Louisa's cake

I made a cake. It's been a while. After meeting all my deadlines, the sun was out Saturday and so I baked. This recipe I'd had bookmarked for a while. It had a short list of ingredients, always a winner in my book, and came with authentic Italian credentials (likewise). It contained ricotta, of which I have a seemingly endless supply in my freezer (compulsively making it when milk is about to expire) and there's nothing I like more than being able to cook with pantry staples. So. I've made many a ricotta cake before - this one is a perennial favourite - but this distinguished itself from the others by by featuring apple among its ingredients. You can't so much taste the fruit itself, just its subtle sweetness. Leavened with a little flour, rich with ricotta and bolstered with butter, it's simple and decadent all at once. I don't know Louisa but her cake is excellent. Grazie.

Fresh fig and ricotta cake

  

I've had my head down working for the last little while but the Sunday before Easter I took a much needed day off. With friends I made my way to a new swimming spot, a secluded Sydney harbour beach off West Head in the Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park. The occasion called for cake and this one was a winner, both before and after our dip. Not too sweet, lightly lemony, and showcasing in-season figs as stunning as our surrounds. 

Blood orange, ricotta and almond cake

There's something extra alluring about fruit with short seasons. I've been waiting for blood oranges since summer, when this recipe did the rounds of several of the American food blogs I read. It was winter on their side of the world at the time, so I had a long six months before I got my turn. I've tried baking many things with blood oranges before, but have always been disappointed. Despite my best efforts, the brilliant colour that so dazzles when you slice into them always amounted to plain old orange. Til now. Whole slices of beautiful blood orange sit atop a cake infused with both zest and juice, allowing you to experience the fruit in all its glory. In texture, it puts to mind a sort of citrus cheesecake, all the easier to make as you don't have to mess around with a crust. And with ricotta, cornmeal, and almond meal it's entirely gluten-free, should that be your thing. Of course you could make this with regular oranges too, should you wish. Six months is a long time to wait. But it was worth it.

Orange blossom cake

Quite a while ago now - I can't remember when - I bought a bottle of orange blossom water. After using it for whatever it was I purchased it for, it languished in the back of my cupboard (like the pomegranate molasses that suffered a similar fate before I discovered this cake) until the revelation of this recipe. Scanning the list of ingredients, it seemed like a cross between a Middle Eastern orange cake (without the advance prep of boiling oranges) and a Sardinian ricotta cake (without the flour). I was intrigued, and not least by the name, which put orange blossom water front and centre rather than its usual place - one of the cast of thousands in the myriad tastes of a tagine, or overshadowed by the intense caramel of dates in dessert.

Though you only use a very small amount, all the other elements of the cake - the creamy ricotta, the chewy almond meal, the orange zest, all work to showcase the delicate floral perfume of this colourless liquid, resulting in a sweet that's both subtle and substantial. Dinner party dessert-worthy, as well as lunchbox-hardy. Prettily pale, yet bright with flavour. Oh, and it's gluten-free too, did I mention that? With everyday ingredients. Apart from the orange blossom water that is. But given how seriously good this cake is, it's on its way to everyday.

Ricotta hotcakes

A week or so ago I was in Anglesea, in Victoria, on the Great Ocean Road. Hanging out with two of my oldest, dearest friends. Walking on the beach. Watching Pride and Prejudice on the couch in front of the heater. Drinking on the terrace of a pub overlooking the sea. And eating ricotta hotcakes. It was a pretty great weekend. Especially because the sun was out when rain was predicted. And because my friends had all this amazing stuff going on in their lives that merited celebration. It called for a memorable breakfast.

A lot of recipes out there for ricotta hotcakes use a hefty amount of cheese. I prefer this version, which is less dense, lightly sweet, and brilliant for when you have a little ricotta to use up. It's basically a pancake mixture - egg, flour, sugar, milk - but with a small amount of ricotta crumbled in so that each hotcake is studded with airy little clumps of white. Perfect for celebrations, feeding friends, or just because it's the weekend.

Baked ricotta with chilli and marjoram

I'm in awe of people who grow things. From farmers to backyard gardeners to kids and their school projects with egg cartons and potting mix... whatever your scale or skill level, it's utterly impressive to take a tiny seed and nuture it til it's something substantial for you to eat or admire. For now, I live in a big city, in a small apartment so soil - that vital ingredient in plant growth - is hard to come by. Or at least it was until recently. A couple of months ago, I got a window box. Three window boxes to be exact, spanning the length of my living room windows. They're north-facing, so are bathed in glorious sunlight all day long - perfect for growing herbs. 

When it came time to decide which ones to plant I had to think about what I mostly commonly cook with. Rosemary was a given, especially with winter roasts in mind. Ditto thyme. Flat-leaf parsley for pastas. Sage because it's so amazing with pumpkin. And marjoram... for something I love to make (and eat) regularly that's as effortless as it is impressive and versatile.

Ricotta is so good in sweet, delicate things - breakfast hotcakes, Sardinian ricotta cake... but if you swap the sugar for salt... and pepper, oregano, and chilli... and bake it in the oven for just a short while, just about as long as it takes to reach out the window, pluck some marjoram, wash it, strip its leaves, chop them up and cover them in olive oil, it transforms into a robust, savoury showstopper. One to smear on a cracker and graze on with a glass of wine, crumble over pasta (maybe with some slow-roasted tomatoes), or cut in thick wedges for a sandwich made with the leftovers from last night's roast (whether meat or veg). It's early days for me and my herbs. Wish us luck. We're going to need it - it's more accurate to say I'm green at gardening than possessed of a green thumb. We'll see how I go - any tips gratefully received - but this recipe is an excellent incentive for success.

Sardinian ricotta cake

Like a lot of white middle-class people of my generation, I have a few too many university degrees. My first tertiary study was an Arts degree with a double major in French which I undertook perhaps partly to legitimise my avid reading of Paris Match (and its extensive coverage of ageing French pop stars and minor European royalty). The main things I got out of those three years were two friends called Joanna and this recipe, given to us by a boy in our class. I'm not sure where he got it from - it's way more sophisticated than any 18 year old has any right to be.  But he was French, so perhaps that explains it. The three of us quickly incorporated it into our baking repertoire and all these years later, it's still being made with regularity. For good reason. It's simple, elegant and utterly delicious. Somehow it manages to be both densely squidgy and light, its lemon flavour is subtle yet striking and it works equally well as a showstopping dessert or as an everyday cake, one which tastes especially fine with a cup of the inkiest black coffee. Voilà.