Twist on Tradition: Turkey Tortellini in Brodo

There are certain Italian foods you probably shouldn't mess with unless you're prepared for an argument. Tortellini may be near the top of that list.

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In Bologna, tortellini aren't simply another shape of stuffed pasta. They're part of the culinary identity of the city, with traditions surrounding everything from their tiny size and distinctive shape to what belongs inside them. The classic filling combines pork loin, prosciutto, mortadella, Parmigiano Reggiano, egg, and nutmeg, and serving them in a deeply flavored broth, tortellini in brodo, is one of the great traditions of Emilia-Romagna.

So I fully recognize that replacing the pork with leftover Thanksgiving turkey may be enough to get me thrown out of Bologna.

But there is a little more to the story.

The Dish I Already Knew

Long before I ever made tortellini, there was my grandmother's cappelletti in brodo.

My grandmother came from the mountains of the Val Taro in Emilia-Romagna, and cappelletti served in broth were part of the food tradition she brought with her. It's one of those dishes that is wonderfully simple on the surface: tiny filled pasta floating in a beautiful homemade broth. But anyone who grew up with food like this knows that "simple" doesn't mean insignificant.

These are the foods tied to holidays, family tables, and the people who made them for us.

Cappelletti, tortellini, and anolini all belong to the extraordinary family of stuffed pastas found throughout Emilia-Romagna, and the differences between them can change from one town, or even one family, to the next.

Cappelletti means "little hats," a reference to their folded shape. They are especially associated with Romagna and parts of Emilia and can be filled with cheese, meat, or a combination depending on where they're made. Tortellini belong most famously to Bologna and Modena and are formed from tiny squares folded into triangles and wrapped into their characteristic ring shape. Their traditional filling of pork loin, prosciutto, mortadella, Parmigiano Reggiano, egg, and nutmeg is taken very seriously.

Then there are anolini, another beloved filled pasta with deep roots farther west in Emilia, particularly around Parma and Piacenza. Usually round, their fillings vary considerably from place to place, but Parmigiano Reggiano, breadcrumbs, meat, and the deeply concentrated flavors of slow cooking often play a role.

Different shapes. Different fillings. Different towns fiercely attached to their own versions. But they share something important: all three have a long tradition of being served in broth, particularly during holidays and family celebrations.

And that connection was already part of my own family history.

It Starts With the Broth

Every holiday season ends the same way in my kitchen.

After the turkey has been carved and the last sandwiches have been made, the bones go into a stockpot. I add vegetables and herbs and let everything simmer slowly for hours until what most people would consider scraps becomes a rich, golden broth.

I love that transformation.

There is something deeply satisfying about extracting every last bit of flavor from a meal rather than throwing it away. By the time the broth is finished, it tastes like everything comforting about gathering around a family table.

And then I'm inevitably left with something else I hate to waste: beautiful roasted turkey. Oneyear, staring at a bowl of leftover turkey and that enormous pot of homemade broth, I started wondering why the turkey couldn't become tortellini.

Maybe my grandmother's cappelletti were somewhere in the back of my mind. I already understood the magic of filled pasta floating in homemade broth. I just had these particular ingredients sitting in front of me.

Why not?

Purists in Bologna might have a few opinions about that, but I couldn't think of a single good reason not to try.

Breaking Tradition, or Continuing It?

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

Italian cooking has never been about wasting good food. It has always been about transforming humble ingredients into something extraordinary. Stale bread becomes dinner. Bones become broth. Scraps of meat become fillings. Yesterday's ingredients find another purpose tomorrow.

That resourcefulness isn't contrary to tradition. It is tradition.

So I kept the mortadella, prosciutto, Parmigiano Reggiano, egg, and nutmeg that give traditional tortellini filling so much of its character, but replaced the pork loin with roasted turkey.

The result exceeded every expectation.

The filling is delicate and savory, just a little lighter than the classic version. The mortadella and prosciutto provide richness, the Parmigiano brings depth, and freshly grated nutmeg adds that unmistakable warmth.

But what really makes the dish work is the broth.

The turkey that provided the meat for the filling also provides the bones for the broth, so the two taste as though they naturally belong together. What began as a way to use leftovers becomes something completely its own: tiny handmade tortellini surrounded by rich, golden turkey broth.

A Labor of Love

I won't pretend these are quick to make.

Tortellini are tiny. The dough is rolled thin and cut into 3 cm squares, and every one gets filled, folded into a triangle, wrapped around a finger, and sealed by hand.

There are a lot of them.

But once you get into a rhythm, there is something almost meditative about it. Fill, fold, wrap, seal. Then do it again. And again. And again.

This is cooking that asks you to spend some time in the kitchen. Put on some music. Open a bottle of wine. Don't rush it.

I make a large batch because if I'm going to spend an afternoon folding tortellini, I'm certainly going to have something to show for it. What we don't eat goes into the freezer, ready to drop directly into simmering broth whenever I want them.

Still, they're always gone too soon.

These have become one of my favorite winter traditions. I only make them a few times each year because they demand patience, but every bite reminds me why they're worth the effort. And every time the last tortellini disappear from the freezer, I'm already looking forward to the next holiday feast that gives me an excuse to make them again.

My grandmother made cappelletti in brodo. I make turkey tortellini in brodo.

Not exactly the same tradition, perhaps. But I like to think they're connected.

Maybe that's how family recipes are supposed to work. We inherit them, we remember them, and every once in a while, we make them our own.

Turkey Tortellini in Brodo

Serves 6 to 8

Traditional Bolognese tortellini are filled with pork, prosciutto, and mortadella. This holiday-inspired version gives new life to leftover turkey, creating a delicate filling that's served in rich homemade turkey broth. Time-consuming? Absolutely. Worth every fold? Every single one.

The Pasta

• 540 g imported "00" flour (1.2 lb)

• 6 large eggs, at room temperature

• Rimacinata semolina flour, for dusting

The Filling

• 400 g cooked turkey (14 oz)

• 115 g mortadella (4 oz)

• 60 g prosciutto crudo (2 oz)

• 85 g freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano (3 oz)

• 1 large egg

• Freshly grated nutmeg, to taste

• Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Broth

• 5 L homemade turkey broth (5 qt)

Make the Pasta Fresca

1. Mound the “00” flour on a clean work surface and make a wide well in the center. Crack the eggs into the well.

2. Using a fork, beat the eggs, gradually incorporating flour from the inside edge of the well. Continue until the mixture begins to come together, then switch to a bench scraper and work in the remaining flour.

3. Knead the dough by hand for about 10 minutes, until smooth and elastic. The dough will be fairly stiff. Wrap tightly and let rest at room temperature for at least 30 minutes.

Make & Cook the Tortellini

1. Grind the turkey, mortadella, and prosciutto through a meat grinder using the coarse plate, then the fine plate. Alternatively, pulse in a food processor until finely minced.

2. Add the Parmigiano Reggiano, egg, freshly grated nutmeg, salt, and pepper. Mix until thoroughly combined.

3. Divide the dough into six portions. Working with one piece at a time, sheet the dough through a pasta machine to the second-thinnest setting, dusting lightly with semolina as needed.

4. Cut the pasta into 3 cm (1¼-inch) squares. Place a small amount of filling in the center of each square. Fold corner to corner to form a triangle. Don't worry if a little filling gets caught in the fold. It helps keep the tortellini sealed during cooking.

5. Wrap the two corners around your finger to form the traditional tortellini shape, then press firmly to seal.

6. Work quickly to prevent the dough from drying out. If necessary, lightly mist the pasta with water or cover unused squares with a clean kitchen towel.

7. Arrange the tortellini in a single layer on a towel-lined baking sheet, leaving a little space between each one.

8. Bring the turkey broth to a gentle boil. Cook the tortellini for 2–3 minutes, or until they float and the pasta is al dente.

9. Ladle the tortellini and broth into warm bowls and finish with freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano.

Featured Wine

Elena Walch Pinot Bianco is a beautiful companion to this comforting bowl of turkey tortellini in brodo. Crisp acidity, delicate orchard fruit, and subtle alpine minerality complement the rich homemade broth while allowing the savory turkey filling to remain the star. There is enough texture to stand up to the richness of the mortadella, prosciutto, and Parmigiano Reggiano, but the wine remains elegant and restrained, exactly what a delicate broth-based dish needs.

Pinot Bianco has a long history in Alto Adige, where it has found an especially welcoming home among the region's high-altitude vineyards. Here, cool alpine nights and warm, sunny days allow the grape to retain its bright acidity while developing texture, concentration, and remarkable elegance. In the glass, Pinot Bianco typically leans toward apple, pear, citrus, and white flowers, sometimes with a subtle almond note and the fresh, stony character that makes Alto Adige whites so distinctive.

Often overshadowed by the far more familiar Pinot Grigio, Pinot Bianco deserves considerably more attention. The two grapes are actually color mutations of Pinot Noir, but Pinot Bianco can produce wines with greater breadth and texture while retaining the freshness that makes them so versatile at the table. In Alto Adige especially, it is treated as a serious variety, capable of producing everything from crisp, youthful whites to more complex wines with surprising aging potential.

Elena Walch is one of the names that helped bring international attention to the wines of Alto Adige. Based in Tramin, the historic estate combines some of the region's most dramatic vineyard sites with a focus on expressing the distinctive alpine character of its wines. Her Pinot Bianco captures exactly what I want alongside this dish: freshness without austerity, texture without heaviness, and enough personality to be interesting without competing with the tortellini. And perhaps fittingly for a dish inspired by my grandmother, her name was Elena, too.

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