Lidia Bastianich Recipes Chocolate Ricotta Cheesecake -
When it finally emerged, cooled, and was sliced, the texture was extraordinary: dense yet airy, creamy yet firm. The chocolate had formed a marbled, almost brownie-like swirl near the bottom, while the ricotta kept everything light. A dusting of powdered sugar, a few fresh berries, and that was it.
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.
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 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.” lidia bastianich recipes chocolate ricotta cheesecake
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.”
The Chocolate Ricotta Cheesecake of Nonna’s Table
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.” When it finally emerged, cooled, and was sliced,
“Good?” Lidia asked.
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.
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
She whisked the cocoa, flour, and salt together in a small bowl, then gently folded them into the ricotta mixture. Finally, she stirred in the chopped chocolate. “Not melted,” she noted. “Little chunks. They melt in the oven into fudgy pockets.”
“It tastes like Sunday,” Julia replied.
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.
