Dairy

Oil flavored with sun-dried tomatoes and lots and lots of fresh herbs is the secret to these vegetarian sandwiches; I use it both as a marinade for the grilled veggies and also to moisten the bread. Creamy goat cheese smoothes out the sharp flavor of the tomatoes. This is perfect picnic food, whether you’re packing the sandwiches for the beach or as a reward after a long hike.

I like to serve this hearty soup at Thanksgiving. It has a smooth, silky texture and a beautiful color with a slight peppery flavor from the sage. Serve it with the cheesy Fontina crostini for an elegant meal.

The sight of a platter of jumbo shrimp at a party always makes guests happy, but the usual shrimp cocktail is served ice-cold and, in my opinion, is pretty flavorless. I think shrimp taste so much better served warm—especially with this simple and colorful dipping sauce to dunk them into. The ingredients are an interesting combination, and their unique flavors, along with the color of the turmeric, yield a creamy, tangy, and slightly sweet sauce.

Delicate and beautiful zucchini blossoms make their appearance at farmer’s markets in mid- to late summer. In Italy, the blossoms are stuffed with just about anything and prepared in a number of ways, from sautéed to baked, or just served fresh in a salad. My favorite is and always has been stuffed and fried—and served with a side of marinara sauce.

When it comes to cocktail food, I like one-biters and I like things that are dainty and beautiful. These pretty little tarts fit that bill and more. They taste as fantastic as they look. I prefer to use black-olive tapenade because of its richness, but you can certainly try green-olive, which is tangier.

Rome is famous for its artichokes, and in the Jewish district you can buy amazing fried whole artichokes on street corners. Back home, I use frozen artichokes for ease and I love combining them with beans in a creamy dip for bruschetta, a favorite snack throughout Italy. The crispy, salty prosciutto highlights the subtle flavor of the artichokes and adds crunch.

Olives stuffed with cheese and fried are a classic bar snack commonly found in Naples and in Sicily. I like to mix the Gorgonzola with a bit of ricotta to tame its strong flavor. Unlike most fried foods, these can be made ahead of time and they will still be delicious a good while later. Pile them on a platter for a party and watch them disappear.

The sweetest, best kind of dates are Medjools. They’re large, so they are easy to fill, meaty, and chewy. Stuffed with goat cheese and wrapped in prosciutto, they provide a perfect sweet-salty mouthful in every bite. Serve these with a crisp white wine as the ideal before-dinner tidbit.

This recipe, adapted from a classic by cookbook author Claudia Roden, is a longtime personal favorite. It becomes heavenly if you add a little rose and/or orange flower water.

“Hearts of Cream” a lovely, classic dessert and one that takes very little attention or work.

A couple of years ago, on a trip to central Italy—where true Parmigiano-Reggiano is made—I learned yet another use for the world’s most important cheese. A cook in a trattoria was taking handfuls of the grated stuff, sprinkling them in a skillet, and forming melted cheese pancakes. While they were still warm, he draped them over the back of a cup, to form crisp, edible, single-ingredient containers. He filled these with a mixture of zucchini, eggplant, and tomatoes and sent them out as a first course. I found the idea intriguing, but not all that easy to duplicate at home, where my skillet seemed always too hot or too cool, the pancakes too thick or too thin. But when I took the task seriously and set about figuring out the most reliable way to produce these Parmigiano-Reggiano cups, it turned out to be fairly straightforward. Thanks to the miracle of the nonstick surface, just put four rounds of grated cheese on a baking sheet and, five minutes later, they’re done.

The flour-enriched water in which pasta has cooked is never going to be an essential component of fine cooking, and it seldom appears in recipes. Yet from its origins as a cost-free, effortless substitute for stock, olive oil, butter, cream, or other occasionally scarce or even precious ingredients, pasta-cooking water has become a convenient and zero-calorie addition to simple sauces. When you compare a lightly creamy sauce like the one in this recipe to the highly flavorful and ever-popular Alfredo sauce of butter, cream, eggs, and cheese, the latter seems relatively heavy. Substituting water for much of the butter and all of the cream and eggs produces a sauce with a perfect balance of weight and flavor. The water lends a moist quality, not unlike that produced by tomatoes, as opposed to the slickness contributed by straight fat. This is best as a starter, not a main course, but it’s still pretty rich. I would stick with a light fish preparation to follow, even a big salad.

There is an important and splendid group of pasta recipes that is associated with Rome and the area around it; all the variations begin with bits of cured meat cooked until crisp. Around these delightfully crispy bits—and, of course, their rendered fat—are built a number of different sauces of increasing complexity. The first contains no more than meat and grated cheese and is called pasta alla gricia; the second, in which eggs are added, is the well-known pasta (usually spaghetti) carbonara, one of the first authentic non-tomato sauces to become popular in the United States, about thirty years ago; and the third is pasta all’Amatriciana, which adds the sweetness of cooked onion and the acidity of tomato.

True ragu is a magnificent pasta sauce, a slow-simmered blend of meat, tomatoes, and milk. The real thing takes hours, for the meat must become tender and contribute its silkiness to the sauce, the tomatoes must dissolve, and the milk must pull the whole thing together. But a reasonable approximation of ragu can be produced using ground beef or pork or, even better, prepared Italian sausage.

Most of us associate pasta and sausage with a dense, heavy tomato sauce, the kind that is so Italian-American it is just about indigenous. Yet sausage can contribute to a relatively light, almost delicate pasta sauce, especially if it is used in small amounts. In fact, sausage is the ideal meat to use in a quick pasta sauce, because it is preseasoned and cooks almost instantly.

Pesto has become a staple, especially in late summer when basil is best. But pasta with pesto does have its limits; it’s simply not substantial enough to serve as a main course. The Genoese, originators of pesto, figured this out centuries ago, when they created this dish, which augments the pesto with chunks of potatoes and chopped green beans, making it a more complex, more filling, and more interesting dish. Recreating this classic dish is straightforward and easy. Note that if you start the potatoes and pasta simultaneously, then add the green beans about halfway through cooking, they will all be finished at the same time and can be drained and tossed with the sauce in a snap. This technique may sound imprecise, but it works.

The dish has a thick creaminess that you can never duplicate with canned tomatoes, no matter how good they are. So the season when you can make it—when there are good, ripe tomatoes in the market—is fairly short; where I live, just two or at the most three months a year. There is an ideal instant for serving this sauce: When the tomatoes soften and all of their juices are in the skillet, the sauce suddenly begins to thicken. At that moment, it is at its peak; another minute or two later, many of the juices will have evaporated and, although the essence of the sauce is equally intense, it won’t coat the pasta as well. If this happens, just add a little fresh olive oil or butter to the finished dish.

There are pasta sauces you can make in the time it takes the pasta-cooking water to come to a boil, and there are those that are really fast—those that can be made in the eight to ten minutes it takes to actually cook the pasta. This is one of the latter, one that boasts just a couple of main ingredients and a supporting cast of two staples.

This dish is a minimalist’s take on the northern Italian autumn staple of tortelli filled with zucca, a pumpkinlike vegetable whose flesh, like that of butternut or acorn squash, is dense, orange, and somewhat sweet. The flavor and essential nature of that dish can be captured in a thirty-minute preparation that turns the classic inside out, using the squash as a sauce and sparing you the hours it would take to stuff the tortelli.