The Case Against Italian Food

It seems churlish and un-American to attack Italian food. Red sauce courses through our veins, with 61 percent of Americans consuming this cuisine at least once a month.

But Italian is to dinner what Disney World is to adventure: a crowd-pleasing, all-too-easy lowest common denominator. Most of it is dreary comfort food that deserves a place in the pantheon of originality next to tuna noodle casserole and grilled cheese. 

Is it culinarily chicken to order the chicken parm? Shouldn't we say “basta” to all that pasta? 

My tipoff that Italian cuisine needed reconsideration came from Wolfgang Puck, one of the world's first celebrity chefs. Puck's nouvelle pizzas topped with caviar and smoked salmon ushered in California cuisine in the 1970s. 

Thirty years ago, I escorted the jovial chef to a Sunday evening book signing, making small talk on the 90-minute limo ride from Manhattan to suburban Connecticut and back. 

We got on the topic of restaurants. I must have said something about Italian, and that seemed to provoke him. Despite the popularity of his pizzas, the Austrian-American iconoclast told me that Italian food posed no challenge to the chef and that any amateur could make it. 

With such an authority turning up his nose, I have not looked at (American) Italian fare the same way ever since. 

Chicken cooked in butter,
Trattoria Sostanza, Florence

Yes, I have had some magnificent meals in Italy – but that is not "Italian" as we know it in the States. It is just food there, not “Italian.” From sublime gorgonzola and penne to a simple rustic pan-sautéed chicken (both in Florence) to the house mozzarella at Hotel Splendido in Portofino, authentic Italian cuisine rates high on my list of best meals ever. 

Florence's Trattoria Sostanza: authentic

The real deal is not a monolithic sham. Food in Italy varies by region and season. And of course, pasta is not a main course. 

Cleveland's new Geraci's Slice Shop: meh

Conversely, much of the Italian food here in the States is junk. What passes for mozzarella tastes like shredded pencil erasers. One of the most popular pizza restaurants on Cleveland’s east side offers cardboard topped with red sauce.  

You don't have to take my word for it -- the online commentariat has spoken about our beloved American knockoffs. (Because this is emotional for us, some poor, unenlightened souls will defend American-Italian to the end.)

American-Italian food isn’t going anywhere. To hell with innovation: fools for pasta fazool, we are addicted to the same old sauce over and again.

Does any of this mean I avoid Italian food? Not at all. I am a sucker for touristy Eataly. I like the orecchiette I prepare and won't be giving up ravioli for more recondite options.

But we need more diversity and grown-up tastes. Every time I dig into a rigatoni or rip into a red sauce, there is Wolfgang Puck, whispering the words “cop out” in my ear.  

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