torta della nonna

Listening to early-’90s punky stuff while stuffing my face with homemade popcorn tossed with cheese and white truffle oil and trying futilely to focus on writing sensible documentation for the hosting world about blog tools…lordy, what have I become? Yet I find myself wondering, What is Plaid Retina doing right now?

The link between music and food is obvious and has been discussed at great length, certainly, but I’m not convinced that the relationship between, say, Jawbreaker and chopping greens for soup, or Nuisance and a lovingly rolled-out pie dough have been fully examined.

Speaking of which, I finally decided to go for it and, though giving up my aspirations to ever make one like Lino’s, put together a homemade torta della nonna. Honestly, the ubiquitous pie can’t really ever be that bad, loaded as it is with lemon and pine nuts and (dreamy) ricotta.

(Actually, a side note: This pie is, I believe, often made with pastry cream, which may explain why some tortas have a puddinglike texture, while mine is fairly dry. Also, I may love photography, but I do not know how to take pictures of food. Side image is for reference only. If you want food porn, visit Nordljus.)

I can’t get enough ricotta, so I don’t know why I don’t make it weekly, but the time is certainly right when it’s the star of the plate. (I also forget that when made with cream, especially, homemade ricotta takes no more than a couple of hours to cook and drain.)

Mario Batali includes a recipe in Molto Italiano that asks for pine nuts in lieu of what I thought were standard wheatberries, which worked for me, since I didn’t have either time or inclination to schlep over to Rainbow in the rain for said wheatberries The dough is a lovely-feeling pasta frolla made with butter, olive oil, egg, vanilla, flour, salt, and sugar, though I’m convinced that Mario’s measurements are short on liquid — it wouldn’t come together without an additional sprinkling or three.

Rest the dough, mix together your ricotta, egg, lemon, and sugar, roll the dough, and line the pan. If you have a removable-bottom tart pan, this is the time to use it — I looked to a nonstick springform for straight sides, and found it simply too slippery and way too high to grip the bottom layer while it awaited filling (I also probably overheated the dough). A royal pain in the ass, in any case.

Still, after a short fight, the crust was laid and filled, and the delicate top layer placed and crimped. A short bake revealed a beautiful golden crust (thank you, olive oil) and puffed filling, just sweet enough to enjoy with coffee but restrained enough to pair brilliantly with some of that dessert wine languishing in my cabinet. (It also works well with framboise, I learned last night….)

But the best praise of all came unexpectedly when Ty, who doesn’t even like sweets, accepted a sliver and announced that that he loved it. (And as an excellent post-script, I brought the rest to work and appeared to make some coworkers happy, other than poor Justine, who made the mistake of asking me for advice on cheesecake. I talked her ear off.) It’s no Lino pie, but that’s not bad.

Never will be. In fact, lately I feel about as boring as I’ve been in a long, long time. I’ve been going out too much, for one thing (and this as I’m trying to save money for the big vacation), but then old friends come to town hungry, newer friends talk you into bloodies and brunch, and I come home tired and uninspired and needing to work. Which is not to say that I’m not cooking. I make dinners I barely notice in the evening but dutifully reheat the next day for lunch. What a bore.

Which may be why last night was so silly! I came home practically drooling and craving a meatball sub but without the motivation to actually make meatballs. (Thought I couldn’t ask for better bus conversation, volleying restaurant recommendations with Nicki for an hour has a devastating effect on my gastronomic inclinations for the evening — i.e. I just wanted to go out.) The sun was still visible, the air downright balmy, and dammit, al fresco seemed like just the ticket…until the sun started going down, I’d already nibbled on (ok, fine, gorged on) a pile of hothouse cherry tomatoes and some delicious aged gouda, and I sliced my finger open with my recently sharpened paring knife. OK, staying home. But what to eat?

Leftovers, no. More cheese, probably not wise. Cereal? Depressing. (No one should ever eat cereal for dinner. Ever. Unless you’re in college and your only other option is cafeteria food.) But I didn’t really feel like cooking.

Rhubarb! I have rhubarb. Then it all came together. I’m making friggin pancakes.

Long story short, I made a quick compote of the rhubarb and whipped up some cornmeal pancakes. Syrup just seemed indecent along with the slightly too sweet compote, so I busted out the sour cream to support the pink rhubarb. Inspired! It actually looked pretty, too.

But you’re certainly burning up with curiosity about my other culinary ventures this week. Admit it.

Breakfast theme: a new batch of yogurt for the week — lime-coconut, which I’ve been plotting for weeks. It’s actually a bit thin (did the acid overwhelm the culture?), but surprisingly not too tart, and even better along with some of the sprinkly granola I cooked up at the same time (heavy on the fruit and seeds, and not very sweet). I’m starting to hate those little leaky jars, though. And no, I’m not a damn hippie — I just decided that it’s stupid to spend $4 on a yogurt-granola-berry parfait at work, even if it is delicious.

Spanish theme: in honor of our impending visit to Barcelona, a “smoky” clam chowder — actually more of a stewlike concoction thickened with rice instead of potato and a little too light on the “smoky.” For some bizarre reason still not understood by even me, I bought Soyrizo in that one. Chalk that one up to the voices in my head. (Chorizo has so much grease, it seemed like a good idea, but why does Soyrizo have to ruin the illusion with that starchiness? Thank god I’m not a vegetarian.) Evaluation: good with paprika-dusted croutons, but a little heavy.

Variation on the “pasta again?” theme: a Greek variation of the much more tangy and interesting Sicilian spaghetti with cauliflower, pine nuts, and raisins. This one involved cinnamon, a brothy sauce, and no cheese — actually quite tasty, but definitely not a brilliant leftovers choice, and I miss the capers. Thankfully we’ll also be in Italy soon, so I can remember to stop feeling guilty about craving pasta every day.

On deck for the weekend? I’ve actually been making a list of recipes to try after pouring over this month’s inundation of foodie mags, and reading all my favorite food blogs for inspiration (which is a little distressing, honestly, but only because I’m more than a wee bit envious of some people’s writing skills and industriousness, not necessarily in that order). Maybe I’ll even sweep the floors and catch up on personal email. Wish me luck.