Nonna Elena's Crostata di Marmellata

Recently I adopted an Italian nonna and we are cooking together. This week we made a crostata, a simple Italian tart which is often filled with marmalade. She called me on Wednesday to tell me what to buy: flour, butter, margarine, sugar, lemon, marmalade.

She came over Friday afternoon and we got right to work, taking advantage of Roman's longer than usual nap. "You seem nervous," she says. I explain how it's important to me to master the crostata because in my mind it's the closest thing Italians have to pie. Pie is so American and I have such a phobia of pie crust. I did not grow up in a family that loved pie and I do not love pie, so I have never been able to embrace learning to make pie crust successfully. Crostata could be my new thing.

"I'll lend you my notebook and you can tell me what else you want to make," she says. Elena started her notebook of recipes 40 years ago. "It's so clean," I say. Every book that comes in my kitchen gets covered in buttery fingerprints or oily splatter. "It's made of baci e lacrime," "kisses and tears." She talks of her demanding husband and her mother in law who she felt she couldn't live up to in the kitchen. "Non si fa così," "that's not how you do it," she would always say. Elena kept striving to get it right to please the tough critics.

Reading the notebook, I can tell she fed her family well. A lemony veal roast, linguine with radicchio, stuffed zucchini blossoms. The notebook is chock full of classic Italian desserts like tiramisu and seasonal treats like the castagnole and frappe eaten during Carnival. Her husband was "goloso," he enjoyed eating. She tells me she made desserts every week. Now she won't even try a slice of the crostata. "Too much fat, stella mia."

We get to work. I'm loving this. It's so easy. I'm not swearing at the dough or threatening to throw it in the garbage. The crostata comes together in a cinch. I breathe a sigh of relief and start thinking of the flavors I'll make and how I can use my mini tart shells to bake individual tarts. Elena shows me how to decorate the top. "It shouldn't look industrial," she says. This is my kind of tart, I think to myself. It's not a type A personality tart, or one that strives for absolute perfection. It's an easy, homey tart you can serve to close friends over tea and conversation. The crust is almost like a lemony shortbread. And there it is, my new thing. I'm sure I could sneak it into a Fourth of July picnic or even a Thanksgiving without offending the traditionalists.

Pastry dough for Crostata

Makes 2 tarts

I'm new at converting recipes from the metric to the American measurements. Hopefully I got it right. When in doubt, if you have a kitchen scale, use it to weigh out the flour and sugar, since that's always more accurate anyway.

500 grams Italian 00 flour (2 1/4 cups)

150 grams sugar (1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons)

pinch of salt

zest of one lemon

250 grams butter (Elena uses half margarine) (17 tablespoons, 2 1/8 sticks)

3 egg yolks

1 whole egg

1/2 jar of marmalade

Preheat the oven to 350. Place the flour, sugar, salt and lemon zest in a food processor and pulse to mix. Add the butter, which you have cut into chunks, the egg yolks and egg. Pulse until the butter has incorporated and you have a ball of dough. Sprinkle a small amount of flour on a board and knead the dough. It will be sticky but do not continue to add flour. Set aside about 1/3 cup of dough per tart for the top. Place the rest in the center of a buttered tart pan and spread it out to fit the pan using your hands. Once it has been evenly spread into the pan, use a fork to prick holes all over the dough. Spread about half a jar of marmalade evenly over the tart base. Roll out the reserved dough and cut strips or pieces to decorate the top of the tart. Bake for about 30 minutes or until slightly browned.

Gnocchi on Thursdays

Roman and I have adopted an Italian grandma named Elena. A real nonna romana who calls us nice names and is teaching me to cook Italian dishes. I first wrote about her here (see "stop two"), but little did I know at the time that she would become part of our life. She stands about 5 feet tall, has kind, brown eyes and thinks Roman's name is Omar even though I tell her it's just "Romano without the O."

She arrived on time, potato ricer in hand, methodically tied her red apron on and stood, practically on her tip toes, to reach the bowl perched on our counter while she squeezed the potatoes through the ricer into the bowl. "I wake up full of enthusiasm, but as the day goes on I lose my energy," she said, struggling a bit with the ricer.

I asked her how she learned to make gnocchi. "Per forza maggiore," she says, looking at me sideways, "out of necessity"- explaining that she had a very demanding husband and a mother in law who was a great cook.

Half way through the kneading she sighs. "Can I take over?" I say, trying to pry Roman off of me so I can help. "You're wondering why I sighed?" Turns out she was thinking of a woman two floors above her who jumped to her death two days ago. Reminder that things can be ugly in this world outside of my cozy gnocchi making kitchen.

We talk about how she had three kids in four years back in the 60's and had to get up at 4:30 am to prepare lunch for her husband who wouldn't come home to eat. Then she'd dress the kids and get them out the door and go to work herself. "I had a brutta vita" she said, a hard life.

But now, buzzing with energy around my kitchen, tossing ideas left and right about what we'll make next, she says, "when can I come back, are you free Tuesday?"

Old school Italians still follow tradition and eat gnocchi on Thursdays. An elaborate dish in anticipation of the upcoming weekend.

As can be expected, Elena didn't give me quantities or have me write anything down. We used red potatoes, one egg, one yolk, Italian 00 flour and salt. Like pasta, gnocchi is something that gets practiced and perfected. The recipe can change depending on the crowd you're serving, the water content of the potatoes, the size of the eggs. I did learn a few key tips that I never would have known otherwise. The potatoes get boiled whole and un-peeled. Start by putting them into cold water and bring to a boil. When they are cooked, they must be peeled while still hot (I used a dish towel to hold them while rubbing the skins off). Another tip, perfect for the novice gnocchi maker, is to boil a small amount of water while you are kneading the dough. That way you can break off a piece or two, roll it into a ball and boil it for a few minutes so you actually get to test the consistency until you achieve the desired results. Now find yourself an Italian grandma and you'll be all set!