Sabadiego

Sabadiego, the Platonic ideal of a sausage, according to the author.

In days past, as now, Asturias had a hog slaughtering season. It ran from Samartín (Nov 11) to Candelaria (Feb 2). During this time the Matanza took place. Literally meaning ‘killing’ this is a communal pig processing event. One in which all manner of pork products are made in order to preserve them throughout the year. You can be certain that was an important operation pre-refrigeration. Among the many sausages made was a very special one, the sabadiego.

From it’s origins as a sneaky way around Lenten food restrictions to its modern incarnation as the distilled essence of every pork and caramelized onion dish in existence, sabadiego tells a story.

Ecclesiastical Origins

During Lent, eating meat of any type on Friday was outlawed. So were the so-called Noble Meats on Saturday. Instead, people could eat wild game, injured or downed animals, and the various parts we now call offal. From the concept of Saturday Meat to a Saturday Sausage to be consumed on Lenten Saturdays is not such a big step. Hence the sabadiego began to develop. In the eighteenth century Alonso Marcos de Llanes Argüelles, bishop of Segovia and archbishop of Seville, Christianized this sausage with the approval of King Carlos III. Made entirely out of offal (with the occasional wild game mixed in), and onions or gourds for thickening, it served the sausage loving Asturians well for centuries.

Lost & Found

Once the ecclesiastical law no longer reigned supreme in Spain, the sausage fell out of favor relatively quickly. With so many sausages available locally, people did not prefer this make-do recipe. By the middle of the 20th century, sabadiego had essentially disappeared completely.

In the 1980s, there was a post-dictatorship explosion of interest in the regional histories and traditions that had once made Spain so diverse and alive. Part of that explosion, in Asturias at least, was what the late Pepe Iglesias so eloquently described as:

“Recovering old dishes, forgotten recipes, disused preparations, or sausages that have not been made for decades, is a way to revitalize our history, to honor those forebears who shaped it and to recover a tradition that is ultimately the authentic legacy that we should keep for our children.”

One of those efforts to recuperate and preserve gastronomic traditions was the Cofradía de Sabadiego. A group of friends from Noreña, they set out to resurrect this once dead sausage from the trash heap of culinary history.

Modern Sabadiego

The fellowship made a change to the old recipe, to keep the essence, but to leave behind the unnecessary strictures. The ground offal mystery stuffing gave way to quality cuts of meat, and the onion filling in entirely for the gourds of old. This one change rocketed the humble sausage to the head of the Asturian table. Soon it found its way into the fashionable Asturian restaurants of Madrid. Reporters and writers flocked to it, and to the feel good culinary regionalist story it told.

Now, sabadiego is marketed as chorizo and morcilla together – a marriage of the most distinctive parts of both, in one sausage. The recipe is simple, but the process is involved. Grind pork belly and various lean cuts of pork together. Then season them well with pimentón. Fry an enormous amount of onions in lard and mix them into the ground pork. Double the weight with fresh pork blood and mix well. Stuff into natural casings in links that are 4 or 5 inches long. Hang them to cold smoke for a week over apple wood. Then finally dry cure them for a month or so.

How To Eat Sabadiego

While you can just chuck one into any dish that calls for either morcilla or chorizo (or both), it is better in my opinion to put sabadiego into dishes where it can shine on its own. Here are a few of ideas from my kitchen for excellent ways to use this unique sausage:

In a German mode: Slice the sabadiego into thick slices or smallish chunks and gently fry. Boil some cut up potatoes and serve the two together with some just warmed through sauerkraut.

In an Italian-American mode: Red and green peppers cut into strips, roughly chopped garlic, and onion slices sauteed together. Add thin sliced sabadiego to the pan, splash on some white wine (or sidra natural, obviously) and simmer slowly for 30 minutes.

As a sandwich: Slice the sabadiego lengthwise into the sort of slices you buy sandwich pickles in, fry very quickly in a screaming hot pan, and stick them inside a small crusty roll. Add some dulce de manzana if you have it, and you’ve created a hyper-German Spanish sandwich.

As a tapa: Make a special appetizer for your next party by slicing thin discs of sabadiego and pan frying. Slice some long thin bread loaf like the Spanish barra de pan into small rounds and lightly toast them. Paint each bread round with chunky apple sauce (homemade if possible). Add a small piece of aged sheep cheese, and top with a slice of the fried sabadiego.