Years ago, on a shy spring day, I got introduced to the magic of Pastiera Napoletana via Angela, a dear friend of mum. She brought it to us and effervescently explained its lore and relationship with the Easter celebrations of Naples, in the south of Italy.

For the ones who are not familiar, Pastiera is a tart made up of a shortcrust pastry shell with a delicious filling of ricotta, cooked wheat berries, eggs, sugar, candied citrus fruits and flavourings such as orange blossom or rose water. It’s soooo good and feels incredibly special. I mean it is! It takes three days to make!

Just as any well-respected traditional Italian dish, there are thousands of ways to prepare it in the “right” way. Every family in Naples holds a secret recipe, each claiming that theirs is the best and the most authentic. Some would swear that Pastiera HAS TO HAVE PASTRY CREAM in it, others vow the absolute opposite. Full disclosure: I’m far from being Neapolitan or claiming to know anything about the Campanian culture, so this is all an exercise of the Socratic paradox. In other words, it’s a chance to accept the multiplicity of a recipe and encourage a humble approach to learning. I know that I know nothing, but I am still hungry, I guess, so here I am— baking and then talking about it with you on the internet. This is a lesson that came as a perk of working as recipe developer. I cultivated the crucial knowledge that there is no such thing as “the recipe”, just “a recipe that works for you”. I do what I do because I love my craft. I love to swim in an ocean of infinite possibilities and culinary contradictions, bathing myself in the waters of what could be, until I find the right spot, the perfect cove, where a pool of crystal clear turquoise water is ready to receive me. “This recipe is great!” I said to my self at some point a few weeks ago. “I’m going to bake Pastiera Napoletana this Easter!”

The preparation is laborious, the Ingredient list a bit long and uncommon and you’ll need a special tin to bake it. But oh boy how much l love a lengthy and complicated project, full of specificities and variations. All in one breath: make the shortcrust pastry, cook the wheat berries in milk with the aromas and spices, whip the sheep ricotta with half of the sugar, whip the eggs with the remaining sugar, chop the candied peels, fold all the filling mixture together and chill overnight in the fridge. The following day roll thinly the pastry, line the tart tin, fill it with the chilled eggs-ricotta-wheatberries mixture and decorate with the famous seven stripes lattice. Bake for 1 hour and 15 minutes. Let it cool down. Unmold it and let it rest for 3 days. Yes you read that right, three days. I told you it’s a laborious preparation. Anddddddd Buon appetitooooo!

According to tradition, Pastiera should be prepared on Holy Thursday and eaten at Easter, to allow all the flavours to marry together. Against the folklore, I baked mine on Friday. Nonetheless it was sooooo outrageously good, may Parthenope (I’ll tell you about her in just a second) understand and forgive me.

The history of this dessert is mysterious and I believe in magic; so as far as I’m concerned the only true origin is explained by the greek myth of Parthenope. In the Odyssey, the siren Parthenope despaired at her lover Ulysses’s indifference and let herself die off the Golf of Naples. Her body melted, shaping the coast and becoming a symbol of life and fertility, giving birth to the city. Its people, in return, began to venerate her. She received seven gifts: flour,a symbol of wealth; ricotta, a symbol of abundance; eggs, which evoke fertility; wheat cooked in milk, symbolizing the fusion of the animal and plant realms; orange blossom water, the scent of the Campanian soil; spices, a gift from all peoples; and sugar, to celebrate the sweetness of the siren’s song. The recipe of Pastiera was born, out of love and veneration. Isn’t this the most amazing story?

The planimetry of the city of Naples also explains the way the Pastiera is decorated. The shortcrust lattice represents the urban structure of the city, with three Decumanus (the east–west-oriented roads) and four Cardos (the north-south road axes) connecting the dessert to the Greco-Roman territory.

Diving a little deeper into the Neapolitan legends has been such a pleasure. And eating Pastiera for days—even more. Thank you for reading this little first essay of mine. If you know of any other myth or tale about this topic please let’s chat! I would love to do even more research on this.

Thank you Angela for gifting me with the sweetest spring tradition.

Happy Easter and Buona Pasqua!!!

Baci

AG