Greek Yogurt Cheesecake — The Kitchen That Still Knows Itself

The lake was doing what the lake does this week: changing color hourly, sometimes by the minute, the way grief does. Iron gray at dawn. Steel blue by ten. Almost green by noon when the sun broke through. Pewter again by four. Black by six. I walked the lakefront with Sven on Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday and Saturday, and the lake was different every time, and the lake was the same every time, and both things are how it works. Jakob (Anna's middle, recently graduated) has a job. He hates the job. He is figuring it out. He called me Tuesday for advice. I told him: that is what your twenties are for. The first job is supposed to be unsatisfying. The first job teaches you what you do not want. He said, "Grandma, that is not super helpful." I said, "It is the truth. Helpful is not always the same as comforting." He laughed. He hung up. He kept the job for now. He will figure it out. Lena (Anna's youngest, college freshman) is in college now. She calls me sometimes. The calls are about boys, mostly. I listen. I do not give advice. I am eighteen-year-old's grandmother. My credibility on boys is suspect at best. I tell her the kinds of things a grandmother is supposed to tell her: be careful, be brave, trust your gut, do not date the one who reminds you of someone you do not like. She thinks I am wise. I am, in fact, just old. The two get confused sometimes in the right direction. I cooked Cold cucumber soup this week. Cucumber, yogurt, dill, mint, garlic, salt, lemon. Blended cold. Served with a swirl of olive oil. The hot-day soup. Damiano Thursday: soup. The crowd was the usual size — about a hundred and twenty plates served between five and seven. Gerald and I worked side by side without talking. The not-talking was the friendship. The work has its own rhythm: ladle, hand, smile, ladle, hand, smile. The rhythm carries us through. I sat in the kitchen at 11 PM with a glass of wine and Paul's photograph. I did not cry. I just sat. The not-crying is its own form of being with him. We did not need to talk all the time when he was alive. We do not need to talk all the time now. The companionable silence has carried over. It is enough. It has to be. And on a morning like this, with the lake doing what the lake does and the dog at my feet and the bread on the counter and the kitchen warm enough to live in, it is. Paul used to say that the difference between a place and a home was that a home was a place where you knew, from any room, what was happening in any other room. I knew, from the kitchen, when he was reading in the living room. I knew, from the bedroom, when he was getting coffee in the kitchen. The Kenwood house is still that kind of home. From the kitchen I know that Sven is asleep on his bed in the dining room (the small specific snore). From the kitchen I know what time the radio in the living room is set to come on. The home is the body of knowledge of itself. I still live inside that body of knowledge, even though Paul is not the one creating most of the data anymore. I keep a small notebook on the kitchen counter — green spiral-bound, from the drugstore. I write in it most days. The notebook holds the things I do not want to forget — Erik's stories about Pappa, Karin's notes about Mormor, Sophie's first words about her babies, the recipes I have changed slightly and want to remember in their changed form. The notebook is a small museum. The museum will go to Anna eventually, and then to Sophie, and then to Sophie's daughter Ingrid, and then onward. It is enough.

The cucumber soup was the savory anchor of the week — cold and clean, exactly right for the work of it — but the kitchen asked for something sweet at the end, something that could sit in the refrigerator overnight and be ready without effort. Greek yogurt cheesecake is that kind of dessert: it requires patience more than skill, and it rewards you for simply leaving it alone. That felt appropriate. The yogurt gives it a tang that plain cheesecake does not have, an honesty to it, and I have come to prefer honest things.

Greek Yogurt Cheesecake

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 55 minutes | Total Time: 5 hours 15 minutes (includes chilling) | Servings: 12

Ingredients

• For the crust:
• 1 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs (about 12 full crackers)
• 3 tablespoons granulated sugar
• 5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
• 1/4 teaspoon fine salt
• For the filling:
• 16 oz (2 blocks) full-fat cream cheese, softened to room temperature
• 1 cup plain full-fat Greek yogurt, room temperature
• 3/4 cup granulated sugar
• 3 large eggs, room temperature
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest
• 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

Instructions

1. Prepare the oven and pan. Preheat oven to 325°F. Lightly grease a 9-inch springform pan. Wrap the outside of the pan tightly in two layers of aluminum foil if you plan to use a water bath.
2. Make the crust. Stir together the graham cracker crumbs, sugar, salt, and melted butter until the mixture resembles wet sand. Press firmly and evenly into the bottom of the prepared pan, using the flat bottom of a measuring cup to compact it. Bake for 10 minutes, then set aside to cool slightly while you make the filling.
3. Beat the cream cheese. In a large bowl, beat the softened cream cheese on medium speed until completely smooth, about 2 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl and beat again. No lumps should remain.
4. Add sugar and yogurt. Add the sugar and beat on medium until incorporated, about 1 minute. Add the Greek yogurt and mix until just combined and smooth.
5. Add eggs and flavorings. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing on low speed after each addition just until incorporated — do not overmix. Add the vanilla, lemon juice, lemon zest, and flour and mix on low until the batter is smooth and uniform.
6. Bake. Pour the filling over the cooled crust. Bake at 325°F for 50–55 minutes, until the edges are set and the center still jiggles slightly when you gently shake the pan. The center will firm as it cools.
7. Cool gradually. Turn off the oven. Crack the oven door open about an inch and leave the cheesecake inside for 1 hour. This slow cooling helps prevent cracks.
8. Chill. Remove the cheesecake from the oven and run a thin knife around the edge of the pan to loosen the sides. Let it cool completely on a wire rack, then cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or overnight. Slice and serve cold.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 285 | Protein: 7g | Fat: 18g | Carbs: 24g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 215mg