Baked Ricotta for the Resurrection

Until I moved to Philadelphia, I rarely encountered anyone who worshipped ricotta. But here, the Italian influence runs deep, and even my students – most of whom don’t venture beyond the deli case for cheese – grow dewy eyed when they mention reh-gott-uh. 

And that’s how they say it. Reh-gott-uh – you’ve got to roll the “R” and put breath into the last syllable. It should sound like a hairy Italian grandmother has taken over your body.

Ricotta isn’t hard to find, but I’ve learned that there’s a big difference between fresh ricotta and commercial brands. Your storebought versions tend to be watery and chalky – the texture reminds me of taste buds. 

At Claudio’s, in South Philadelphia, the hand-made ricotta is cloud-like, not unlike mascarpone. Last night, I tried some local goat ricotta from Shellbark Farm -- it was grainy, like fine cottage cheese -- which only made me pine for the pillowy ricotta from Keswick Creamery.

Today, I went to the Italian Market on a singular mission. To find the right cheese for a resurrection dinner party. I wanted a cheese that had died and come back to life. A cheese that had undergone death and rebirth.

Baked ricotta. Naturally.

This is a new discovery for me. I am a washed-rind lover and an Alpine fiend – the mild cheeses have yet to woo me. But baked ricotta is another story. It’s toasty, like a slightly charred marshmallow. And the texture is damp and dense, with a fine skin of sweetly burnt crust.

I don’t know what makes baked ricotta rise. But it does. Then it slumps. I bought this wedge from the amazingly mustachioed Adam Balkovic at Di Bruno Bros. (he is famous for his Man Loaf), but I have read about baked ricotta. There are many recipes for those of you who like damp heat and burnt sugar.

As for me, I plan to serve my baked ricotta slightly warmed, with honey, berries, and few blanched almonds. If you don’t hear from me again, you’ll know that I’m hanging out with bosomy Italian ladies, whispering reh-gotta-uh in order to enter the gates of heaven.

To read more about baked ricotta:

Seven Spoons

Morsels & Musings

Gourmet Girl

Domestic Efforts

Lush'n Wild

This one goes out to my friends, the drag queens. I know, I know, cheese and lipstick don’t mix, but I couldn’t help myself. When cheesemonger Paul Lawler told me that Keswick Creamery’s latest release was named “Lush’n Wild,” I time-traveled back to fourth grade when I wore Maybelline Lipsmacker on a rope and lip-synched Pat Benatar. Yeah, the ‘80s loved me.

Lush’n Wild is, awesomely, just that. Its sharp, feral notes made me caterwaul the other night when I put out a selection of Keswick cheeses to taste with my neighbor Emily. Emily is a fashion designer who always travels with a miniature dachshund in tow, and usually they are both wearing rhinestones. Even the dachshund caterwauled when we bit into Lush’n Wild. It was a primal experience.

Here’s why Lush’n Wild is my favorite Keswick cheese (and I’ve tried many since my visit last week): it’s sneaky. It smells mellow and faintly citrusy, but it tastes tack-sharp and salty-sweet. Sneaky, yeah. It’s also a Tomme, an Alpine style of cheese, but it tastes vaguely like an English cheddar. For instance, there are bitter notes that I associate with cheddar, and the consistency bears similarities, too: dry to the touch, creamy on the tongue. I swear, it’s a cheddar cross-dresser.

Lush’n Wild also has awesome rind. After being pressed, the wheels are rubbed with Cabernet Sauvignon grape must from Adams County Winery, a vineyard near Gettysburg, Pa. The must infuses the rind with a dark cattail-like hue, and yes, I ate the rind. It was delicious. With some crusty bread and a bottle of IPA, this lush went wild.

Keswick Creamery is known for its ricotta, but I’m excited about its curious Tommes. Several, like Tommenator, are washed with beer from Troegs Brewing Co. The creamery also makes Happy Jack, which is a Tomme bathed in hard cider. Seeing beautiful cheeses bathed in local spirits – well, it’s hard not to get light-headed. I’ll have to reign myself in for future photo shoots with these cheeses, or this blog will turn into Raw-Milk Runway.

But reallly...would that be so terrible?

Cheddar Notes

Friends, I write to you from the state of Minnesota, where I plan to squirrel myself away for the next month to finish a novel. I've got a cooler full of cheese to sustain me, but internet access will be spotty, so consider this my postcard.

Madame Fromage will be back to talk cheese smack on July 1.

Blue Suede Moo

All day I’ve been thinking about it: the triangle of crusty-edged blue I bought yesterday at the Fair Food Farm Stand in Reading Terminal Market.  After launching this blog with a Wisconsin blue, I felt the need to pay homage to something local.  At the Farmstand, Albert – who is also known as “Picky” of Messy & Picky blog fame – gave me an approving nod and said, “That’s a good blue.  It’s nice and mild.”

With a name like Blue Suede Moo, I did not expect “nice and mild,” but today was a warm spring day and I took a walk under the cherry blossoms, so a spot of mild cheese seemed like the perfect nightcap…er…cheesecap? 

Blue Suede Moo comes straight out of Pennsylvania cheese country, from Keswick Creamery in the Cumberland Valley.  Keswick runs a raw milk CSA – yeehaw!— and would you believe this blue is one of the few true raw milk blues made in the U.S.?

Alas, I had such high hopes for Blue Suede Moo.  You know how I love a sharp blue, one that’s creamy and not too dry, with a nice balance of sweetness and tang.  Well, the Moo was just as Albert had prepared me to expect – it was mild.  It was not the least bit like Elvis.  The rind has a fabulous leathery look, and the cheese has the most elegant blue veins running through it, but the texture is grainy.  The flavor doesn’t gyrate the way the flavors of a deep, dense blue do.  Even Monsieur Fromage frowned behind his whiskers.

Well, I’ll tell you what I did.  I made myself a wee martini, using the cucumber gin I love from Hendricks.  It has a touch of rose water.  Just a touch.  And when it’s spitting cold and served with a salted cucumber slice, it’s better than a sitz bath.  Wouldn’t you know that cucumber martini – so icy, so delicate – was just the thing to bring out the croony notes in this blue?  I flopped down on our velvet couch and had a proper duet of cheese & martini, and something occurred to me: maybe there is an optimal time of day to eat certain cheeses.  The Blue Suede Moo is definitely a nighttime cheese.  It’s perfect before bed – not too sharp, not too stanky.  You can steal a nibble and still be ready for sweet kisses.