Let me just come right out and say it.  These Swedish meatballs are the bomb!  Seriously.  They. Are. Awesome.  IKEA had better watch out. I’m just sayin’.

Swedish meatballs are a perennial favorite among the smörgåsbord set, which is why I had to include them in my Meatball Week series.   These plump and moist little nuggets of meat are delicately seasoned with fragrant spices like cardamom, allspice and nutmeg before being bathed in a rich and velvety cream sauce.  As with most traditional ethnic dishes, you’ll find as many different recipes for Swedish meatballs as there are cooks who make them.  I’ve tried many different versions, and I think this one is the best I’ve tasted.

The basic recipe for my meatballs came from Marcus Samuelsson, who got it from his Swedish grandma.  When a recipe comes from a famous chef’s grandma, you just know it has to be good.   With ingredients like honey and pickle juice, it’s unlike any I’ve seen before.    I did deviate quite a bit from the original, but that’s just how I roll.  That’s the great thing about recipes like this.  There’s lots of room to improvise.

The meatballs themselves are made with a mixture of beef, pork and veal.  I’ve always been a fan of using veal in meatballs.  I think it gives them a lighter texture and better flavor.

Let’s get started! 

To make the meatballs, you first sauté some finely diced onions in olive oil.  Set them aside to cool while you gather up the rest of the meatball ingredients.

Toss the sautéed onions in with the other ingredients and mix them all up together in a big bowl.   Form as many golf ball sized meatballs as you can get.  I got a ton.  Then, brown them in a skillet.  But, don’t cook them all the way through.

Yes, that is butter that those meatballs are frying in – big, fat, voluptuous butter.  But, it’s okay.  I don’t do this every day.  And, I don’t have an endorsement deal with any big drug companies.

Next, whip up that fabulous Swedish meatball sauce.   You start by making a roux, which is used as a thickening base for all kinds of sauces, gravies, soups and stews.  A roux a mixture of butter and flour that is cooked together until it reaches varying shades of brown, depending on what it’s being used for. Cooking the flour allows it to thicken the sauce without giving it a “raw”, starchy taste.  The roux for this dish should be on the lighter side – sort of like a café au lait color.  Marcus’s grandma’s recipe doesn’t call for a roux.  But, I wanted a sauce with more body, so I made one.

When the roux is ready, add some stock, a little at a time so that it doesn’t sputter up and splash you in the face. Trust me, that is not pleasant!

Then, add some heavy cream, lingonberry preserves and pickle juice.   No, that’s not a typo.  I thought the pickle juice was weird too.  Just do it, though.  You’ll thank me later.

When the sauce starts to bubble,  gently plop the meatballs in.   Then, simmer them in that glorious sauce until they’re cooked through.  Honestly, it took almost all of my self-control not to just slurp that sauce up with a big, fat, giant spoon!

Serve them with more lingonberry preserves and some pickled cucumber slices -  and watch your guests drool.

TOUCHDOWN!

If you missed the first two Meatball Week installments, you can find them here:

• Scallion Meatballs with Soy-Ginger Glaze
• Kefta Meatballs in Moroccan-Spiced Tomato Sauce

Coriander, cumin, paprika and cinnamon are but just a few of the staple ingredients you’ll find in the Moroccan dada’s  pantry.   The cuisine is earthy, fragrant and complex, redolent of rich spices, chiles, onions and garlic -  punctuated with  bright bursts of citrus, cilantro and mint.    To me, it is both straightforward and mysterious at the same time.  I think that’s what I love most about it.  And, that’s why I decided to make the second quarter of my Meatball Week all about Kefta Meatballs in Moroccan-Spiced Tomato Sauce.

My source for this dish came from Paula Wolfert’s The Food of Morocco, considered by many to be the definitive work on Moroccan cuisine.  With a lifetime spent immersed in Moroccan food and culture, Wolfert’s name has become synonymous with it.  And, luckily for the rest of us, she loves to share her enthusiasm.

The original dish is a tagine, which is a slow-cooked stew named for the pot that it is traditionally cooked in.   Wolfert’s kefta tagine features little lamb meatballs simmered in a cumin and paprika-laced tomato sauce.  Before serving, eggs are draped on top of the stew and poached.  Oh my!  I had to fight myself not to chuck the whole meatball plan and just make the recipe as written!  But, I’m hopelessly devoted to you, dear readers, and I could not leave you “meatball-less”.    So, here we go… 

The first thing you need to do is make your meatballs.  Wolfert says to use either lamb or beef, and I chose the more traditional lamb.  Onions, spices, garlic and crème fraiche are added to the lamb.  Crème fraiche!?!?  Yeah.  I had the same reaction, but it works.  The meatballs turn out kind of light and fluffy and have a subtle, pleasant tang to them.

Here we have the “Offensive Line” ready to cross the line of scrimmage.

Next, we start to make the line of scrimmage, er….um… I mean the tomato sauce.

Sauté finely chopped red onions in olive oil, then whisk in tomato paste.

Mix in the tomatoes and spices, and let it come to a bubble.   Wait a few minutes and then, breathe deeply.  It will smell heavenly.

Finally, add the kefta balls to the sauce and gently poach them for about half an hour.  Resist the urge to crack a few eggs in there.

Aaah!  Mmmmeatballs!

It’s meatball week here at Chez SGCC.  That’s because we love meatballs and think they make the perfect Super Bowl nosh.   They’re compact, easy to eat and can be made a zillion different ways.  So, as we count down to the big game, I’ll be sharing some different and delicious meatball recipes for you all to try out.

Let’s kick off with these yummy Asian-style Scallion Meatballs with a Soy-Ginger Glaze.

The original recipe for these tasty little morsels, from Canal House Cooking, calls for ground turkey.  I decided to make them with a combination of ground chicken and pork.    You can use whatever you want.  Turkey is perfectly fine.   I just think that Asian meatballs should be made with chicken and pork.   I also put a splash of fish sauce in my meatballs.  Don’t ask me why.  I’m just crazy like that.  I think it ups the umami quotient. 

I like to pulse the meat up a few times in the food processor before I mix in the rest of the ingredients.  You don’t have to do this either.  I find it gives the meatballs a finer texture, though.

There are no bread crumbs or other thickeners in the original recipe either.  I found the meatball mixture to be a little too wet for the balls to hold their shape, so I added a little cornstarch to it.  It worked great!

I love these gratuitous frying pan shots, don’t you?  The bubbles make me giddy!

Once your meatballs are all cooked, serve them with a drizzle of soy-ginger glaze.  They taste even better if you eat them with cute little curly-topped bamboo toothpicks like these.

My father had the most magnificent fig tree in his yard.  It was about twenty-five feet tall and the breadth of its branches was almost as wide.  Though he would never actually confirm it, the rumor is that he bred the tree using cuttings smuggled here from a bigger and even more magnificent fig tree that sits on the grounds of his ancestral home in Italy.  I have seen that original tree with my own eyes, and eaten its fruit.  It is amazing!

Dad’s fig tree was the jewel in his garden.  He babied and fussed over it.  He nurtured it through winters that were too cold and summers that were too hot.  That tree was the Goldilocks of fig trees.  Everything about it was just right, including the lush, moist fruit that grew from it.  Dad’s figs were almost the size of small fists!  Ripened by the sun, their flesh was so sweet that droplets of dew-like nectar oozed freely from them.   There was nothing – and, I mean nothing, people – that could rival the taste of my father’s figs.

Almost five years ago, on a grey November day, cancer stole my father away.  Within two weeks, the fig tree dropped all of its leaves, shriveled up and died.  I kid you not.  It was like the tree was in mourning and died of a broken heart. The only sign of life that has come from that tree since is the occasional appearance of a gorgeous, crimson cardinal, who swoops in from time to time and perches itself on a bare, brittle branch.   The bird just sits there, calmly looks around for a minute or two, and then flies off again.

None of us has the heart to chop down the fig tree.  Dad loved that tree, and to do so would almost be like losing him all over again.  So it still stands in its place beside the house as a bittersweet reminder of what once was.

Perhaps it is because of all of those wonderful, homegrown fresh figs I’ve devoured in my life, that I’m in so love with them.    Even now, I have a hard time passing them up when I find them at the market.  Sadly, they’re not quite the same when they come out of a plastic container.   I still buy them however, even though I’m often disappointed.

Another thing I can’t pass up is a good deal.  A few days ago, my market was having a BOGO sale on fresh figs.  They looked really lovely, so I slipped two quarts in my shopping cart, hoping that they would be good.  As I suspected, they were all style and no substance.  Out of the two dozen or so that I had, only about six were worth eating.  The rest were a little hard and dry, and the only thing I could think of that might save them was heat.  I find it intriguing how stewing, baking or roasting lackluster fruits can bring them back to life.  I’ve tried it with  berries, peaches, tomatoes and now, figs.  It works every time.

I thought about making some kind of tart with my figs, but honestly, I wasn’t in the mood to make a crust.  So, I decided that they would be just as delicious in a clafoutis.  For those who don’t know, a clafoutis is a French dessert where fruit is baked in a custard base.  Think of it as a crustless pie.   Traditionally, a clafoutis is made with cherries, but almost any kind of firm fruit will work well.   I love the combination of figs and honey, so I also decided to use that instead of sugar.

Despite its fancy, French name, making a clafoutis is very easy.  The first thing you need to do is cut up your fruit and artfully arrange them in a pie plate or glass baking dish.

Then, whizz up the rest of the ingredients in a blender and pour it over the fruit.

Bake the clafoutis until the custard sets and the top is nicely browned.

Look at how pretty it is!  And it tastes as good as it looks, too.  The custard was rich and creamy, with soft floral notes from the honey and the splash of orange flour water I also added.    Once baked, the figs took on a soft, jammy quality, and their sweetness intensified.   It was a lovely and elegant dessert that took hardly any effort at all.

I wish I had known about things like clafoutis when my father was around.  As delightful as this one was, I can’t help but wonder how spectacular it could have been with his figs.

*Photo of cardinal from iStockphoto.com

It seems like all I ever do lately is complain about the heat?  Well, that’s because it’s HOT here, people!  Really, really hot.  And humid.  Hot and humid is miserable.  Thus, I am miserable too. Hot, cranky and miserable!   Yes, I know it could be worse.  The grass is always greener and all that.  But in this case, the grass actually is greener somewhere else.  Because it is so damn hot, our grass is mostly brown these days – brown and crunchy and sad.  I know that compared to much of the country, this place is considered a paradise.  But, living in paradise does have its drawbacks.

Heat makes me tired – and lazy.  I don’t feel like going anywhere or doing anything, including cooking.  Except for making ice cream.  Does making ice cream count as cooking?

But still, we have to eat, and I can only get away with heat-related cooking reprieves for just so long.  So, I’ve been resorting to lots of salads and other quick dishes that don’t require a lot of effort on my part.

One of the easiest ways to get a meal on my table in a short amount of time is to make pizza.  All you need is the dough, a stocked fridge and some imagination.  And, I’ll let you in on a little secret: I buy my dough.  Sure, I know how to make it from scratch, and I sometimes do – when it’s cold outside, and I’m in a good mood.  In fact, my favorite recipe can be found here.  But, I’m sure not going to go to all of that time and trouble making homemade pizza dough in the dead of summer, especially when I can buy some great stuff at several local pizzerias and bakeries.  I can even find an acceptable product at my neighborhood supermarket.

Pizza is a lifesaver because you can put just about anything on it – even leftovers -  and it will almost always taste good.  I’ve made a lot of pretty great pizza using some rather unconventional toppings, like leftover pulled pork, picadillo and even fruit salad.  Last Friday night, I think I created my most interesting and delicious concoction yet, and it all started with a leftover container of Chinese takeout.

I’d been having one of those terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days, and all I wanted to do  was go home, turn the a/c down to 68 degrees and crawl into a cool corner.    I would rather have chewed on broken glass than go back out and sit in a restaurant.  So, I called an Italian bakery that was on my way home and asked if they had any pizza dough left.  They did, and I swung by to pick up a few blobs.

After I got home, I foraged around in my kitchen to find something to put on my pizza.  I decided to make one pie with the last of my homemade ricotta and some tomatoes from my garden.

Coming up with the fixings for the other pie wasn’t so easy.  I guess I hadn’t been shopping in longer than I’d thought.   And then, I spied a small container of Szechuan Eggplant with Garlic Sauce leftover from the night before.  There wasn’t enough to make a meal out of, but there was plenty to top a pizza with.  So that’s just what I did.

I’ll admit, I was a little concerned about how that pizza would turn out.  But OMG!  It was out. of. this. world.  Seriously!  Mr. SGCC and I couldn’t stop eating it.  In the oven, the sauce thickened and the eggplant and onions got all melty and caramelized.  It had a subtle sweetness that cut right through the sharpness of the garlic.  Who would have ever guessed that a container of half-eaten Chinese takeout could be turned into such an amazing pizza?  Color me gobsmacked!

I’m leaving you with not so much a recipe, as a guide.  Don’t feel obligated to run out to your corner Chinese place for Eggplant in Garlic Sauce.  That is, unless you really love Eggplant in Garlic Sauce.  In that case, go right ahead.  If you don’t, however, any number of different dishes would work just as well on a pizza, like Moo Shu Pork or Beef and Broccoli.  (I wouldn’t try it with wonton soup, though.  Just sayin’.)   It doesn’t even have to be Chinese.  I’ll bet Butter Chicken or Saag Aloo from your favorite Indian restaurant would be great options as well.

I suppose that the moral of this story is that we need to keep our minds open to new things, especially when it comes to food.  Sometimes flavors that we would never think of mixing together can be a fantastic combination.  And also, that no matter how crappy your day has been, a fabulous pizza can put it all in perspective.

It seems like we have zucchini coming out of the woodwork these days!  Everyone has it growing like mad in their gardens and no one can use it up fast enough.  I happen to adore zucchini, but even I’ve been feeling a bit challenged trying to find some different and interesting ways to use it.   And then, I found the recipe for this cake – Zucchini Olive Oil Cake with Crunchy Lemon Glaze.   The moment I saw it, I knew I had to make it.

This is not your typical, dense, leaden loaf of zucchini bread, people.   No, no, no!  It is cake. Real, honest-to-goodness cake, with a moist, light and delicate crumb drenched in a lovely sweet-tart lemon glaze.  And, it is heavenly! 

It all starts with the usual cast of cake ingredients, like flour, sugar and eggs.   There are also a few special guest stars, like coarsely grated, fresh from the garden zucchini…

And, some fragrant, fruity extra-virgin olive oil.  Yes, olive oil.  In cake!

Let’s not forget the crunchy, yummy toasted pecans.  How could anything not be wonderful with toasted pecans?

I’ll admit it doesn’t look like much before being baked, but just wait until it comes out of the oven…

And it gets a nice slathering of that delightful lemon glaze.

WOWZA!

Seriously folks, this was one of the tastiest cakes I’ve ever baked – and there was no chocolate ganache or Swiss buttercream in sight.  Even Mr. “I Don’t Eat Sweets” SGCC indulged in two slices – and that’s saying something!

I have to say, I was a little leery about using extra virgin olive oil  in a cake.  I was afraid that flavor would be too assertive, but it wasn’t.  In fact, if I hadn’t known it was in there, I wouldn’t have ever guessed.   On its own, the cake has a slightly earthy, mellow quality to it, and is not overly sweet.  The lemony glaze, however, is what really gives this cake its va va voom.   A mixture of granulated and confectioner’s sugars is what supposedly gives the glaze its crunch.  Although I thought the glaze was really delicious, I have to say I didn’t find it to be particularly “crunchy”.  But, I didn’t care.  It is a luscious glaze adorning a fabulous cake.  Who could ask for more?

Until recently, I never understood some people’s fascination with biscotti.   My parents loved them.  I did not.  To me, they were long, thick, rock-hard bricks with a peculiar licorice taste, obnoxiously trying to pass themselves off as cookies.  They didn’t fool me, though.  Whatever they were, I was certain that they were not any kind of  cookies I was interested in.

When I was a kid, every Sunday dinner was finished off with a pot of espresso and a plate of those obnoxious biscotti – always Stella d’Oro brand.    Every self-respecting Italian housewife kept a stash of Stella d’Oro cookies in her pantry, including my mother and my nonna.   You know, in case anyone happened to stop by.    God forbid someone should stop by for coffee and there were no cookies or cake to serve with it!    Tongues would wag for weeks!

As they sipped their espresso, the adults would dunk the biscotti into the thick, dark liquid and eat  them.  Gah! The only thing worse than biting into one of those jaw-breaking biscotti, was biting into one turned to mush by strong black coffee.  To this day, the thought of it makes me cringe. 

It wasn’t until I began blogging that I realized that all biscotti were not the same.  In fact, homemade biscotti were kind of wonderful.  You can flavor them however you like, and stud them with all kinds of dried fruits and nuts – or even chocolate.  And, instead of being as hard and tough as granite, they could be delightfully crunchy.  The best part is, that biscotti are not hard at all to make at home, so you can have nice, fresh ones whenever you want.  You never have to keep cellophane-wrapped packages of that other kind in your pantry again.

Perhaps, if my mother and grandmother had baked their own biscotti from scratch, I would have discovered their allure at a much earlier age.  Think of all the years I wasted hating them!  Unfortunately, except for certain holiday specialties, neither Mom nor Nonna were much into baking.  Such a shame…

Since I began baking my own biscotti, I’ve tried several different recipes.  Over time, I’ve taken a pinch from some and a dash from others and come up with a “go to” recipe that I really like.  The basic recipe stays the same, although I switch the various add-ins based on what I have on hand and whatever my whim is that day.  For these, I’ve used toasted almonds and plump dried cherries.  I think think that this is my favorite combination of all.   The cherries add a little chew and a touch of tartness to balance out the sweet.    The texture of the biscotti is light, but super crunchy.  And, there is no danger of chipping a tooth on one!

I like to add a little Fiori di Sicilia to these biscotti as well.  It’s a little difficult to describe, but Fiori di Sicilia is an Italian flavoring that has notes of vanilla and citrus.  Think of an orange creamsicle and you’re on the right track.  It literally means “flowers of Sicily”.   I get mine at King Arthur Flour, but you can simulate the same flavors by mixing 2 parts vanilla extract with one part each of orange and lemon extracts.  It smells heavenly and gives the biscotti a certain special something.

The key to a biscotti’s signature crunch is that they are baked twice.  The first time, they’re baked in one long log.  Then, they sit and cool off for a while.  After that, they are sliced into bars and baked again until they get all browned and crispy.

Here they are getting ready for round two.

Even though I do sometimes serve my biscotti with espresso, I never dunk.  I’m convinced that the reason my parents did is because the ones they had were so damn hard.  These biscotti are toothsome, but with one bite they yield into lovely, crumbly bits of deliciousness.  Move over Stella d’Oro.  There’s a new game in town.

There’s a popular story that’s been floating around my family for years.  My mother revels in telling it, and every time she does, it elicits a mixture of nervous laughs, horrified looks and hasty signs of the cross.  It’s about my mother’s childhood BFF, Rosie.  Rosie and my mom lived next door to each other while growing up, and for most of that time were inseparable.  They played with each other’s dolls, did each other’s hair and practically lived in each other’s houses.  Rosie wasn’t Italian, but my nonna loved her anyway.  After Rosie and Mom graduated from high school, my  mom began dating my dad and Rosie met a nice boy named Tommy.  Of course, they did a lot of double dating too.  And, when they both got married, they were each other’s maids of honor.

After a while, Rosie and Tommy bought their first house out in Long Island and moved away.  Since not many young couples had cars back then, Mom and Rosie didn’t see too much of each other anymore.  So, it was a huge deal when my father bought his first car, and we excitedly drove out to “the island” for our first visit to Rosie and Tommy’s place.   

Now, here is where I need to give you a little background information in order for this story to make sense.  For those of you who don’t know, my father was an Italian immigrant.  He was born and raised in a little hill town halfway between Rome and Naples.  Life in the Italian countryside in the mid-20th century was rustic, at best – especially during World War II.  My father grew up on a farm and everything his family ate, they grew.  Each year during tomato season, all of the women in the village canned tomatoes for use throughout the rest of the year.  They’d never even heard of tomato sauce from a jar, and I’m sure that the very idea would have been abhorrent to them.

My mother’s family was from the same hometown as my father.  When he came to this country in 1956, he naturally settled in the same area as my Mom’s family and the rest of the “paisans” from home.    They carried their food traditions with them across the ocean, and cooked the way they did back in the old country – with fresh, unprocessed, whole foods.   And, every year the women still got together for a marathon tomato preserving session.  The hundreds of jars of tomatoes it yielded were stored in their basements and garages while waiting to be cooked into luscious gravies and sauces made from scratch.

Okay. Back to the story…

So, there we were, out at Rosie and Tommy’s house on Long Island – only I don’t really remember it because I was barely a toddler.   Dinner time came rolling around, as it always does, and Rosie prepared a meal for us.  Now, here’s the kicker.  She opened a jar of Ragu Pasta Sauce, poured it over some boiled spaghetti and put it in front of my “barely off the boat” Italian father.  Oh, yes she did!  Rosie served my father tomato sauce from a jar.  And, this was the sixties.   Jarred tomato sauce wasn’t what it is today.  There were no premium, all natural, gourmet brands.  Just Ragu.  I may have been just a little tyke, but even I knew that serving Ragu to Italian dinner guests was a great, big no no.

My father, being the gentleman that he was, choked down a few bites and then devoured the salad as he sidestepped the canned green beans.  My mother, on the other hand, was absolutely outraged.  Never, even on her worst day, would she serve Ragu – and to company, no less!  Fai scumbari! But, they both held their tongues, muddled through and hoped for a better breakfast.

The next morning, when Rosie whipped out a jar of Tang to make my parents some “orange juice”, my mother announced that I had “swollen glands” and that we had to leave.  On the way home, we stopped at White Castle for a bag of burgers and vanilla shakes.  That was the last time we went to Long Island.

Rosie and Tommy came in to the city to visit us several times after that, and my mother always made sure to demonstrate the “proper” way to feed guests.  No jars, no cans and definitely, no fake orange juice!

After the story I just told you, you will probably find what I’m about to say shocking.  But, every once in a while I – the fruit of my mother’s womb – do, in fact, use jarred tomato sauce.  I know that this must be quite a blow to some of you, but before you boil me in extra virgin olive oil, hear me out.

Although homemade tomato sauce isn’t difficult to prepare, a good meat sauce does take some time.  When I do make a sauce from scratch, I usually make a lot so that I can freeze some for later.  However, sometimes I run out.  And, sometimes I’m just really feeling tired and lazy.  When that happens and I want a bowl of spaghetti with meat sauce, I buy a couple of jars of a good quality premium sauce to use as a base and jazz it up.  A few of my favorites are Rao’s and Dell’Amore brands.

I start out by browning ground beef and Italian sausage meat.  Then, I add lots of onions and fresh mushrooms.  I stir in some white wine and simmer it all together until the wine evaporates.  Then, I add the tomato sauce and fresh basil and heat it through.  That’s all there is to it.  In the time it takes to make the pasta, I have a rich, hearty and incredibly tasty meat sauce ready to go.   And, I’m telling you that if I served this dish to you, you wouldn’t know the difference.  My quick and easy meat ragu is so delicious that my father probably even wouldn’t be able to tell!

Let’s face it.  We’re all busy people and sometimes we take shortcuts in our kitchens.  The trick is to find shortcuts that don’t sacrifice quality and flavor in the process.  My meat ragu doesn’t.  And, I can guarantee one thing.  It’s better than Rosie’s!

Happy Cinco de Mayo!  Today is also Mr. SGCC’s birthday and we’re going out tonight!  I don’t know if we’ll do Mexican again or not, (we do it every year), but wherever we end up, I’ll be thankful that I don’t have to cook in this heat.  For those of you planning to cook, and who live in a more temperate climate, here are some muy delicioso Cinco de Mayo ideas from the SGCC archives.

Enjoy! 

Easy Chorizo and Potato Huaraches

Enchiladas Suizas with Quick Avocado Salsa

Chile Rellenos

Snapper Veracruz

Los Frijoles Refritos

Fideos Ole

Grilled Steak Fajitas

Guacamole

Spicy Melon Salsa

Pumpkin Flan

I’ll let you in on a little secret.  Even though I grew up in an Italian family where more than half of my relatives, including my father and grandparents, were actually from Italy, I had never heard of mascarpone until I was an adult and discovered it for myself.  Shocking, isn’t it?  But, it’s true.  For some reason none of the cooks in my family ever used the stuff.  How could this be?  Well, the only answer that I can come up with is that none of them were big bakers, and mascarpone is more commonly used in sweet dishes.   Also, since my family came from the southern half of the boot, most of the food out of their kitchens was tomato and olive oil based.  Except for ricotta and fresh mozzarella, very little of anything creamy was ever used in cooking.

My grandmother was diabetic, so she really never served much in the way of desserts outside of fresh fruit platters and some sfogliatelle or cannoli picked up from one of the neighborhood pastry shops.   I guess she figured why make luscious desserts that she couldn’t enjoy herself, especially when there were so many excellent bakeries within walking distance.  And, because she didn’t bake or make lots of sweets, none of her four daughters ever did either.  They bought their cakes, tiramisu and pastries too.  I guess you could say that our entire family did its part to keep the local bakeries in business.   Heck, I’d probably do the same thing if I had access to all of those wonderful Italian treats!  Sadly, here in my neck of the woods that is not an option.  If I want to enjoy authentic, mouthwatering Italian delights, I have two options.  The first is to buy them at the one and decidedly “meh” Italian bakery in town.  The second is to make them myself.  Sometimes, I choose option one, but most of the time I go the DIY route. 

Even though the cooks in my family leaned towards the savory side of food, there were some notable exceptions.  There were always homemade cookies and struffoli at Christmas time,  and Pizza Rustica and Pastiera di Grano for Easter.  There was also this Italian Ricotta Cheesecake that made an appearance every so often.  I remember my mother poring over her Polly-O cookbook while churning out her version of cheesecake – Italian-style.  This cheesecake bears little resemblance to the super rich and dense variety that most of us are familiar (and maybe a little obsessed) with.   Instead of cream cheese, the primary ingredient in this cheesecake is ricotta cheese.  Using ricotta makes for a much lighter and fluffier cake, but also one that has a significantly less smooth and creamy texture.   Honestly, I was never the biggest fan of my mother’s ricotta cheesecake, but my father loved it.  He wasn’t a big dessert guy, and this cake was one of the few he truly enjoyed.   So, when I think of  it, I think of him.  That’s why I wanted to share it with you.  And, that’s also where the mascarpone comes in.

As I mentioned, I am not overly fond of the traditional ricotta cheesecake.  I mean I like it, but it doesn’t send me to the moon.   The flavors are lovely, but there’s just a slight graininess and wetness about it that puts me off.   When I conceived the recipe for this cheesecake, one of the things I wanted to achieve was smoother, creamier consistency – more like its New York-style cousin.  Adding cream cheese didn’t work because I felt it gave the cake too much of a sharp edge.  The flavor profile of an Italian cheesecake should be subtle, mellow and a little lazy, reminiscent of sunny afternoons enjoying la dolce vita in the Italian countryside with the scent of Sicilian orange blossoms wafting by on a breeze.   Nope.  Cream cheese wasn’t the answer.  But, mascarpone was another story.  Its silky, luxurious quality with the barest hint of sweet cream was exactly what my cheesecake needed!  So, in this recipe I have swapped out a pound of the regularly used ricotta for mascarpone.

Besides the ricotta, another signature ingredient found in an Italian ricotta cheesecake is orange flower water.  Orange flower water is a clear, perfumed distillation of fresh bitter orange blossoms that is widely used in Mediterranean dessert dishes.   It is incredibly fragrant and its flavor is quite distinctive.  It is more floral than citrusy.   You can try using orange extract instead of orange flower water, but there really is no substitute.  It’s available at most Italian and Middle Eastern markets, as well as online.

Oh, how I wish you could have been in my kitchen while my cheesecake was baking!  I’m pretty sure that the heady aroma of vanilla and orange blossoms would have made you swoon.  I did.  And, if you had been there, you would have also gotten to taste this dreamy confection.  It was marvelously smooth and rich, and yet lighter in texture than I expected it to be.  The mascarpone didn’t weigh it down.  It pulled the rest of the ingredients together and enhanced them.  This will definitely be my “go to” ricotta cheesecake recipe, now and forever.  I only wish that I could have shared a slice with my father.  I know he would have loved this version just as much as Mom’s.