I never liked ricotta when I was younger. I did not like it on my pasta and certainly never ate it by itself. Although I grew up in Catania, I refused to have traditional cannoli, only eating the chocolate ones. I thought cassate were far too complex and only something adults liked–probably because my uncle used to devour them during family gatherings and would never leave any for the rest of us. I can’t remember when I actually began to pay any real attention to ricotta, but I know something changed when I moved to another country. Actually, it wasn’t moving, but returning home. After being gone for a year, I felt like a tourist exploring a new culture. I visited places as if I had never seen them, said yes to everything, tried food as if I had never tasted it. I remember having a fresh cannolo at the bar on the corner of Catania’s main street, Via Etnea, biting into my dessert while watching il passio of Villa Bellini. On the right you could see Etna, but the sun was too sharp, and I had to close my eyes. While the ricotta was slowly melting in my mouth, I realized I was home.
It was like starting from scratch, as if I had become a young girl again. I have been lucky enough to become Italian twice in a lifetime. Now, when I come home to visit, my nonna gets cassate for me as well.
The stars of these desserts, as well as many other Sicilian dishes, is ricotta, but there are many misconceptions about what this creamy treat actually is. The word ricotta literally means “re-cooked”, and, contrary to popular belief, ricotta is not cheese! The stuff is made from whey, the milky by-product of the cheese-making process. The whey from, say, mozzarella or provolone is heated again, and the remaining proteins and fats curdle and are collected to form ricotta. According to Italian legislation, this excludes ricotta from the cheese category.
Although the exact origins of ricotta are not clear, it is believed to have been first made right here in Sicily. Some believe the ricotta-making process, as well as its shaping, may have been influenced by ancient Egyptian techniques. Either way, it’s evident that the Greeks, who ruled Sicily from the 8th to the 3rd centuries BC, fell in love with ricotta, and incorporated it into their stories and culture: Homer, who was much inspired by the island, wrote in the Odyssey of the giant cyclops Polyphemus, who is making ricotta when protagonist Ulysses encounters him.
Today, ricotta is widely appreciated for its versatility: it can be sweet or savory, hot or cold, fresh or cooked. We eat it fresh straight out of its fuscella (the basket where ricotta is kept), but also atop pasta, fresh bread, crostini, or eggs. My nonna makes round omelets filled with ricotta and fresh mint, and she spreads the leftover ricotta on warm bread with a drop of olive oil. The stuff can also be found in/on ravioli, arancini, lasagna, pizza, scaccie, crocchè.
Ricotta salata is fresh ricotta left to dry until it’s hard enough to be salted and aged. It’s quite salty and is not meant to be eaten on its own: you should always grate it and sprinkle it atop any dish, but most famously pasta alla norma; the fried aubergines and fresh tomato sauce of this Catanese recipe don’t have the same indulgent taste without it. Ricotta salata is also a perfect accompaniment to meat-based pasta sauces, fresh salads, and roasted vegetables; even though the outside looks hard, the inside is still creamy enough to mix very well with warm dishes. It’s saltier and nuttier than Pecorino and Parmigiano Reggiano, so use in moderation.
When it comes to moderation, crispelle are a different story: soft but dense fried dough balls filled with warm ricotta. Here in Catania, the stalls waft smells of boiling oil down the streets, usually busy and noisy ones. Me and my mum always drive past one on our way home, and, as the sky turns darker, the warm yellow light of the stall lures us in. “Buonasera! Quante ne vuole?” (“Good evening! How many would you like?”), the vendor yells, referring to the bag of crispelle he’s already preparing for us. Each crispella is left in the oil for just a couple of minutes. They can’t fry for too long or the creamy filling will become dry and the pastry soggy. The pastry should be golden on the outside, and the ricotta inside creamy and fresh, as if it hasn’t been cooked at all. I usually end up getting a big bag to share. The oil leaves your lips slightly greasy, and the taste of the delicate ricotta lingers long after.
Crispelle are just the tip of the iceberg for those with a sweet tooth. Cannolo, the classic pastry shell filled with ricotta, is the typical Sicilian dessert per eccellenza. The name cannolo refers to the river canes (canne da fiume) to which the pastry was rolled around in the past for that long and rounded shape. The recipe may be of Arab origins, but was reinvented by a group of nuns in a convent in Caltanissetta as a dessert to celebrate carnival. Nowadays, not only will you find cannolo all year round, but with all sorts of flavored cream: pistachio, chocolate, almond, and more. Some recipes will add chocolate chips or candied fruit. What everyone agrees on is the final sprinkle of crushed pistachios.
Most importantly, a true cannolo should have one thing: contrast. Creamy, cold ricotta should meet a crunchy pastry. Avoid those already-made, though perfect-looking, cannoli in shop windows: they’ve probably turned chewy and soft, as the ricotta has soaked the pastry for too long. Choose a cannolo that hasn’t been assembled yet, and watch as the golden cone is filled with fresh ricotta right that instant. It should be a challenge to eat, especially if it’s on the larger side and not the mignon versions you have at Sunday lunch. With one bite, it slowly crumbles in your hands and the dreamy ricotta filling threatens to fall out. If any does drop, it is best scooped up with pieces of fried pastry. I love when there’s a trace of powdered sugar on top, adding to the overall mess.
The Sicilian cassata, however, is the real queen of ricotta desserts: layers of sponge cake, liqueur, ricotta cream, and pieces of candied fruit–all covered in marzipan, white icing, and perhaps a candied cherry. The sugar-forward treat is full of flavors, textures, and colors that each tell their own story of Sicily: Arab Sicily comes through in the name, derived from the Arabic for “large/round bowl” like the mold it is made in; nuns of the Martorana monastery added the marzipan strips to the cake in the years of Norman Sicily; and Spanish Sicily can be thanked for the introduction of sponge cake. (The smaller versions of the treat, called cassatelle or minnuzze, have a rather unsavory story that you can read about in Sicilian Sweets.) Enjoy the dessert on its own or with an espresso, but make sure it’s quite bitter to balance the intense sweetness of the pastries.
In the heat of Sicilian summer, you can never go wrong with ricotta gelato or granita. (It’s actually common to have one of these sugary items for breakfast until the cold weather hits in November.) Ricotta granita is a simple mixture of ricotta, sugar, and ice, while gelato is way creamier. In Avola or Noto, you can find the best: their gelato has the perfect texture, not not too thick or too watery, thanks to the quality of the dairy products from the Val di Noto. I usually have it with a brioscia, the Sicilian version of brioche with a tuppo (a little hat) on top.
Every time I have a bite of ricotta, or one of the many ricotta-based preparations, I’m transported to Sicily, to home. I think of my grandpa, who used to take my mamma to the pecoraro (the local farmer) to try the quagghiata, the velvety, warm curds that would become ricotta.
