Spinach and Basil Gnudi

My second Mother's Day. It still surprises me that I am included in this. Not in a self-doubting way but in a genuine way, the way you feel about any new identity you have grown into: there is still a moment of recognition when it applies to you. I am a mother. I have been a mother for fifteen months. I am still slightly amazed by this, and I think that is correct, I think the amazement is the right response.

Babcia Rose came. She is ninety and she came to Steve and Patty's for Mother's Day and she sat in her chair and watched her great-grandchildren run across the backyard, which they do now, both of them, with the full commitment of small people who have only recently discovered their own speed. She watched this with the expression of someone for whom this is the finest possible way to spend a Sunday afternoon in May.

Patty made pierogi. First batch of the season. I helped this time, legitimately: I made the dough and I filled half of them and I folded them in the way Babcia Rose showed me, with the slight crimp at the edge that is the actual technique, and Patty watched me and said "that's it" when I got it right, and "that's it" from Patty when you are learning something is the highest possible instruction compliment.

After dinner the babies were in the yard with Ryan and Steve and I sat on the back steps with Patty and Babcia Rose and we talked about nothing important, about the apple tree, about the neighbor's new fence, about whether this summer would be hotter than last. Babcia Rose dozed slightly in the afternoon sun. Patty and I talked quietly. It was an ordinary afternoon and it was the best Mother's Day I can remember.

I cannot share Babcia Rose’s pierogi recipe here — that one belongs to Patty, and to the kitchen on Maple, and to the particular afternoon light of a Sunday in May. But I have been thinking about what it felt like to form something by hand and have someone watch and say that’s it, and that feeling is exactly what brought me to gnudi. They are Italian ricotta dumplings, soft and pillowy, made by forming dough between your palms the same way you would any dumpling worth learning — with attention and a little flour on your hands. They are not pierogi, but they carry the same spirit: a thing you make by feel, that rewards the doing of it.

Prep Time: 30 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

15 oz whole-milk ricotta, drained overnight in a cheesecloth-lined strainer
10 oz frozen chopped spinach, thawed and squeezed completely dry
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, finely chopped
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan, plus more for serving
3/4 cup all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/4 tsp black pepper
1/8 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
4 tbsp unsalted butter
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
Zest of 1 lemon

Instructions

Drain the ricotta. For best results, drain your ricotta overnight in the refrigerator set in a cheesecloth-lined strainer over a bowl. If short on time, press it firmly through the cloth for at least 20 minutes. Dry ricotta is the difference between gnudi that hold together and gnudi that don’t.
Make the dough. In a large bowl, combine the drained ricotta, spinach, basil, egg, Parmesan, salt, pepper, and nutmeg. Mix gently until uniform. Add the flour and fold it in just until the mixture comes together into a soft, slightly sticky dough. Do not overwork it.
Form the gnudi. Dust your hands and a rimmed baking sheet generously with flour. Scoop tablespoon-sized portions of dough and roll each one gently between your palms into a smooth oval, about the size of a large olive. Set on the floured sheet. You should get about 28—32 gnudi.
Boil in batches. Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a gentle boil. Working in batches of 10—12, lower the gnudi into the water. They are ready when they float to the surface and have bobbed there for about 1 minute, roughly 3—4 minutes total. Remove with a slotted spoon and set aside.
Make the butter sauce. While the last batch cooks, melt the butter in a wide skillet over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook until just golden and fragrant, about 2 minutes. Add the lemon zest and a ladleful of pasta cooking water and swirl to combine into a light sauce.
Finish and serve. Add the cooked gnudi to the skillet and toss gently to coat. Divide among warm bowls and finish with extra Parmesan and a crack of black pepper. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Spinach and Basil Gnudi — For the Mothers Who Are Still Learning the Crimp