Italian American

This hearty, veggie-filled rigatoni recipe requires a little bit of work, but makes plenty for a group and is full of flavor.

As simple a dish as this is, I have had requests for it in all my restaurants as far back as I can remember. I like the sauce a little feisty, so I’m generous with the crushed red pepper. You can add as much—or as little—as you like. Often, restaurant chefs finish this dish by swirling butter into the sauce at the end. You can do the same, or use olive oil to finish the sauce. I prefer olive oil, but I probably don’t have to tell you that by now.

To make the sourdough croutons, toss 3 1/2 cups 1-inch cubes crustless sourdough bread with 2 tablespoons olive oil. Spread the bread cubes on a heavy-duty rimmed baking sheet and bake at 400°F for 20 to 25 minutes.

Escoffier codified the mother sauces of French cooking. In the Italian-American tradition, there is only one: tomato sauce. Call it marinara (we do), call it gravy (we don't), call it whatever your grandma called it. It's tomato sauce. There's almost nothing we won't cook in it or put it on. The real deal—what we grew up with and the way we would do it if we had our choice (and didn't have so many vegetarian friends and customers) would be to make that sauce, then simmer up a batch of braciola or meatballs in it, and then use the resulting meat-infused product as our "tomato sauce" in all its myriad applications. And if you're not catering to vegetarians, we advise doing just that: make a triple batch of sauce, use it to simmer up braciola or meatballs and then use that tomato sauce, fresh or from the freezer, whenever tomato sauce is called for in these pages. Use good Italian canned tomatoes and high quality olive oil when making this sauce, and take your time—there's no rushing it. When you're cooking the garlic, you want to very, very slowly convert the starches in it to sugars and then to caramelize those sugars. Slow and steady. Then get the tomatoes in and let them simmer. Not a ton happens over the four hours—no epic deepening of color or furious reduction—but it cooks as much water out of the tomatoes as possible without turning them into tomato paste.

Olivada, an Italian olive spread, adds flavor and color to this side dish.

Layers of homemade mixed herb pesto lend a fresh brightness to this vegetarian main.

Making your own coarse fresh breadcrumbs takes just a minute; see "Test-Kitchen Tip" at the end of the recipe for the how-to.

See "Ingredient Tip" for information on buying pizza dough.

Pancetta (Italian bacon) is available in the deli section of many markets.

My favorite American sandwich is a BLT, yet it almost didn't make it into this book; the world doesn't need another recipe for it. But after eating at 'ino, a tiny sandwich shop in Greenwich Village in New York, I decided their version—a PLT—was a different story. P is for pancetta, sold at Italian delis and upscale markets. Cut from a large salami-like roll, it is the Italian version of bacon, unsmoked and cured with salt and spices. This is strictly a seasonal sandwich; I forbid you to make it at any time except when tomatoes are at their prime—ripe, juicy, and sweet.

These individual lasagnas are perfect for a dinner party.

Bagna cauda is a warm, garlicky dip traditionally served with raw vegetables. It hails from northwestern Italy's Piedmont region. In this version, the sauce is served with cooked artichokes. And don’t be scared off by the three heads of garlic called for in this recipe. Simmering the garlic mellows its flavor significantly.

For the pesto mixture, executive food editor Kemp M. Minifie switches from pine nuts to pumpkin seeds or sunflower seeds, and she incorporates flat-leaf parsley in with the basil. To top it all off she adds homemade bread crumbs. It's not quite Italian anymore, but it works.

The Original: Breaded, fried eggplant with a thick oregano-flavored tomato sauce. Our Version: Broiled slices of eggplant wrapped around a mint-and chard-flecked ricotta filling.

The classic Italian sauce gets wild with a mix of antelope, venison, and beef.

In a twist on classic tiramisu, the leftover almond-flavored macaroons assume a more prominent role: Layered with an airy mascarpone mousse, they take the place of the traditional ladyfingers.