Libum

If your ricotta is loose and weeping, line a sieve with cheesecloth, spoon it in, and let it drain over a bowl for 20 to 30 minutes — or longer in the fridge — until it firms to the texture of soft, sliceable curd. Wet ricotta makes a batter that slumps and steams rather than bakes, so this step decides whether the libum holds a mound. Discard the whey.

Beat the drained ricotta hard with a wooden spoon until it loosens and turns creamy, then work in the egg until the batter is uniform and glossy. Add the salt, then fold in the spelt flour a little at a time — just until it disappears into a soft, thick, scoopable dough. Cato says to mix it 'bene' (well); beating the cheese smooth is what gives the baked libum its tender, even crumb. Stop the moment the flour is incorporated so the gluten stays slack.

Arrange the bay leaves on a baking sheet or in a shallow ovenproof dish, fanned so the cakes will rest directly on the leaves. Divide the batter into four and shape each into a round mound about three inches across and an inch high, setting one on each leaf. The bay's oils perfume the underside of the cake as it bakes and keep it from sticking — the leaf is flavor and parchment in one. Smooth the tops lightly so they bake evenly.

Bake at 375 F / 190 C. Cato directs the cake be cooked slowly under a hot earthenware cover — to mimic that 'sub testu' hearth, set an inverted metal bowl or a covered pot over the cakes for the first 15 minutes to trap gentle, even heat, then lift it off and bake 5 to 10 minutes more to color the tops. They are done when set through, puffed, and golden at the edges, 20 to 25 minutes total. The bay leaves will have browned and crisped beneath.

Warm the honey gently until it runs thin. Lift each libum from its bay leaf onto a serving plate while still warm, split or prick the top, and pour the warm honey over so it soaks into the cracks and pools around the base. Cato has the cakes served hot and drenched in honey — eat them straight away, when the curd is still soft and the honey sinks in. The toasted bay leaf can stay tucked beneath as a fragrant, edible-adjacent garnish.