I have two very different ricottas in my kitchen, and I love them for very different reasons.

My Creamy Almond Ricotta is the one I make when I want something that feels closer to a traditional Italian ricotta—creamy, cultured, beautiful on a cracker or torn over a pizza, and lovely enough to become part of a charcuterie board.

This tofu ricotta has a different job.

This is my working ricotta.

It is the one I reach for when I am making lasagna, stuffing shells or filling pasta and want something delicious, savory and nourishing tucked between all those layers. It takes only minutes to make, tofu is wonderfully economical compared with nuts, and it brings something else to the meal that I particularly appreciate: protein.

I have always been happy to find ways to include soy in my cooking, whether through tofu, soybeans or soy milk. It saddens me sometimes that soy has acquired such an undeserved reputation in certain circles, because it is an incredibly useful and nutritious food.

Soybeans provide complete protein, meaning they contain all nine essential amino acids, and they also provide fiber, minerals and naturally occurring compounds called isoflavones. Tofu gives us much of that goodness in one of the most wonderfully adaptable ingredients I know.

And adaptable may be the perfect word for tofu.

Tofu has been part of Asian food traditions for many centuries, and one of the things I find so fascinating about it is its willingness to become whatever the cook asks of it. It can be crisp and golden, silky and delicate, savory or sweet. Here, with a little lemon, miso, nutritional yeast and olive oil, it becomes something else entirely: ricotta.

The miso is especially important to me. It brings that subtle fermented character and wonderful umami depth that helps turn a very simple block of tofu into something much more interesting. Lemon adds brightness, olive oil rounds everything out, and together they create my Classic Tofu Ricotta—a mild, savory foundation that can go almost anywhere.

But if I am being given a choice, I am probably making the Basil & Onion version.

There is something about the smell of basil that changes a kitchen before you have even tasted the food.

I am fortunate enough to walk outside my door and pick mine from the garden, where basil seems to flourish all around us. I love brushing against the leaves and releasing that unmistakable perfume. There are certain ingredients whose aroma alone can send you somewhere else for a moment, and basil is one of them for me.

I never seem to run out of it.

I hope it stays that way.

For this ricotta, I add a generous handful—actually, a whole loosely packed cup—along with onion that has been slowly sautéed until tender and translucent.

Cooking the onion matters. Raw onion would be too sharp here. Once gently sautéed, it becomes soft and sweet and quietly savory, disappearing into the ricotta while leaving its flavor behind. Add the basil and suddenly this very practical tofu filling smells like something you have been working on all afternoon.

That is probably why this version finds its way into my lasagna and stuffed shells so often. The ricotta isn’t merely filling space between pasta and sauce. The basil and onion actually contribute something to the finished dish, while the tofu quietly adds substance and protein.

And sometimes practicality really is beautiful.

There are days when I enjoy soaking almonds, curdling milk, draining whey and waiting for fermentation to work its magic. And there are days when I need ricotta for dinner and would prefer not to begin making it yesterday.

This is the ricotta for those days.

A block of tofu is inexpensive. The recipe comes together quickly. There is no culturing or overnight draining. And if I have tofu in the refrigerator and basil growing outside the door, I am already most of the way there.

That doesn’t make this ricotta the lesser version of anything.

It simply makes it different.

My almond ricotta is the one I am more likely to showcase on its own. This is the one I tuck generously into pasta, layer into lasagna and turn to again and again because it makes those dishes both more flavorful and more nourishing.

Although every once in a while, I still put some on a cracker.

Because apparently even a working ricotta deserves a day off.

Maybe that is why I have kept making this recipe for so long. It asks very little of me and gives quite a lot in return.

Simple. Savory. Nourishing. Economical.

It is easy to think that the beautiful things in a kitchen must be the ones that take the most time or require the most care. But sometimes beauty is simply having something wholesome and delicious waiting for you when you need it.

A block of tofu. Basil from the garden. An onion softened slowly in a pan. A few minutes together in the kitchen.

Sometimes the simplest things really are the small, beautiful things.