Easy Ricotta Zeppole (Italian Donuts)

If you’ve never had Zeppole before, get ready — these fluffy, powdered-sugar-coated Italian donuts are dangerously good! Light, airy, and made with ricotta, this is the kind of sweet treat you’ll be making on repeat.

Years ago, my Italian friend taught me how to make these little golden clouds of joy known as Zeppole — and let me tell you, it took zero convincing for me to keep the tradition alive. These ricotta donuts are ridiculously easy to make (we’re talking one bowl, no yeast, and done in 30 minutes), which is both a blessing and a problem… because I now make them far more often than I probably should. Light, fluffy, and shamelessly coated in powdered sugar — they’re what you serve when you want people to think you’re fancy, without actually doing anything fancy.

Flour, baking powder, salt, sugar—into a big bowl they go. Give it a good whisk. You want everything evenly mixed so you don’t end up biting into a salty or baking powder explosion later. (Ask me how I know.)

In a second bowl, whisk the eggs, ricotta, vanilla, and milk until mostly smooth. Little ricotta lumps? Totally normal. This is homemade, not factory-made—embrace the rustic vibes.

Add the wet stuff to the dry stuff and stir just until it comes together. Thick, sticky, and slightly ugly? Perfect. Stop mixing the moment it looks combined—overmixing makes tough zeppole, and nobody wants to eat little rubber balls unless they’re training a Labrador.

Get about 2 inches of vegetable oil into a heavy-bottomed pot or skillet and bring it to 350°F (175°C). No thermometer? Drop a little batter in—if it sizzles and floats, you’re close. If it sinks like a stone or goes nuclear, adjust. Oil that’s too cool = greasy sadness. Too hot = burnt armor with raw insides.

Use a small cookie scoop (or two spoons if you’re feeling chaotic) to drop blobs of batter into the oil. Fry a few at a time—don’t overcrowd or the oil temp tanks and you end up with soggy fritters that even your dog will judge.

After about 2–3 minutes, once they’re puffed and golden, flip them over with a slotted spoon. If you’re wrestling with them, your oil’s probably too cold—turn the heat up a smidge and carry on.

Scoop them out onto a paper towel-lined plate. Don’t be shy with the powdered sugar—you want that snowstorm effect. If people aren’t coughing sugar clouds across your kitchen, you didn’t use enough.

Zeppole do not age gracefully. These are a fry-them-and-eat-them situation. Pour some coffee, park yourself next to the plate, and pretend you might share. (You won’t.)

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