pistachios And Basil
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Pull the burrata from the refrigerator at least 30 minutes before serving. Let it come up to cool room temperature so the cream inside stays soft and pourable.
- Pit the cherries with a cherry pitter or by slicing around the stone with a paring knife. Tear or halve each cherry so the juices can mingle with the cream.
- Place the cherries in a small bowl. Add the lemon juice, a generous pinch of the flaky sea salt, and the cracked black pepper. Toss gently with your hands and let them sit for 5 minutes to draw out a little syrup.
- Set the pistachios on a cutting board and crush them under the flat side of a chef's knife, then roughly chop. You want a mix of coarse pieces and fine rubble, not powder.
- Lift the burrata onto the center of a wide serving platter. Use a small knife to slice across the top of the casing and gently pull it open so the creamy stracciatella interior spills out. Sprinkle the exposed cream with a small pinch of flaky salt.
- Spoon the seasoned cherries and their juices over and around the burrata, letting some pool against the cheese.
- Scatter the crushed pistachios across the top so they cling to the cream and the cherry juice.
- Tear the basil leaves by hand directly over the platter, letting them fall naturally. Avoid chopping, which bruises the leaves and turns them black.
- Finish with a slow, generous drizzle of the extra-virgin olive oil in a spiral over the whole plate. Add one last pinch of flaky salt and a few more grinds of black pepper.
- Serve immediately at room temperature, with warm bread on the side for tearing and dragging through the cream.