One of the tastiest things I ate this year was still-warm ricotta, just off the fire, at a farm in Sicily.
I scooped some of the white, wobbly mass onto my plate, seasoned it with coarse salt and used a spoon to catch every drop, restraining myself from licking the plate. That ethereal ricotta also appeared in the next course as a pasta topping. It was mixed with some starchy cooking water to create a brothy, creamy sauce that was enriched with olive oil, seasoned with parmesan and garnished with a mound of wild herbs just plucked from the garden.
