The round-bottomed wife tries to eat local as much as possible but at this time of year she begs for big earthenware bowls of Arizona citrus to brighten the passage from mid-winter to spring. "After all, Arizona is a touching state," she says. "It's practically local."
Mary has lived in the Southwest for 35 years and recalls driving from her home in the cold and wintery mountaintop of Prescott to Phoenix, following the scent of orange blossoms out into the orchards, and filling her car with fruit and blossoms. Then she'd lay back with her windows open, listening to Miriam Makeba on the cassette deck, singing that love tastes like strawberries. She has since discovered orange blossom essence and Persian rose water can be purchased at Middle Eastern gourmet shops.
Mary's childhood was decorated with an at least-monthly descent of the Italian relatives bearing armfuls of festive foods. Crispy anise pizelles, baked hams studded with pineapple and cloves, baccala frit cod balls, jars of home made marinara and meat sauces and bottomless vats of meat balls, still warm from the stovetop, Nanna's biscotti with white icing, and cookies of all descriptions. But one humble dish, ricotta pie, lightly sweet, firm and unfancy, seemed to make it onto the meal plate as often as it was served for dessert.
In her mind, the ricotta pie is associated with Lent and Easter. Perhaps, I volunteered, that tradition is due to the abundance of milk in the spring.
Mary learned that, as with most things, Nanna didn't use a recipe. She just seemed to know what balance of ingredients. Mary favors baked eggy things and creates an abundance of homemade cultured dairy products: yogurt, crème fraiche, labneh, ricotta, and feta cheeses.
This morning, possessed of a desire for something creamy and lemony, we mixed the labneh, creamy ricotta, and yogurt with cream on top that she made yesterday and added honey, eggs, lemon zest, lemon and lime juices, and a little stevia.
We poured it over a cardamom shortbread crust hastily pressed into a pie dish -- rice flour, melted cultured butter, salt, honey, mushed together with fingers. We should have baked this crust first, but hedged our bets using crystalized honey for enhanced stickiness. I hand ground the cardamom in a marble mortar and pestle.
We debated whether to add the crème fraîche to the batter to create a creamy, more cheese-cake-like consistency, but decided instead to wait until cool to decorate the top with fresh kiwi slices and dollop on the crème fraîche after plating.
Were there any orange blossom or rose water in the fridge she would surely have added either or both to today's brunch batter -- "but perhaps skip the lime juice."
