Italian

The pasta absorbs the flavor of the broth as it cooks, and the pasta starches thicken the liquid to a lip-smacking consistency.

You might say I hoard Parmesan rinds. I save them all year long, freezing them in a resealable bag. As soon as that first cold front sweeps in, I transform those long-collected ends into a rich and versatile Parmesan Broth.

Rich, sweet, moist and yet completely free from flour and refined sugar, this Italian lemon and almond cake is a great way to end a meal. It is technically a cheesecake, but has very little in common with the heavy American versions. In Italy, most delis have their own version of ricotta. The most delicious one is made from sheep's milk–try it in this recipe, if you can find it. We often prepare the cake a day in advance. It makes it even creamier and enhances the flavors.

This is what I'd call the quintessential American pizza dough, inspired by New York-style pizza: medium thin, satisfyingly chewy, and the ideal companion to mozzarella, tomato sauce, and the pizza toppings Americans love best, from pepperoni and sausage to olives, mushrooms, and other vegetables. It's the dough I teach first to new students, and the one I recommend experimenting with because it's so versatile and user-friendly.

Here are the two starters I use most frequently in this book and in my restaurants. Tiga is my slightly more hydrated version of a classic biga starter, which is usually between 50 and 60 percent water. This "Tony's biga," which I call "Tiga," has 70 percent hydration. My poolish follows the traditional proportions of equal parts water and flour, so its hydration is much higher at 100 percent. In general, unless I specify otherwise, use the same flour in your starter that you will be using in your dough. I always make starters with cold water to slow down the fermentation process for greater flavor complexity. It's helpful to use a clear glass bowl so you can see how well your starter is fermenting.

Mmm. Fried dough. On a trip to Rimini, a resort town on Italy's Adriatic coast, I had a memorable fried pizza topped with cheese and ham. To re-create it, I came up with this shallow-fry method in which you fry the dough, then flip it, top it with mozzarella, and cover it with a lid to melt the cheese. In honor of Rimini, I've topped this one with the region's famous squacquerone cheese, which is as deliciously soft and runny as it is difficult to pronounce. If you can't find it, you can use crescenza (also known as stracchino). It goes on after frying and quickly melts on the hot crust. I also add thin slices of the cooked ham sold in Italian delis as prosciutto cotto. Not to be confused with prosciutto, which is cured but not cooked, this is what we know as ham, but it's a bit paler, less smoky, and more delicate than typical American deli ham. For this method, it's really helpful to roll your dough out as close to the stove top as possible and to have everything set up before you start cooking: your skillet on the stove top, a lid within easy reach, your cheeses and toppings measured out, and a plate lined with paper towels right next to the stove. Keep a close eye on the heat as you fry and adjust it as needed so the dough cooks all the way through without burning on the outside.

When my wife, Julie, and I got married, we knew there was only one place to go for our honeymoon: Italy. I was excited to take her to Gombitelli, the tiny town in the mountains near Lucca where my dad's side of the family came from. My great-grandparents, Angelo and Olimpia Gemignani, had left Gombitelli for America at the turn of the last century, and my Grandpa Frank was born right after they got off the boat. We meandered through the Tuscan countryside, following increasingly sketchy gravel roads and finally ending up on a narrow donkey trail that wound up the side of a steep mountain. I remembered this road from a visit I'd made seven years earlier. Since then, it seemed to have eroded and gotten even narrower. It was barely wide enough for a car, with a sheer drop along one side and, naturally, no guardrail. We came to a dead end, the front of the car facing a deep ravine, and an old man came out of his house, waving violently and screaming at us in Italian. I rolled down the window and said "Gemignani?" His expression changed from rage to joy as he motioned to follow him and raced off, back down the road, yelling "Gemignani! Gemignani!" I made the most terrifying U-turn of my life and followed him. The minute I saw the little house and farm, I had the same overwhelming feeling I'd had the first time I'd been there. It was like stepping into my grandpa's farm in California. Although he'd never even been to Italy, he had the blood of a Tuscan contadino—and there in front of me was his backyard in every detail: the same flowers, the lemon tree, the dogwood, the fava beans, the big wine jugs wrapped in straw, the rusty tools scattered around. That California farm and my grandpa are long gone, but in that moment, I was home again. My cousins had decided there was one thing they absolutely had to serve us for our welcome meal: pizza, of course. And this is the one they made. It was quite thin, almost like a toasted flatbread, and I've replicated that in this recipe by rolling the dough out and docking it, so you get a light, crisp crust that's just right with the gutsy puttanesca-style combination of crushed tomatoes, olives, garlic, and anchovies.

Roasting white chocolate was a popular technique a few years back in a lot of pastry kitchens. I don't use white chocolate a lot because it is so sweet, but roasting it first caramelizes the sugar and toasts the milk solids to give it a nutty flavor, like brown butter, that balances its high sugar content.

Easy enough for a weeknight, but special enough for a dinner party.

I make a ricotta that is blissfully dry, which works well in my recipes for ravioli, lasagna, and as a garnish on salads and pasta dishes. If you want a creamy ricotta, to serve dressed with a fruit syrup or to spread on crostini or to make cannoli cream, then you need to add some cream to the recipe: Replace 1 cup of the whole milk with heavy cream. Goat milk makes a creamier ricotta as well.

This old-school, rectangular pizza bakes right in a sheet tray. The flavorful, doughy crust is thicker than the more standard thin-crusted Neapolitan-style pies.

A good fritto misto crust is light and crunchy (thanks, cornstarch!). If the batter thickens as you work, thin it with a bit of soda water as needed.

I have such fond memories of helping my mom make lasagna as a kid. I was in charge of layering the noodles, sauce, ricotta and mozzarella. Today, my lasagna is a bit lighter than my mom's. Rather than making it as a large tray, I prefer to make them into rolls—which I load up with vegetables—for better portion control. And here I swap tomato sauce for a wonderfully savory Butternut squash sauce with shallots, garlic, and Parmesan cheese.

We love leeks. All you need are olive oil, salt, and the heat of the oven to coax some magic out of leeks.

The thinly sliced zucchini ribbons replace pasta in this delicious, low-carb, noodle-less dish. This lasagna totally satisfies my cravings for cheesy and indulgent Italian comfort food. It's perfect in the summer when I have tons of garden-fresh zucchini and herbs, but I also love making it during the colder months when I want something hot and comforting. Although it takes a little longer than most of my recipes, it's totally worth it!

The popular side makes a great toast topper.

Pasta, lush tomatoes, and a pool of ricotta lend this dish all the flavor of a lasagne—without the heaviness.

Chia gel replaces eggs in this recipe, helping keep these chicken meatballs light and fluffy. The sauce is creamy and lemony, a combination that simply melts in the mouth. As an option, try spinach linguine, which pairs nicely with the flavors in this dish and looks beautiful.

You can use any firm fish and fresh shellfish you like for this brothy stew. (A little crabmeat is a luxurious addition, as well.) Make the base a day in advance for a low-stress Christmas dinner.