How to make gnudi

I won't lie to you. Making these things is not for everyone. The ingredients—the whole recipe—is simple enough. Nothing to it, really.

But few things are lighter and more delicate than well-made gnudi. And so it all boils down to patience. You'll need a lot of it. And a very light touch wouldn't hurt.

If you come up short on either, my advice might be to take a pass on these. Or share this link with somebody who can whip some up for you. (Ask a ye shall receive... and all that.)

Gnudi (pronounced "new-dee") are basically just ricotta gnocchi. Both are dumplings, but gnudi seems to show up in a wider variety of shapes, at least so far as I can tell. Normally I'd make my own ricotta, or buy fresh, but this time I went with regular store bought. Calabro is my favorite brand, and this is a two-pound tub. (If you live in a place where Calabro distributes its fresh ricotta then definitely go with that.)

I wanted to make the gnudi a lot like my cheese gnocchi, meaning that there'd be very little else in them but the ricotta. That means making certain to drain as much moisture from the cheese as possible; since I was a little short on time I lined a colander with paper towels and swapped them out three or four times over a couple hours.

In a bowl place the two pounds of ricotta, 1/4 cup of freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, some freshly grated nutmeg, salt, pepper, and 1/4 cup of semolina. Taste to make sure the seasoning is right, and adjust if necessary.

A couple important things about the semolina: First of all, it should neither be super fine nor very course. Go with a medium grain semolina. You might also consider upping the amount. Most recipes call for a lot more semolina than I've used here, and for good reason: It will make the gnudi much easier to work with—and a lot less likely to fall apart. My way is more risky, and it absolutely requires great patience and care, particularly when cooking and saucing. Don't get me wrong, this recipe works just fine—for me. But it does make me a little nuts because it is so very delicate.

Cover a baking sheet with a thick layer of the same semolina used in the cheese mixture.

To form the gnudi scoop out a heaping tablespoon of the mixture. (No matter how much flour you decide to use the mixture itself should be firm enough to work with easily when forming.)

Gnudi come in all sizes and shapes. I like them large and oval. These measure around three inches long and better than an inch thick, and so the recipe yielded around 20 dumplings. (Smaller would be easier to work with if you want to play it safer.)

Roll the gnudi in the semolina so that the flour completely covers it.

Once you've finished rolling all of them place the tray (uncovered) in the fridge for a while.

Which bring us to another important point. I formed my gnudi at 6 am and didn't serve them until 8 pm, so they sat in the fridge for more than 12 hours. During that time I turned and covered the gnudi with more flour at least twice. What's happening here is that the flour is slowly hardening and the cheese is drying a bit. (I've seen recipes where you leave the gnudi in the fridge for three days.) If you decide to go the safer route and use a good bit more semolina in the cheese mixture then this stage isn't all that important, if at all. Most recipes skip this stage entirely, in fact, because most use a lot more flour than I do. Again, it's a personal choice.

As for cooking the gnudi, again, patience. Drop them into a pot of well-salted water—quickly but one at a time! These took four minutes to cook (it's always best to test just one and see how long it takes before committing to an entire batch). Only remove them from the water with a slotted spoon, then place them directly into individual plates and apply sauce (roasted tomato & prosciutto here). At this size the gnudi boiled for four minutes.

And they were totally worth all the effort.