Cheesy cacio e pepe rolls, warm from the oven

Soft rolls, sharp cheese, plenty of black pepper

The Bite subscribers can now join the conversation — click the speech bubble icon to leave a comment or click the heart to like this post. We recently finished up our series about seasonal, weeknight baking that included: this triple apple snacking cake, fig jam hand pies, a no-bake pear cheesecake with granola, and a better pumpkin bread. This week, I have a cheesy bake to share. Let’s dive in!

For all the times that feeding yourself feels like trudging through a fog of obligation, sometimes a craving arrives fully formed, as if it’s been plotting in the background. That happened a few weeks ago, standing at the bakery case of a local Italian grocery, my eyes scanning the glass like a pinball — trifle dishes of tiramisu, ricotta crostatas, pignoli cookies — before finally landing on a tray of cinnamon rolls, freshly glazed and audaciously perfect.

Almost like an old-school cartoon tennis match, my gaze ping-ponged between the cinnamon rolls and the sleeve of Alessi 4-Minuti Cacio e Pepe (not authentic, yes, but a surprisingly fun side when pressed for time) sitting in my shopping basket. Back and forth, back and forth, until it landed: I wanted to make a cacio e pepe roll, a savory pastry that looked like a cinnamon roll, but echoed the flavors of one of my favorite pastas.

I checked out, darted to the coffee shop across the street, and sketched the thing in my notebook: a soft, sturdy pastry  — probably yeasted — layered with cheese and black pepper. Simple. Salty. Savory. Then back to the grocery for fresh yeast and the good Italian cheese, and finally, at last, to the kitchen.

The dough

I wanted something pillowy, but sturdy enough to hold a generous amount of filling. And butteriness. That was nonnegotiable. Biscuit dough felt too stodgy; puff pastry and its flakier cousins had the right spirit, but they collapsed under pressure. Brioche, though, struck the balance: rich, tender and unflappable.

Baking with yeast can sound intimidating, but this dough is disarmingly forgiving. It’s enriched with fat — a luxurious safeguard against error — and not particularly sweet. There’s just a single tablespoon of sugar, enough to let the butter taste like itself.

The filling

To give the filling the same silken consistency as a proper cacio e pepe — the way starchy pasta water, cheese and black pepper come together into something improbably glossy — I knew that simply scattering cheese across the dough wouldn’t do. I tried brushing the surface with melted butter and a drift of cheese, but it needed more conviction. So I gave in to indulgence and made a béchamel: one of the five mother sauces of classical French cooking, a simple alchemy of butter, flour and milk that turns heat into velvet.

And since I’ve never been much of a traditionalist, I stirred in a few teaspoons of white miso. It lent a subtle, savory funk — the kind that hums beneath the cheese rather than shouting over it.

Once the dough had risen, I rolled it into a rectangle, spread on a thin layer of the miso-béchamel, showered it with Parmesan, Pecorino Romano and a very healthy amount of black pepper. Then I rolled it up like a cinnamon bun. If slicing feels tricky, a short rest in the fridge will make the dough become more solid and behave a little better.

The topping 

After their second rise, the buns are ready for a gentle milk wash — the secret to that bakery-window gloss — and a snowfall of shredded Parmesan. When they emerge from the oven, bronzed and fragrant, I like to give them one last act of affection: a brush of melted butter, still sizzling at the edges and another generous dusting of freshly cracked black pepper.

Here’s how to make them at home: 

RECIPE: Cacio e Pepe Rolls 

Servings: 8-10 rolls | Prep time: 30 minutes, plus 1.5-2 hours of rising | Bake time: 25-30 minutes 

Ingredients

For the dough

• 3 cups all-purpose flour

• 2¼ tsp active dry yeast (1 packet)

• 1 Tbsp sugar

• ¾ cup whole milk, warmed to about 110°F

• 3 large eggs + 1 extra yolk

• 1 tsp kosher salt

• ¾ cup (1½ sticks) unsalted butter, softened

For the filling

• 2 Tbsp unsalted butter

• 2 Tbsp all-purpose flour

• 1½ cups whole milk

• 2–3 tsp white miso paste

• ¾ cup finely grated Parmesan

• ¾ cup finely grated Pecorino Romano

• Lots (really, lots) of freshly cracked black pepper

For finishing

• 2 Tbsp milk (for the wash)

• 2 Tbsp melted butter

• Extra Parmesan and black pepper for topping

Directions

1. Make the brioche dough: In a small bowl, whisk the yeast and sugar into the warm milk. Let it bloom for about 5 minutes, until foamy.

2. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook, combine flour and salt. Add the eggs and yolk, then pour in the milk mixture. Mix until a shaggy dough forms.

3. With the mixer on medium-low, add the softened butter a few cubes at a time. Knead for 8–10 minutes, until smooth and glossy and slightly tacky.

4. Shape into a ball, place in a greased bowl, cover, and let rise until doubled (1½ to 2 hours).

5. Make the miso béchamel: In a small saucepan, melt butter over medium heat. Whisk in flour and cook 1 minute. Slowly whisk in milk until smooth and thickened, 4–5 minutes. Stir in miso until dissolved; season with black pepper. Remove from heat and let cool slightly.

6. Assemble the rolls: Roll out the dough into a rectangle (about 12x16 inches). Spread the béchamel evenly over the surface, then sprinkle generously with Parmesan, Pecorino, and black pepper. Roll up tightly from the long side and slice into 8–10 pieces. Arrange in a greased baking dish, cover, and let rise again for 45 minutes.

7. Bake: Preheat oven to 350°F. Brush rolls with milk wash and sprinkle with more Parmesan. Bake 25–30 minutes, until puffed and deeply golden.

8. Finish: While still warm, brush with melted butter and dust with more black pepper. Serve immediately. These keep well for up to five days, but be sure to reheat before serving.

Hey there! I’m still in the process of collecting questions for our very first Thanksgiving advice issue, and I’d love your help. What are your cooking conundrums, hosting dilemmas or table talk puzzles? Comment on this issue or send me an email at [email protected].

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What to make this week: Fall Salad with Lemony Brown Butter Vinaigrette

If you want something to serve alongside some cacio e pepe rolls that feels equally decadent but slightly lighter, I’ve been dying to make this Fall Salad With Lemony Brown Butter Vinaigrette from Rebecca Firkser, a recipe that feels less like a side dish and more like a small, private moment of luxury. 

Firkser treats brown butter the way others treat good wine: with reverence and a touch of drama. She urges patience while the milk solids go from yellow to freckled brown, then stirs in cracked cumin and fennel so the butter hums with warmth. Tossed with lemon, honey and Dijon, it becomes something you want to drizzle on absolutely everything — including this blend of roasted parsnips, bitter chicory, roasted roots and beluga lentils.

What we’re reading and watching: “Modern Mending” + “Frankenstein”

After realizing earlier this year that I’d slipped into the wildly contemporary habit of double-screening — phone in hand while television blared — with such regularity that my brain started to feel like a piece of sandpaper that had already been used once too often, I’ve been searching for hobbies that give my hands something to do besides scroll. Earlier this week, that impulse collided head-on with the fact that my favorite pair of Levi’s had begun to sprout a hole above the right back pocket, fraying more each day, and I found myself borrowing a copy of “Modern Mending” by Erin Lewis-Fitzgerald.

Branded as a guide to “minimize waste and maximize style,” Lewis-Fitzgerald’s book is part how-to, part gentle pep talk for the creatively frayed. Her voice is exactly the kind of voice you want whispering from a sewing kit: warm, encouraging, just goofy enough to make you believe you can transform a tear into a flourish. (Who wouldn’t want to patch a rip with a horse-printed fabric so the snag looks like a lasso mid-cast?)

But beneath the charm is something sturdier. Across the globe, we send literal tons of clothes to landfills every year; mindful, modern mending is a kind of small, stubborn resistance. Even if you never pick up a needle, there’s an ethos here that echoes how I think about food waste: How can I use what’s already on hand before it goes bad? How can I do it in a way that still feels delicious? It’s the same instinct, really — to reimagine the frayed as something worth saving.

On my (solo) screen this week was Guillermo del Toro’s “Frankenstein,” with Oscar Isaac as the tortured scientist and Jacob Elordi as his creation. I am, admittedly, a sucker for del Toro’s monster films (my soft spot for “The Shape of Water” remains very soft), and this one was no exception. It’s a movie about monstrosity, yes. 

But also, humanity. 

The Creature has feelings. The Creature has desires. He also hungers. Even when language fails him, he knows what it means when someone offers food and brandy, what communion tastes like. A reminder, tender and bruised, that sitting down at the table together — even in the face of cruelty — is one of the last true acts of grace.

Until next week,
Ashlie Stevens, senior food editor 

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