Tortelloni di Ricotta e Spinaci

Tortelloni are not miniatures. They are not appetizers. They are substantial parcels of fresh egg pasta meant to be the center of the meal, each one a complete bite of filling embraced by pasta so thin you can nearly see through it. The distinction between tortellini and tortelloni is not merely size. Tortellini belong to Bologna, filled with meat, served in broth. Tortelloni belong to the countryside, filled with ricotta and vegetables, dressed with butter.

The filling must be dry. I cannot say this strongly enough. Wet ricotta and wet spinach create a soggy, weeping filling that makes the pasta gummy. You squeeze the spinach until your hands ache. You drain the ricotta until it holds its shape. This is the difference between tortelloni that sing and tortelloni that fail.

Butter and sage is the only proper dressing. No cream. No complicated sauces. The sage perfumes the butter as it browns, and the butter clings to the pasta and enriches each bite. What you keep out is as significant as what you put in. There is nothing here that does not belong.