Gnudi (Ricotta Gnocchi)

The fish stock call with Teddy went an hour and a half and I enjoyed every minute of it. He had done his reading beforehand — he mentioned Escoffier by name, which made me laugh because at sixteen he is going back to sources that most cooks his age have never heard of — and he had two pages of questions written out. I told him that was exactly the right way to approach a lesson and his father, Jim, would be pleased to know his son had learned to prepare.

The core principle I tried to impress on him: fish stock is the opposite of veal stock in temperament. Veal is patient and accommodating and rewards long cooking. Fish stock is volatile and proud and punishes any inattention. You build it quickly — forty-five minutes, no more — and you start with bones that have been rinsed of all blood and offal, and you sweat the aromatics gently before the water goes in. The moment you smell something sharp and metallic is the moment you have gone too far. I have made that mistake twice in forty years and both times the stock was unusable. He wrote all of this down and then asked what aromatics I preferred and we went down a satisfying discussion of fennel fronds, leek tops, white wine, and the undervalued role of parsley stems.

The garden was fully put to bed this week. I cut back the perennials, mulched the garlic beds with straw, turned the empty beds one last time with the fork and amended them with compost, and covered the strawberry bed with leaves from the maples. The memorial garden I leave largely alone in fall — the peonies, iris, and climbing rose are all hardy enough to winter without help and the Japanese maple drops its leaves on schedule. I pulled the few weeds that had appeared between the stepping stones and that was enough. The garden rests now until April.

The butternut squash soup this week used the second one from the shelf, roasted and pureed with leek, a little apple cider, and a finish of crème fraîche. I posted it without much fanfare and it got more comments than I expected — apparently mid-October in Vermont strikes a chord with people who live in cold climates. Bill wrote that he made his version the same day I posted mine, again, and suggested that we are running on the same internal calendar. I think after a certain number of New England autumns the body just knows what to cook.

The butternut squash soup went into the archives for the season, but the week’s thinking about technique — what Teddy and I spent an hour and a half on, the idea that some preparations are volatile and proud and punish inattention — stayed with me at the stove. Gnudi are exactly that kind of preparation: deceptively simple, almost nothing to the ingredient list, but they will fall apart in the water if your ricotta is too wet or you rush the resting step. I find I return to them every fall, when I want something that requires me to actually pay attention.

Prep Time: 20 minutes + 1 hour rest | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 cups whole-milk ricotta, well-drained
1 large egg
1 egg yolk
3/4 cup finely grated Parmesan, plus more for serving
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt, plus more for the pasta water
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
3/4 cup all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
6–8 fresh sage leaves

Instructions

Drain the ricotta. Line a fine-mesh sieve with cheesecloth or a clean kitchen towel and set over a bowl. Spoon in the ricotta and let drain in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour, or up to overnight. This step is not optional — wet ricotta will cause the gnudi to disintegrate in the water.
Make the dough. In a large bowl, combine the drained ricotta, egg, egg yolk, Parmesan, salt, pepper, and nutmeg. Stir gently to combine. Add the flour and fold in with a spatula until just incorporated. The dough will be soft and slightly sticky.
Shape the gnudi. Flour your hands and a rimmed baking sheet generously. Using a tablespoon or small scoop, portion the dough and roll lightly between your palms into rough ovals or balls, about the size of a large marble. Place on the floured baking sheet as you go. Do not overwork them.
Rest. Refrigerate the shaped gnudi uncovered for at least 30 minutes. This helps them hold their shape when they hit the boiling water.
Cook the gnudi. Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a rolling boil. Working in two batches, lower the gnudi in gently. They are done about 1 minute after they float to the surface. Remove with a slotted spoon and set aside.
Make the brown butter. While the gnudi cook, melt the butter in a wide skillet over medium heat. Add the sage leaves and cook, swirling the pan occasionally, until the butter turns golden and smells nutty and the sage is crisp, about 3–4 minutes. Do not walk away — the difference between brown butter and burnt butter is roughly thirty seconds.
Finish and serve. Add the cooked gnudi to the skillet and turn gently to coat in the brown butter. Divide among warmed bowls, spoon over any remaining butter and sage, and finish with a generous grating of Parmesan.

Nutrition (per serving)

Gnudi (Ricotta Gnocchi) — The Kind of Technique That Rewards Attention