It should come as no surprise that I've been eating lots of (French) cheese lately. In the last week or two, there have been soft, slightly oozy goats cheese buttons (sometimes with a jammy compote of white figs and myrtle) a slab of tomme du savoie, a rubbery, medium-soft cows milk cheese whose rind smells like a cave of dirty socks, and some montbriac, mellow, ash-coated and interlaced with blue-green veins. But today at the market, I headed directly to the Italian stall, purveyors of the all-important trio of pasta (De Cecco, bien sur), parmesan and pancetta. This time, though, I wanted some ricotta, preferably the extra-flavourful sheep's milk variety. Lunch was to be a simple cheese-accented tomato sauce and strawberries--perhaps with some more of the cheese.
While catching up on some blog and virtual newspaper reading over my aforementioned meal, I was amused to discover that the homely ricotta is getting some good press. Some days back, the Wednesday Chef capped off an ode to her Italian family with a NYT recipe for pasta with greens and sheep's milk ricotta. And in this weekend's NYT, no less, Amanda Hesser (who has previously married ricotta with pancakes, cheese balls, a bevy of toasts and zucchini) heralded ricotta as a worthy representative of the plain-food movement.
It's nice to be fashionable. Particularly considering that my wardrobe is oh-so 2002.