Lemon Ricotta Cake with Turmeric & Ginger

what to bake this weekend

My inner introvert is about to gasp at this confession but—I miss people. It took over a year of isolation to realize I do need human interaction. Not just need. I enjoy interacting with other humans. Lest I leave you thinking I’m ready to party, don’t worry. I’m not rushing to fill up my calendar. My preference for alone time will always be the predominant nature of my personality. 

Social media has been both a saving grace and arch nemesis during the last 14 months. I’ve whittled away my feed to include voices that enhance my mental and emotional health. People who convey a sense of realness and all the struggles that come with living an ordinary life, albeit ordinary is relative to your station in life. Where you grew up, your financial standing, what you do professionally—all that affects what ordinary means. So, even if someone is living what seems to be a glamorous life, I look for the cracks that let the real rays of their personality shine through.

That is how I happened upon Emiko’s account. I don’t remember when we began following each other on Instagram but something drew me to her immediately. There was a kind, genuine quality in the way she wrote. It would be easy to feel envious of the life she’s leading in Italy. Who wouldn’t want those sunset views from her apartment in San Miniato? 

Just pick up any of her cookbooks, and you’ll realize between the words that tell the stories behind all the recipes she shares is someone who’s not trying to pretend to be anything except another human being finding her place in the world. What Emiko and I seem to have in common is the way our roots spring up from the stove, fanning out into branches that connect all the other parts of our  lives.

At least that’s how it feels to me. I’ll have to ask Emiko if I’m correct on this assumption of her own experience with cooking. Emiko also has a special connection to Pitigliano, a little town in Italy that I’ve mentioned before but have never actually visited. It’s on my bucket list, and the day I get there, I know tears will flow freely as a part of my life comes full circle. 

Being a lover of baking, buying Emiko’s new cookbook Torta della Nonna was an easy choice. While most of the recipes are a collection of pastry recipes from her previous books, with a few new ones added, I appreciate having them all in one place. Together they seem to tell their own story.

The first recipe I decided to try was the zuccherini on page 102. I loved these sturdy aniseed-studded biscuits that have an incredibly long shelf life when stored in a tin (I’m still enjoying them almost two months later!). The recipe I wanted to talk about today is her torta di limone e ricotta, a lemon ricotta cake. 

Just reading lemon ricotta cake evokes something fancy but this cake is quite the opposite. It’s a very ordinary, humble and unassuming cake. Reminiscent of a pound cake, with ricotta as the fat instead of butter, it’s equal parts ricotta, flour and sugar, at least when using metric measurements, so scaling the cake up or down to suit your needs is incredibly easy. When I first set out to bake it, I immediately scaled it down to ⅔ the recipe knowing the full amount would be too large for our needs.

On my third time baking it, I was craving something with ginger and turmeric, and decided to add both to this cake. Wow. Same easy, unfussy cake with a new pop of flavor. I can see so many variations to come in the future but at its heart, this recipe is for a very easy breakfast cake. Sturdy to dunk in coffee as Emiko writes in her headnote, and forgiving in that it’s the kind of cake you can bake and enjoy over the course of 4 to 5 days. I keep mine in a covered cake stand and slice off a wedge to have with coffee most mornings. You can try wrapping it in parchment paper if you don’t have a covered cake stand.

I’ve made this cake in a standard 8-inch round cake pan so can assure the cooking time works for that even though my photo shows it in a different tin. My brain is currently on the fritz and can’t remember the correct name for that tin shown, mostly common in Europe (it’s kind of like a very low rise tube pan). I found it in a thrift store many years ago for $1 (what a find, indeed!). If someone remembers, please jog my memory?

Hope life is offering more pockets of peace than stress, and you all have a calming weekend. xo-j.

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