As I tucked my finger into the room temperature cheese and took a small taste, the creamy texture accented by a tiny ting of lemon, I realized I had been—for years—eating an unimaginative imitation. The ricotta I’d spooned out of a tub and layered into my lasagna was just the idea of ricotta, a rough estimate. Here before me rested the real deal. This ricotta sang a little tune, as it shimmered in its authenticity.

I had typed “Homemade ricotta cheese. Why not?” into my Facebook status after Smitten Kitchen’s blog recipe for it popped into my inbox. With leftover half-n-half and heavy cream from the goat cheese flan I’d made for our wedding anniversary dinner, along with a bagful of lemons on hand, it seemed easy to start in on a cheese experiment.

I walked the dog while waiting an hour for the curdling dairy to strain out its whey and returned to the final ricotta. I could’ve eaten it as it was on crackers and remained exuberant. But just then a message from my Facebook friend Bo Young rolled onto my computer screen. “You should make gnudi with your ricotta,” he said. “They’re divine.” Just as quickly he messaged me a recipe.

Even though I’d planned for the night’s dinner to be relatively simple, I soon took to the task of making the gnudi. Why? The word “gnudi” looked like “gnocchi,” and it got my nostalgia running high. Back in the late 80s and early 90s when I lived first in New Hampshire and then California, a certain large group of friends got together fairly frequently to make huge gnocchi feasts. The dough would be made from scratch using potatoes, and then we’d stand around a large table and roll the gnocchi by pressing one finger in and push-rolling, tossing them onto dozens of lightly floured cookie sheets. Thinking about those big group dinners and my early foodie years always makes me happy, and so I set about figuring out the gnudi—without a herd of friends, but with their spirit nearby—assuming gnudi must be gnocchi’s distant cousin.

I discovered the last container of last year’s homemade tomato sauce in the freezer, and it seemed perfect using it to celebrate the first making of cheese in my house, the onslaught of summer, the memories of friends and meals, the new friends who come unexpectedly into your life, and the gnudi themselves! Delicious pillows.

Now in love with this food as much as Bo, I invited him to write a few words about gnudi, which also has a little to do with gnocchi for him too.

Bo Young

It was my 40th birthday and I was in Assisi, Italy, sitting at a table in a restaurant called I Leoni, perched atop catacombs in the hillside where the local priest had hidden Jews in WWII. I asked the chef to surprise us, and after he had invited me back to the kitchen to see his operation, I sat down in eager anticipation.

The memory of that meal has faded now, save for one primi piati that stayed with me for 20 years. Soft, silky pillows—that in my mind I remembered as gnocchi—a small arrangement of three or four, as I recall, on a plate masked with a gorgonzola sauce. Eyes-rolling-back-in-your-head divine.

For twenty years I had tried and failed to recreate these delectable bites. Everything was too heavy no matter how lightly I whipped potatoes, no matter how many “lifters” I attempted to add, all fell like belly bombs on my disappointed palate.

I’m in upstate New York now, and I produce an event at the Pember Library and Museum here called First Fridays, where in addition to local artists and music we feature local food. I visit local farmers and bakers and caterers and invite them to show their artistry right along with the framed pieces. The selections are world class. In some cases award-winning. And it was through this that I discovered Dancing Ewe Farm and Jody and Luisa Somers sheep operation.

I’ve spent many a Wednesday with Jody, elbow deep in ground up lamb, mixing spices making Daniel Boulud’s recipe for merguez sausage. And every time I leave, Luisa gives me a basket of their sublime sheep’s ricotta. Tucked away on their website I found a recipe to use their ricotta. For gnudi. Gnot potato gnocchi…ricotta gnudi! Who gnew?

~Recipe for Gnudi~

By Bo Young

First written about on Bo’s blog: http://wondermachine.typepad.com/certainseason/

• 1 c. whole milk ricotta cheese [I recommend following Smitten Kitchen’s recipe for homemade ricotta, posted here. ~SF]
• 1 lb. fresh spinach (or frozen, thawed and squeezed dry) [I used chopped, de-stemmed Swiss chard from my garden. Blanched quickly in the waiting, boiling gnudi water and then squeezed dry. ~SF]
• 1 c grated fresh Parmesan
• 2 eggs
• 2 egg yolks
• ¼ tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
• 1 tsp. salt
• 1 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
• 5 Tbls. all-purpose flour, plus 1 c. for coating
• 1 jar marinara sauce [I used 2 c. homemade tomato sauce. ~SF]

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.
2. In a large bowl, mix ricotta, spinach, Parmesan, eggs, and yolks. Stir in nutmeg, salt, pepper, and flour. Form mixture into small quenelles.
3. Dredge the formed gnudi in flour to coat, tapping off the excess. Slide the formed gnudi into the boiling water. Be careful not to overcrowd the pan; work in batches if necessary. Remove the gnudi using a slotted spoon after they float to the top and have cooked for about 4 minutes.
4. Arrange gnudi on a platter and lightly drizzle with marinara sauce.

Makes about 16 gnudi. Serve with a fresh garden salad.

Bo Young published White Crane: A Wisdom and Culture Quarterly for Gay Men for seven years and is editorial director for White Crane Books. A devoted epicure, he was a caterer in Palm Springs and has cooked in two and three star restaurants in Los Angeles, New York City, and East Hampton. Originally from Chicago, via San Francisco, Los Angeles, Palm Springs, Connecticut, and New York City, Bo now lives in upstate New York with his beloved partner, William Foote, a cat and a dog. He is in his 60s but he reads at a 70-year-old level and can still lift heavy things.