Lvivskyi Syrnyk (львівський сирник, chocolate curd cake)

The first surprise is that a cake made from white curd goes to the table wearing black. Cut through the dark chocolate glaze and the inside is pale, close-grained, lemony, freckled with raisins if your house allows them. It is not the fried syrnyk you eat for breakfast with smetana. This one stands on a celebration table in slices, quiet until the fork goes in.

The one thing that decides it is the syr, fresh curd cheese, and how dry and fine you make it. Wet curd gives you a weeping cake. Grainy curd gives you little white pebbles where there should be silk. Press it, then rub it through a sieve or work it smooth in a processor, and the cake sets dense but tender, like sweetened cheese learned manners from a Lviv cafe window.

Aunt Nadia wrote only, "bake until it smells ready," which was rude of her and also correct. First it smells like eggs and sugar. Then the lemon peel comes forward, the edges puff, and the top loses its wobble while the middle still trembles a little. Chill it overnight. Syrnyk is impatient when warm, and splendid the next day.