She showed Julia how to press the ricotta through a fine-mesh sieve with a wooden spoon. “This is the secret,” she said. “If your ricotta is wet, your cheesecake will be sad. We want creamy, not weepy.”
And so, the recipe lived on—not just in a cookbook, but in the hands of another generation. Because for Lidia Bastianich, food isn’t just about eating. It’s about remembering who you are and who you’re feeding.
Lidia smiled. “Exactly. That’s the most important ingredient.”
Julia took a bite and closed her eyes.
Lidia buttered a 9-inch springform pan, then dusted it with fine breadcrumbs, not flour. “Breadcrumbs,” she told Julia, “give a toasty, Italian crunch. Flour is for cakes that are afraid of texture.”
The batter went into the springform pan. She smoothed the top, gave it a gentle tap on the counter to release air bubbles, and placed it in a preheated 350°F oven. After 20 minutes, she lowered the heat to 300°F without opening the door. Total baking time: about 70–80 minutes, until the center was just barely set—still a little wobbly, like a quiet laugh.
It wasn’t a towering, glossy New York cheesecake. It was humble, rustic, and deeply Italian. The ricotta came from a local farm, the chocolate was a precious chunk broken from a larger block, and the eggs were still warm from the henhouse. This cake was what you made on Saturday so the family could enjoy it after Sunday supper—a gentle, bittersweet end to a meal of pasta and roast chicken. lidia bastianich recipes chocolate ricotta cheesecake
Lidia turned off the oven, cracked the door, and let the cheesecake rest inside for an hour. “No cold shock,” she said. “You wouldn’t jump into a cold sea after a hot bath. Neither should the cake.”
“It tastes like Sunday,” Julia replied.
In a large bowl, she beat the eggs and sugar until pale and thick. Then she folded in the ricotta, vanilla, and orange zest. “The orange,” she whispered, “wakes up the chocolate. They are old friends.” She showed Julia how to press the ricotta
Lidia Bastianich often says that the best recipes aren’t written—they’re remembered. And for her, no dessert brought back more vivid memories than the Torta di Ricotta e Cioccolato from her childhood in Istria.
“Good?” Lidia asked.
The Chocolate Ricotta Cheesecake of Nonna’s Table We want creamy, not weepy
One rainy afternoon in her Queens kitchen, Lidia decided to teach her granddaughter, Julia, how to make it. The goal wasn’t perfection. It was feeling.
