Handmade Culurgiones Recipe | Authentic Sardinian Pasta

Handmade Culurgiones Recipe: How to Make Sardinian Stuffed Pasta from Scratch

Sara Moura April 27, 2025 Recipes 0

You haven’t really lived until you’ve had a plate of handmade Culurgiones — Sardinia’s answer to dumplings, ravioli, and tiny edible hugs.
These beauties are stuffed with creamy potatoes, mint, pecorino cheese, and love (yeah, love’s an ingredient, don’t argue). They’re like the hidden gem of Italian pasta recipes — and today, I’m showing you how to make them by hand. No fancy machines. Just you, your rolling pin, and your willpower.

Because the truth is: real food is messy, it’s soulful, and it always tastes better when your fingerprints are all over it.
Ready? Let’s get our hands dirty.

What Are Culurgiones?

If you’re new to Culurgiones (pronounced cool-oor-JOH-ness), think of them as Sardinian stuffed pasta, shaped like wheat stalks.
They’re traditionally filled with mashed potatoes, mint, garlic, and sharp Pecorino Sardo — sealed with a signature braid that looks like you spent a semester abroad just learning how to pleat dough (don’t worry, it’s easier than it looks).

They hail from Ogliastra, a rugged, mystical region of Sardinia where life moves slow, the mountains kiss the sea, and pasta is practically a religion.

Ingredients You’ll Need (Authentic Culurgiones Recipe)

For the dough:

2 cups (250g) semolina flour (fine)
¾ cup (180ml) warm water
1 tablespoon olive oil
Pinch of salt

For the filling:

3 large potatoes (starchy ones like Russet or Yukon Gold)
1 clove garlic, finely minced
1 cup finely grated Pecorino Sardo (or Pecorino Romano if you can’t find it)
5-6 fresh mint leaves, finely chopped
Salt and black pepper, to taste

To serve:

Tomato sauce (optional but traditional)
Extra Pecorino for grating on top
Olive oil

How to Make Handmade Culurgiones (Step-by-Step)

Step 1: Make the Dough

In a big bowl (or straight onto a clean counter if you’re feeling rustic), pile up the semolina flour like a mini volcano.
Make a crater in the middle, pour in the warm water, olive oil, and a pinch of salt.
Start mixing with your fingers, pulling flour from the edges into the liquid, until it starts coming together. Knead it hard — for at least 10 minutes — until it’s smooth and elastic.
Wrap it up in cling film and let it rest for 30 minutes. (The dough needs a nap. You probably do too.)

Step 2: Prepare the Filling

Boil the potatoes whole with the skin on — trust me, it keeps them from getting waterlogged.
Once they’re fork-tender, peel them (they’ll basically undress themselves), and mash them like your life depends on it. No lumps.
Mix in the minced garlic, mint, Pecorino, salt, and pepper.
Taste it. Add more cheese. Always add more cheese.

Step 3: Roll Out and Cut

After the dough has rested, roll it out thin — about the thickness of a credit card.
Use a round cutter (or a glass) to cut circles about 3 inches wide.
Dust with a little semolina so they don’t stick together while you work.

Step 4: Shape the Culurgiones (The Fun Part)

This is where it gets sexy.
Scoop a small ball of filling into the center of each dough circle.
Pinch the top closed, then work your way down, pinching and folding, pleating each side toward the center.
It should look like a little wheat grain when you’re done — but honestly, if it looks more like a weird dumpling blob, it’s still going to taste like heaven.

Tip: Keep the dough you’re not working with covered — it dries out faster than your patience.

Step 5: Cook and Serve

Bring a big pot of salted water to a boil.
Drop the culurgiones in gently — don’t crowd the pool.
Cook until they float to the top, about 3-5 minutes.

Serve with a simple tomato sauce, a drizzle of good olive oil, and a mountain of grated Pecorino.
Or just drown them in butter and sage if you’re feeling dangerous.

Final Thoughts: Why You Need Culurgiones in Your Life

There’s a reason culurgiones have survived centuries of Sardinian storms, invasions, and diet fads — they’re the real deal.
Making Handmade Culurgiones isn’t about perfection. It’s about connection. To yourself, to your food, to every Italian nonna whose spirit is currently fist-pumping you from the pasta heavens.

So next time you want to impress someone — or just want to remind yourself you’re alive — roll up your sleeves and make these.
Because life’s too short for sad store-bought ravioli.