White Chocolate & Lemon Torta Caprese

Three islands sit out in the Bay of Naples – Capri, Ischia, and tiny Procida….and I am completely in love with this little gem of an island and the enormous lemons that grow there. Joey and I had planned a quick day trip out to Procida after my Italian teacher, who hails from Naples, raved about the food, the sea, and the breezes on this sunny speck of land in the Bay of Naples. After almost a week tucked into the grit and gristle of the Spanish Quarter (along with a sweltering heat wave), we were ready for a change in scenery.

So, off we went to the Ferry Terminal, a brisk 15-minute walk from our apartment, brimming with vim and vigor, and a (slightly) desperate hope for a breezy island escape. My dear brother, spoiled by Los Angeles’s bone-dry, humidity-free weather, was already wilting in the heat. To his credit, he soldiered through the oppressive heat that had been blanketing the city, BUT his constant muttering about how ‘LA is NEVER this humid’ was starting to drive me a bit crazy. (Love you, Joey! 😊) So with high hopes for a cool island breeze, we set off for Procida.

The ferry terminal to the islands in the Bay of Naples was like stepping through a portal into an entirely different universe. One moment, we were weaving and dodging scooters and Vespas in the Spanish Quarter; the next, we were dodging fancy rolling suitcases and women dressed in designer outfits and jewels. Fancy perfume lingered in the air. Thankfully, most of these glamorous travelers were lining up for the boat to Capri. Our gate for Procida was blissfully less crowded, filled mostly with Italians wearing unpretentious summer outfits, worn sandals, and a faint, knowing smile. We were with ‘our people’.

We stepped off the ferry to find an adorable little port lined with pastel buildings, small eateries, a lively fish market, a smattering of shops, and not even a hint, a nudge, or a whisper of a breeze. Nada. The air was thick and heavy, and sweat almost immediately began to bead on my skin. I looked over at Joey.

His smile quickly faded…especially when he realized that I was going to drag him up and over to a marina on the other side of the island – one reachable only by sea or by foot. After a little coaxing and a promise of a big glass bottle of chilled, crisp Campania wine, we set off, stopping at every sliver of shade we could find. Very, very, very few shops had air conditioning, and we practically dove into one little market we spotted that blissfully had air conditioning cranked on high. As we dropped down into Marina Corricella, a little breeze kicked up around us…things were looking up!

The marina was as cute as could be. Sun-faded watercolor houses tumbled down the slopes to the water’s edge. The marina was dead quiet in the late morning heat, too much even for the locals. Fishing boats swayed lazily in the quay; nets piled high along the shore while a few tourists studied menus at the waterfront restaurants. Our hopes for a stronger breeze (heck, ANY breeze) were quickly dashed. So we did the only sensible thing: set our sights on lunch and that chilled bottle of crisp white.

Outside one of the restaurants, I spotted an almost life-sized cutout of Massimo Troisi as Mario Ruoppolo, from the 1994 classic Il Postino, one of my all-time favorite films. I’ve watched it so often that I can recite many of the lines. I still cry every time. This very restaurant had been one of the filming locations. (Tragically, the beloved Neapolitan actor, Troisi, was gravely ill with heart disease during filming. He postponed life-saving surgery to finish the movie and tragically died of a heart attack just 12 hours after filming wrapped 😢 …which makes me cry harder.)

Seeing the cafe where Massimo and Beatrice first met sent chills up my spine, even on this breezeless day. Beside me, I could hear Joey muttering about the lack of a breeze in this particular spot, so we decided to keep moving. As we passed, I reached out to Massimo’s twin, giving him a quick touch, a silent nod, and a smile as a tribute.

Joey, with his uncanny nose for a great restaurant, zeroed in on Ristorante da Maria alla Corricella, lured by the tempting menu, though I suspect the tables practically dangling over the water sealed the deal. Our waiter with a dazzling smile and a personality to match seated us practically on top of the fishing nets at the water’s edge. According to the menu, Maria had been the island’s first female fisherman, and judging by the fresh and deliciously prepared food, she was probably the best fisherman on the island.

We lingered over a quiet, unhurried lunch: crisp, chilled Falanghina, the freshest of fish, a few local specialities. When Joey returned from a bathroom break, he reported that Maria herself was sitting just outside the restaurant, chatting with others. The conversation with our waiter meandered from island food/recipes to our Neapolitan heritage to stories of family. He had recently left London with his Procida-born wife to raise their young children in the gentler rhythm of the island. It was, in every way, the perfect unhurried, genuine, and delicious lunch.

Neither of us relished the thought of hiking back to the main port in the heat, so we half-jokingly asked about a boat. Our waiter’s eyes lit up, said that he could easily arrange for a boat and scooted off. He returned within minutes, not only with our transportation arranged but carrying a most special gift – a massive Procida lemon, a gift from Maria herself. Naturally, we asked to meet her, and he led us to where Joey had spotted her. We thanked her profusely for this most prized of gifts, snapped a few photos, and exchanged hugs.

Just a few minutes later, our “chariot” arrived. As our captain whisked us around the island toward the ferry port, we learned that our captain was none other than Maria’s husband. It was the perfect ending to a perfect lunch.

White Chocolate & Lemon Torta Caprese

This not-too-sweet, delicate almond cake is my love letter to Procida and its magical lemons. Inspired by the classic Torta Caprese, traditionally a dark chocolate affair, this version substitutes creamy white chocolate, highlighted by the addition of lemon.

Joey and I were shocked at the size of the giant, knobbly lemons of Procida. They really are a sight to behold. We were told that these lemons can grow to the size of footballs, sometimes tipping the scales at over a pound. What makes these lemons different than our normal store-bought lemons is that the thick snowy white pith surrounding the fruit is soft, spongy, and mild, almost sweet. The locals call it ‘limone di pane’ (bread lemon). Island recipes often use the pith to soak up the flavors of the dish, such as in their famed lemon salad, which combines the sliced white pith with the inner fruit, making for quite a tasty salad, we have been told. (We didn’t get to taste it during our quick trip to Procida.)

Joey also noted that the lemons do not have seeds. (We subsequently learned that many groves are made up of the same variety, so flowers are pollinated with their own pollen, which in some cultivars produces little or no viable seed. 🍋)

How I wish that I could have smuggled a few of those knobbly lemons past customs! This cake is my love letter to that simple lemon, finished with a splash of limoncello syrup – because why not?

To serve, slice just before the afternoon slips into evening. And if there is a sea breeze blowing, even better. Every dessert should taste like summer.

Buon appetitto! 🍋

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