1. In a nice big bowl, mix ricotta, flour, parmesan and chives (if you don't add them, at least pretend). Make a nice compact ball. Don't ask me how much you have to knead: when you feel it's right, it's right. Wrap it in cling film and let it rest in the fridge for at least half an hour. Like you, after a day running after everything.

2. In the meantime, wash and cut the cherry tomatoes into quarters. Put half in your mouth and the other half in a bowl. Add olives, capers, anchovies, oil, basil torn by hand (not with scissors, oh!), parsley and a good grind of pepper. Taste and adjust the salt, but if you feel like saying "maybe something is missing", the answer is yes, common sense: add it.

3. Take the dough and form small sausages. Then cut them into pieces of about half a centimeter. You don't need a gnocchi cutter, here we do it like in the old days.

4. Cook them in boiling salted water, and as soon as they rise to the surface, take them out. No eternal cooking. They must remain soft, not mummified.

5. Mix the gnocchi with the sauce, gently but without fear. They need to make friends, not a Zoom call.

6. Serve warm, with a basil leaf on top. Grandma also cares about aesthetics, not just the substance.

Grandma's advice:

“Gnocchi are made by eye, eaten with love and shared only if the person in front of you is worth it.”