What we call ricotta, says Constantino, is actually a byproduct of the cheese-making process, a method to use up the leftover whey after turning out pecorino. The word ricotta means “re-cooked.’’ Her father, she says, was a master wine and cheese maker and tended his animals and olive trees while she was in the kitchen with her mother and grandmother. The family members also grew and milled their own wheat. “We lived off the land,’’ she says, and the family continued to do so after moving to the Bay Area in 1974. “I guess you could say we were into sustainable living before that was a common term.’’
After earning a degree in chemical engineering and working in Silicon Valley, Constantino, 48, wanted a change and decided to try her hand at teaching the unpretentious foods of her girlhood. She rents a well-equipped professional kitchen in Emeryville and also teaches at Ramekins Sonoma Valley Culinary School. Most classes cost $85 and include a meal.
“We say ‘Italian food’ but there really isn’t any such thing as Italian food,’’ she notes. Each region of the country has its own specialties and time-tested cooking methods. Constantino is writing a book, “My Calabria,’’ that showcases her knowledge and love of the foods of her native region, which is due to be published next year by W.W. Norton. Her mother and grandmother, she said, cooked “with nothing written down. I was afraid those recipes might disappear.’’
To re-create her hometown ricotta recipe, for example, Constantino measured ingredients and timed her mother as she made it. “She’d stick her finger in the pot and say it was ready and I’d grab a digital thermometer,’’ she says. “She never needed a thermometer.’’ On a recent Saturday night, her mother, Maria Dito, was on hand to help Constantino teach a three-hour ricotta session, followed by using it in a meal from appetizer to dessert.
