The Best Italian Food in the United States

The curved brick entryway opens into an oblong room of deep green walls, gold candelabras, and picture frames, which is a lot to pull off inside a Tempe strip mall. Bar Capri is an Italian restaurant and bar with the bones of a big-city neighborhood spot: cocktails and a tight wine list from a back bar, lasagna and arancini coming through the kitchen window. Tiramisu closes things out, and nobody seems in a hurry to leave.

Barbusa is a family-run Southern Italian trattoria in Little Italy, where Sophia Loren and Pavarotti glare down from pop-art portraits like they're checking your reservation. You can drink Aperol-and-ginger-beer Sicilian Mules at the marble bar or settle into the dining room for handmade pasta, wood-fired pizza, and crudo. It carries AAA Three Diamonds, so wear something nicer than the shirt you wore to the farmers market.

Giada De Laurentiis's Strip restaurant is a sit-down Italian spot with California sunshine in its bones, the sort of place where the menu prints pronunciation guides so nobody has to fake-confidence their way through the bucatini. Servers pour Prosecco with Food Network energy, the lemon spaghetti arrives in a tidy tower, and it holds a AAA Three Diamond rating. Dinner here, then Lil Wayne upstairs.

Focaccia sandwiches stacked with Italian cold cuts are the entire point here, and Lorenzo California commits to that premise with no apologies. The tiny cafe on Santa Monica Boulevard does Florentine-style sandwiches from a small counter, with a few seats inside and a handful of tables outside for watching Beverly Hills do its thing. The Los Angeles Times put it on their 101 best restaurants list, which is a lot of recognition for a sandwich shop, and yet.

Noto is a Neapolitan pizzeria built around a glowing white oven parked dead center in the dining room, which everyone treats with the reverence usually reserved for a small chapel. It started as a food truck and grew into a certified restaurant in St. Peters, where the crust comes out leopard-spotted and the pasta list gets a fair hearing. Families and pizza devotees share the room, and the burrata upgrade tends to go unquestioned.

A small pasta counter tucked above the Pike Place Market Atrium, where the menu changes every couple of weeks based on whatever the market has going. The lasagna stays, the tomato sauce pasta stays, and everything else rotates through combinations like pappardelle with venison ragù or gemelli with caramelized pears and gorgonzola. The chef grew up in Turin, and it shows in the kind of quiet confidence that pairs orecchiette with Penn Cove mussels without making a fuss about it.

Rectangular pizzas sold by the meal-size slice anchor the menu at this busy Cal-Italian bakery and kitchen on Highway One in Tomales, a natural pit stop for anyone driving or cycling the coast. The menu is tight, meatballs and salads alongside the pizza, but the bread is its own reason to pull over. The olive loaf, dense with Kalamata and green olives, travels well. The San Francisco Chronicle named it one of the Bay Area's best sandwich spots.

Servers in ties and vests refill your water after every sip, and warm focaccia arrives before you've fully settled in. Mucca Osteria is a downtown Italian restaurant operating on the old assumption that hospitality is the whole point, and the kitchen keeps pace: handmade pastas with a silky bite, burrata draped in long-aged prosciutto, scallops over Parmesan fonduta. A room that makes you slow down without making a fuss about it.

A converted warehouse downtown that's been standing since before anyone alive can remember, Acqua di Dea is an elegant Italian seafood restaurant that leans hard into occasion-dining energy, all high ceilings and happy noise. The menu runs from whole grilled branzino to ossobuco for the table that always orders steak at a fish restaurant. Dress up a little; this is the kind of place where no one is underdressed and everyone knows it.

Anna's Vesuviano is a small, casual Neapolitan pizza joint on Doyle Ave where the crusts come out light and airy with leopard-spotted undersides. The mosaic tables are too small for the number of pies you'll inevitably order, which everyone treats as charm. Punk plays over the wine, and the wood-fired oven doesn't fully beat the chill, so bring a sweater in winter. Takeout is popular, but the bar seats fill up fast.

The tangerine walls and shelves stocked with tinned fish, art mags, and turntables tell you this isn't your average pizza shop before you've even ordered. The owner came up through visual merchandising and a stint at Roberta's, and it shows. Wood-fired Neapolitan-ish pies come with combinations that take a beat to process, in a good way. Ohio City's more design-conscious crowd has figured this out, naturally.

The Kill-Bill Pork Tenderloin, a sandwich stacked with crispy tenderloin, ham, bacon, cheese, and a fried egg, tells you everything about the ambition level here. Centro is a lively Italian restaurant that's been around forever in downtown Des Moines, serving lunch and dinner to a neighborhood it arguably helped create. Pizzas, pastas, and a grilled pork chop with Chianti demi-glace round out a menu that doesn't take itself too seriously but knows what it's doing.

Chickens turning on a spit behind glass, focaccia stacked high, and a counter so narrow that most people take their order to the curb: this is a counter service porchetta shop with Italian instincts and Charleston pork. Everything lands on housemade focaccia, from spiced salmon with whipped ricotta at breakfast to the classic porchetta with crackling, salsa verde, and provolone. A standing bar exists, technically, but the line moves and so do you.

Porchetta ribs and bucatini all'Amatriciana anchor the menu at this Italian restaurant on Frankford Avenue, where Greg Vernick stepped outside his usual lane to cook regional Italian for the first time. The room runs buzzy and packed, the service is tight, and the wine list leans Italian by the glass. It's a genuinely sexy room to land in Kensington, and the seasonal menu follows Italian tradition closely enough to feel considered without feeling like a museum piece.

The wood-burning oven was built in Naples by Stefano Ferrara and runs close to 1,000 degrees, which explains the blistered, char-edged crusts that come out of this Neapolitan pizzeria in downtown Fullerton. The mozzarella bar stocks cheese imported weekly from Caserta, so the margherita is taken rather seriously here. The dining room fills fast with locals who have clearly done this before, so plan accordingly.

Brady Street's old-school Italian grocery moved across the street a few years back into a space bright enough to make you squint, but the pantry staples, the olives, and the deli counter came along for the ride. Stock up on guanciale and giardiniera, or skip straight to the sandwiches. The Human Torch, loaded with calabrese salami, capocollo, and hot pepper spread, takes its name seriously.

The wooden door on King Street opens into a narrow, warm room that's been packed most nights for as long as anyone can remember. Indaco is a wood-fired pizza and pasta spot where the wine list leans affordable Italian and people tend to order a second bottle before they've finished the first. The leopard-spotted crust on the nduja pizza is the obvious draw, but the seasonal pasta earns its place on the table too.

The pastry chef doubles as a chocolatier, which is either a warning to pace yourself or a reason to skip straight to dessert. This East Cesar Chavez neighborhood Italian spot runs on local farms and whole-animal cooking, so the menu shifts with the season. Pastas and anything with duck tend to anchor whatever's on offer. Before you leave, at least pick up some of the handmade chocolates at the counter.

Skate-punk graphics on the walls, pinball and Skee-Ball in the back, and a Neapolitan pizza menu with a rotating cast of weekly specials: this is the kind of pizza pub that spawned a small neighborhood empire and still feels like the original reason the other places exist. Vegan options run deep, the drink list stays local, and the room lands somewhere between dive bar and pizza parlor, which is exactly what Upper Fells Point asked for.

The garlic sauce at this South San Francisco sandwich shop has its own cult following, which tells you something about the commitment level here. The sandwiches are legendarily large, large enough that ordering two for yourself draws concerned looks from strangers. Bread holds everything together with more authority than the deli meats deserve. A San Francisco Chronicle pick for the Bay Area's best sandwich spots, and a genuine test of anyone nearby.

The Iowa State Capitol dome glows through the windows of this airy, upscale Italian dining room in Des Moines's East Village, which lends the place an accidental grandeur nobody planned. Lunch runs to pasta, sandwiches, and salads. Dinner is a four-course prix fixe that reads far more serious than the tab suggests. The gnocchi are the kind that make you briefly resent every other gnocchi you've eaten.

Mike's Kitchen is a cash-only, cafeteria-style Italian counter tucked inside a VFW outpost in Cranston, which means you order at the line and eat among Rhode Island accents thick enough to need subtitles. Polenta arrives as a soft, custardy square under red sauce, with a meatball or sausage on top. Bring bills, expect to hear about the old days, and don't be surprised if a neighbor offers beach advice unprompted.

Richard's is the restaurant tucked inside the Inn at 500 Capitol, which means room service here comes with actual cannelloni instead of a club sandwich under a steel dome. The menu is Italian-ish Northwestern, heavy on house-made pasta, and the wine list gets taken seriously, with periodic wine dinners for people who enjoy being told about soil. Think date night in a nice shirt, not a weeknight in a hoodie.

Sandwich Hut is a takeout counter in Hope that builds Italian subs and treats pepperoncini less as a garnish than a core belief. The Allitalia stacks prosciutto, capocollo, pepperoni, and provolone under a generous drift of those crinkly green peppers. There are no tables to speak of, so plan on eating it on a walk, wearing some of it, and wiping oil off your jacket sleeve like a rite of passage.

Naturally fermented dough and house-made pasta are the baseline here, not the selling point, which tells you something about a neighborhood pizza and pasta joint on Larchmere. The chef built a loyal following at a food hall before opening this permanent spot, and the menu stays focused: orecchiette, mortadella pizza, chicken parm, braised short ribs with polenta. Casual enough for a weeknight, careful enough that you notice the difference.

Schiacciata, the flatter, crispier Tuscan cousin of focaccia, is the foundation every sandwich here is built on. This downtown Petaluma deli, market, and bottle shop loads it with prosciutto, porchetta, or a spicy spreadable sausage, then piles on broccoli rabe or burrata depending on your sandwich of choice. The shelves behind you are stocked with oil-preserved chiles and Italian pantry goods, so it's easy to leave with more than you planned.

House-baked rolls are the foundation here, which tells you a lot about how seriously this Italian quick-serve sandwich shop takes a chicken parm. The chef behind Lox, Stock, and Brisket kept the same formula, a tight menu done with real care, this time nodding to his grandparents' Sicilian hometown. Thick sheet-pan pepperoni pizza sits ready to go, and pasta comes with sausage or meatballs. Fast, focused, and cheap enough that nobody's pretending otherwise.

The 100-day dry-aged tomahawk arrives on a silver platter, which tells you everything about the room. Tutto Carne is an Italian-themed steakhouse in Little Italy, with chophouse classics like steak tartare and shrimp cocktail sharing the menu with bistecca alla Fiorentina and chateaubriand. The kitchen pulls its meat from a sister butcher shop, which tends to show. Forty-five seats keep things close, and the bistro vibe softens the splurge just enough.

Two Tony's is a big Creole Italian dining room in Lakeview where everyone ends up glancing at the next table's plates, and the portions guarantee you'll be carrying leftovers out to the car. The seeded bread arrives in baskets and does a lot of the damage before the entrees show up. Fried artichoke hearts, stuffed mushrooms, tiramisu, and a limoncello to close, in the manner of a last supper with a reservation.

The leopard-spotted crust on a wood-fired Neapolitan pie is the whole point here, and Vero has been packing Cedar Road over it for years. The space expanded not long ago, adding a bar and twice the seating, though waits still stack up on busy nights. Classic toppings, careful technique, and a room that finally has enough room in it.

Zarletti was here before Milwaukee Street figured out it was fancy, and it's been quietly setting the standard ever since. This is a proper Italian restaurant, the kind where the pasta is house-made and the osso buco arrives without apology. The room runs warm and the service is polished without being precious, which is harder to pull off than it sounds in a neighborhood that now has valet parking.

Exposed brick, wooden beams, white tablecloths, and soft lighting put this Foothills Italian restaurant somewhere between a neighborhood trattoria and a special-occasion dinner, which seems to suit everyone just fine. The enclosed patio runs quieter than the main room if you want to actually hear each other. The menu leans toward the kind of stuffed-and-sauced Italian-American comfort food that makes you immediately loosen your belt.

A gelato shop in Old Town Scottsdale where the owner brought recipes from his hometown in southern Italy and hasn't wavered since. The flavors run classic, almond with orange, hazelnut, milk cream, plus dairy-free fruit options, and the affogato is the move if espresso is involved in your afternoon. The crowd is half tourists already pretending they're somewhere else, and the gelato gives them a reasonable case.

Marmo is an Italian chophouse in Montrose Collective, the sort of place where a baby grand sits in the bar and a local musician plays it while you decide between a cowboy ribeye and a 42-ounce Porterhouse, both dry-aged. The sauce list includes porcini bone marrow jus, so the beef is not working alone. Wear something nice, order pasta for the table, and give the 22-page wine list the attention it clearly expects.

Montesacro is a casual Roman pizzeria that bakes its pies in ovals, which is less a gimmick than a reminder that circles are not the only legal shape. The crust runs crisp, bubbly, and light, and the menu is long enough that nobody at the table gets stuck with a compromise. Service moves fast and the room swallows groups easily, which suits the pre-show crowd heading to the Orpheum.

Two Italian men, both named Gabriele, run this Italian deli on Yesler Way, and the staff communicate in rapid, gesticulate Italian that could be an argument or a recipe debate or just Tuesday. The focaccia sandwiches are stacked with imported prosciutto and mortadella, and the 'nduja is made next door. Shop shelves hold Sardinian cheese, Calabrian honey, and bottarga for browsing. Vegetarians exist here, but they have to ask nicely.

Getting into this off-Strip speakeasy means ringing a football, which feels like a sentence from a fever dream, and then supplying a password you only get by booking ahead. A host in a vest and flat cap works the room while jazz singers handle the stage, and you can request an unlikely cover from the lounge. It's an Italian steakhouse in costume, so the red leather booths fill up with tourists.

Patio seating looks out over the rolling Ozarks with a sliver of Table Rock Lake in the frame, which sets expectations high before the food shows up. This is an Italian restaurant where the pasta is made from scratch and the wine list is long enough to require help. The chef trained formally and spent time on the West Coast before landing here, and the cacio e pepe and burnt Basque cheesecake suggest he paid attention.

Coastline is a First Ward pizza bar named for the saucy edge where cheese meets crust, which tells you the team has thought about this more than you have. It turns out wood-fired Neapolitan pies alongside thin, grilled Texas-style ones, and the bartenders are the sort who remember your order by the second visit. It's casual and cozy, with cocktails that take the evening seriously. Eater's list of Houston's best pizza restaurants includes it.

A roadhouse that means it when it says farm-to-table Italian, Giaco's sits a five-minute drive from Samuel P. Taylor State Park, which matters more than you'd think by night two of camping. There's a bar up front, a cozy dining room in back, and a patio when the weather cooperates. The wood-fired pizzas run a little bready, but creative toppings carry them, and the saffron arancini with Point Reyes truffle cheese earns its place on the menu.

The focaccia at this Italian sandwich shop and pizzeria is springy enough to qualify as a mattress topping, then loaded with stracciatella, 'nduja, pistachio butter, or artichoke cream. A deli counter runs along one side, stocked with mortadella, salami, and prosciutto that get hand-sliced to order. Roman-style pizza sits out in thick, dimpled slabs. Bring cash for lunch and a plan for a slow afternoon.

Home Slice is a casual Austin pizzeria where the pies come the size of a hubcap and the debates run to which Mario Kart character you'd room with. Order it by the slice if you're solo, or split an Italian sub, wings, and a Greek salad that somehow feels like a plot twist. It's counter-service beer-and-negroni territory, and shorts are the dress code.

Hypsi is the Italian restaurant tucked inside Hotel Daphne in the Heights, which means you can start with breakfast and keep going until a roaming mozzarella cart rolls up to your table at dinner. The room is relaxed neighborhood stuff, with a fireplace worth angling for and a negroni on the list. Dress however you'd dress to eat pasta near your own house, only slightly nicer.

Mano a Mano is a dimly lit Italian trattoria on Milwaukee Avenue, run by the people behind the neighboring Andros Taverna and Asador Bastian, so the block is basically a family reunion with better lighting. The pastas are made in-house, with seafood-stuffed shapes and a cacio e pepe, and the focaccia arrives with stracchino. Expect a wine list with some ambition and a mid-to-upper bill, so dress like you planned this.

Mart Anthony's is a family-run Italian restaurant on West Hubbard, in its third generation, and it began as a spot for the founder to hang out with friends. The walls are covered in black-and-white photos of regulars, so you're basically dining inside a very long group chat. Expect red-sauce classics from family recipes, a dozen handmade pastas, and a meatball salad credited to Nana. Come as you are, as the place intends.

The on-site cooking school with a loyal crowd of repeat students tells you something about how seriously this Italian restaurant takes the whole project. Pasta is made daily, the menu moves between classics and more inventive mains, and a separate casual cafe handles lunches and happy hours next door. It's a family-run operation that has quietly become a fixture on the island, without making a big deal about it.

The Italian sub here is stacked with salami, hot coppa, mortadella, and provolone on a flour-dusted ciabatta, and the bread does at least half the work. Morucci's is an old-school deli that's been a Walnut Creek fixture long enough that regulars actually comment when the line isn't out the door. A few seats inside, more outside, and the counter crew keeps things moving faster than the crowd suggests.

A casual BYOB pizzeria in a Gray Street strip-center suite, where a wood-fired oven runs around 900 degrees and turns out Neapolitan pies in a couple of minutes. The menu keeps going after the red and white pies, with New York and Detroit styles and a stuffed pie that's mostly cheese and ambition. Bring your own wine, since the corkscrew is the only thing between you and a very good Tuesday. Eater lists it among Houston's best pizza spots.

The crusts here crack audibly when you bite into them, which sounds like a small thing until you're at a table in Windsor wondering why most pizza doesn't do that. Pizzaleah is a NY-style slice shop where Leah Scurto handles the dough personally, and the brick oven leaves a char on the underside that keeps everything from going soft. The San Francisco Chronicle named it one of Sonoma County's best restaurants. Hot honey and Calabrian chile pies share the menu with the unironic classics.

Neapolitan-style pizzeria next door to the famously pricey Frasca, which tells you something about the neighborhood and also about the price gap. The pies have that crusty-chewy pull that Naples devotees argue about endlessly, and the butterscotch budino has built a quiet cult of its own. The wine list leans Southern Italy, the salads are more elegant than a pizza place has any business offering, and the garlic knots make a strong case for skipping the entree entirely.