Erica De Mane

Liti’s missing recipe.

Recipe:

Cinnamon and Ricotta Ravioli with Basil

Dear Erica,

Since you’ve started your “Lost Recipes Found” feature, I can’t stop thinking about the cinnamon and ricotta ravioli Mom has told us about but never actually cooked for us, mainly because she doesn’t know how to make it. I thought this would be a good opportunity for you to figure out that recipe, and then we could have it for Thanksgiving or Christmas. I know you published a savory version of these ravioli in your last book, but since then Mom has been telling me about another version she thinks she remembers her grandmother making, a sweet ravioli, topped not with tomatoes but with butter, cinnamon, and sugar. She says she thinks she remembers it that way but can’t be sure. I don’t care if she remembers it or not. I want to taste it. Can you figure out a recipe for it? Please?

Love,

Your sister, Liti

My sister is talking about an old Sicilian recipe our great-grandmother used to make. It has been out of the family for at least 60 years. I did publish a version of it in The Flavors of Southern Italy that included a pretty standard Southern Italian tomato sauce, but this butter and cinnamon sugar sauce does sound enticing, and it almost makes more sense to me than the tomato sauce, since the ravioli filling is somewhat sweet anyway. I’ve looked into this sweet version and have discovered it is a real thing. Versions of it are still eaten in Sicily and in other parts of Southern Italy.

This sweet pasta is something my mother said was served as a first course in her family, and that doesn’t surprise me. Sweet is very big in Sicily. Sweet and sour, and sweet and savory, and just plain sweet. I’ve researched this dish and have found recipes for it topped with cinnamon and sugar and served as a first course, but it seems to have survived mainly in a fried dessert version, more of a pastry, actually. Lots of recipes for that exist, and I can remember purchasing a sweet square ravioli-shaped pastry in the town of Erice, in northwestern Sicily. It was outrageously delicious, filled with sweetened sheep’s milk ricotta, fried, and dusted with cinnamon. And once when I was eating at a family home in Trapani something similar was brought out for dessert, a bigger version (maybe two-inch squares) that had been purchased from a local pastry shop. The family told me these were traditionally served at Carnevale. But ravioli flavored with cinnamon and a little sugar are still offered as a dinner dish in Sicily and in other Southern regions such as Basilicata, where I’ve located recipes for ravioli identical to the ones my mother describes but served with a tomato and pork ragu, making for a very intense-sounding dish.

I’ve tinkered with this recipe, aiming for a first-course pasta that is sweet but not shockingly so. The basil is my addition. Basil with cinnamon is a ravishing coupling of flavors, and the basil also serves to cut the sweetness, bringing, along with the Parmigiano, which my mother said was always included, a savory touch, making the ravioli more suited to the modern palate. (I have a feeling the family original would have more likely contained Pecorino cheese, much more Sicilian, and real Parmigiano wasn’t really available in this country 80 years ago. In any case, I tried the recipe with both cheeses and much preferred the Parmigiano version, since it was savory but without the slight sourness the Pecorino added).

Cinnamon and Ricotta Ravioli with Basil

(Serves 4 or 5 as a first course)

For the pasta:

4 extra large eggs
A pinch of salt
3 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for kneading and rolling

For the filling:

1 1/2 cups ricotta, drained
1 large egg
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon sugar
2 heaping tablespoons grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, plus a chunk to bring to the table
Freshly ground black pepper
Salt

For the sauce:

1 stick unsalted butter
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon sugar
Freshly ground black pepper
A handful of basil leaves, cut into thin strips

To make the dough, place the eggs in a food processor and sprinkle on the salt. Pulse a few times just to mix them well. Start adding flour, about a cup at a time, pulsing it in, until you have a moist ball (you may not need all three cups of flour). When the dough has formed a ball, pulse about 30 seconds more, and then dump it out onto a floured surface and kneed it until it’s smooth and soft. Wrap in plastic wrap and let it rest about 30 minutes.

While the dough is resting, mix all the ingredients for the filling together in a bowl. The filling should be very slightly sweet with a subtle cinnamon edge, but it will also have a salty note from the Parmigiano. Put the bowl in the refrigerator while you roll out the pasta (this will firm up the filling a bit, making it easier to fill the ravioli with).

Divide the dough into four pieces, keeping each covered with plastic wrap until you work with it, so it doesn’t dry out. Run a piece of the dough through the widest setting on a hand-cranked pasta machine two times. Start running it through thinner and thinner settings until you get to the last setting and the pasta is very thin and smooth. Lay the pasta sheets out on a floured surface, and let them dry for about 15 minutes before cutting (this makes them easier to handle). With an approximately 3-inch cookie cutter, or something equivalent, cut large circles in the dough. Drop heaping tablespoons of the ricotta filling on half of the rounds, and brush a little water around the edges of all the other rounds. Place the other rounds on top, and press around the filling to get rid of any air pockets. Seal the edges all around with the tines of a fork, making a little ridged pattern. (This is evidently how my great-grandmother finished hers, and it does make them look nice. Lay the ravioli out on a well-floured sheet pan, and let sit unrefrigerated until you cook them (if they need to wait for more than a few hours, I would freeze them before the bottoms get moist and start sticking to the sheet pan).

To make the sauce: In a small sauce pan, melt the butter over low heat. Turn off the heat and add the cinnamon, sugar, and black pepper.

When you’re ready to serve the ravioli, set up a large pot of pasta-cooking water, and bring it to a boil. Add a generous amount of salt. Add the ravioli and boil them just until they float to the surface, about 3 minutes. Let them cook about another minute, and then scoop them from the water with a large strainer, letting all the cooking water drip off, and place them on a large warmed platter (Pouring them into a colander might break them apart; this method is much gentler.)

Add a splash of pasta-cooking water to the butter sauce and give it a stir. Drizzle the sauce over the top and scatter on the basil. Serve right away, bringing the remaining Parmigiano to the table for grating.