A Cena is built around hallmarks of a bygone era: butcher paper over the tables, complimentary bread delivered as you peruse the menu, even a perfectly potable house red and house white. The menu of familiar dishes carries a similar, practiced aplomb. A chicory Caesar comes with just enough dressing. Arancini nail that crispy-on-the-outside, creamy-on-the-inside texture, with an extra gooey cheese stretch. As is tradition, portions border on the absurd. This is a place for sharing, especially if opting for the bistecca—a wood-fired Tuscan steak—or the agnolotti, delicate ravioli stuffed with sweet corn and mascarpone buried under tender chunks of lobster. Finish things off with a tiramisu or cannoli—as classic as they get. —Alex Frane

Campana sneakily manages to be three restaurants in one. The dinner menu, what most people are here for, would alone make this a favorite for any Italophile. Garlicky cannellini bean dip, silken chicken liver pâté, and meatballs made extra tender with ricotta kick things off. Al dente pastas and risotto lead into hearty entrées like roast chicken with pork sausage and fork-tender braised short rib with polenta. The bar menu is where chef and co-owner George Kaden quietly excels at the basics: cacio e pepe, spaghetti puttanesca, bucatini amatriciana, and so on. Sometimes, simpler is better. Let the pasta speak for itself! Gelato is no doubt what’s for dessert. The restaurant’s third act, Pronto Gelato, a collab between Kaden and Spella Caffè owner Andrea Spella, has its own brick-and-mortar in the neighborhood, but it’s also the sticky and velvety kicker of any meal here—an ideal nightcap. —AF

Chef Patrick McKee’s restaurant has lived a few lives. First it was a residency at Dame, then a nightly takeover at Mississippi’s Broder. Now it’s back to its original neighborhood, this time (hopefully) for good, having taken over the narrow dining room formerly home to Nonna Tavern and Pleasure Mountain. Regardless of what kitchen he’s working with, McKee consistently delivers with a style uniquely his own, neither tied to tradition nor fully bucking it. Reliably al dente housemade pastas ground the menu, from a classic cacio e pepe to a squid ink bucatini, with plump shrimp swimming in a briny shellfish brodo. The risotto, always changing with the seasons, might best showcase McKee’s sharp and graceful cooking. Things get playful on Red Sauce Wednesdays: romaine leaf Caesars; pork, beef, and veal meatballs (as a side or on nostalgia-inducing spaghetti marinara); and mom’s lasagna with pork sugo, served by the slab. —AF

Plenty has been written about the fried mozzarella “shots” at this boisterous ode to East Coast red sauce joints. But for good reason, as they encapsulate what makes Gabbiano’s Gabbiano’s. Essentially a grown-up mozzarella stick (if that’s a thing), it’s hand-stretched mozzarella molded into a shot glass, panko-dredged, deep-fried, and—we’re still going here—filled with molten marinara. Patently absurd. Literally and figuratively cheesy. The dish is more concerned with fun than anything remotely “authentic” to Italian dining. Like Gabbiano’s as a whole, it’s also damn good. Devour an order before feasting on peppery arugula salads, plate-size chicken parm, and textbook pork and beef meatballs, best served with springy spaghetti and tangy marinara. Finish it off with the housemade limoncello, which is actually rather Italian. —AF

“This is not Italian food” reads the website for Gumba. Maybe it isn’t, but the menu sure reads like it: lasagna, pappardelle, spaghetti puttanesca, pork saltimbocca. Gumba builds those inspirations into big, unrestrained dishes, combining Italian ingredients with American boldness. Voluminous burrata crowns crispy fry bread. Ricotta gnocchi, with spicy vodka sauce and sautéed mushrooms, is rich and buttery, especially when topped with chicken confit. Pappardelle loaded with braised beef and chilies gets a liberal snow of parmesan and toasted breadcrumbs. Instead of nonna’s marinara, chicken parm gets brown butter carrot cream and ribbons of fennel. Even the drinks are novel, like black olive oil–washed gin martinis or strawberry-, coconut-, and pineapple-infused Negronis. Traditional? Hardly. Delicious? Absolutely. —AF

There was little fanfare heralding Fantino, the cozy Italian spot that quietly opened in the former Papa G’s space in the summer of 2025. But the crowds soon showed up, beckoned by whispers of immaculate bucatini and ravioli. The hype hasn’t died out, perhaps because Fantino stands out among the sea of Italian spots that opened within the same few months. A first-come, first-served policy means a good wait, but the neighborhood is filled with options for pre-dinner drinks. The dining room is cute and snug, but that’s not the only reason to wait. You’re here for the parade of starters, salads, and pastas—maybe even a whole grilled branzino. The little gems Caesar contends for the top spot in town. Piquant gildas and charred pan con tomate hint at the menu’s Spanish accents. And the focaccia, baked in-house, gets the carb party started. Speaking of: pastas—creamy and vibrant bucatini al limon, vongole with clamshells balanced atop linguine with white wine and butter—are not to be missed. A killer Italian bottle list keeps things flowing all evening. —AF

If Luce’s quaint little dining room, with its checkered floor and shelves of jarred sundries, doesn’t immediately transport you to Italy, its menu will. More than most spots in town, Luce is rooted in the Old World, its pasta dishes an exercise in simplicity. Like sister restaurant Navarre, descriptions are sparse but clear: linguine with shrimp, rigatoni with pumpkin, baked stuffed trout. $4 small plates and half portions of all pastas and salads encourage building your own feast. The mainly European wine list was so broad they had to spin it off into a wine bar next door, Bar Martina, which is a great spot to hang while waiting for your table. —AF

The first thing you see walking into Maglia Rosa is a framed pink cycling jersey, a “maglia rosa” (the jersey worn by the leader of the Giro d’Italia, the famed Italian stage race) signed by champion cyclist Mathieu van der Poel. It signals the restaurant’s casual osteria vibes, both in terms of bike geekdom (past Giro races play on a screen in the bathroom) and Italian food. Salads side-step the obligatory Caesars and capreses in favor of brown butter–dressed radicchio and briny chopped salads reminiscent of Italian cold cut subs; one sports sunset shades of citrus dressed in it-girl olive oil, pistachios, dates, and mint. The ethos extends to some of the city’s finest pasta, housemade and with nice chew and stretch and bite. Ribbons of tagliatelle arrive in a seriously rich beef and pork bolognese and get a salty-tangy shower of sophisticated and assertive Bertinelli Parm-Reg. Duck ragù lasagna skips the hundred-layer treatment and instead focuses on a few perfect sheets of pasta, crisping the edges without drying itself out. Compared with many of the new Italian restaurants that have opened in the last two years, Maglia Rosa has earned its namesake jersey. —Brooke Jackson-Glidden

In 2005, chef Cathy Whims opened her own place after years running the show at the heart of the city’s Italian scene, the massively influential restaurant Genoa. Less than carrying on the legacy, Whims launched the primogenitor of so many other Portland Italian restaurants, setting a high bar of prizing locality and simplicity true to her culinary experiences in Italy. A rotating cast of Oregon produce appeared alongside house-stretched mozzarella on airy, char-pocked pizzas. Sure, Marcella Hazan’s famed tomato butter sauce was always around, but the pasta lineup spanned peak-summer shrimp and poblano pepper ravioli to springy rigatoni tossed with white beans and pea tendrils. The same is true today. Whims and co. are still name-dropping farms and tossing spaghetti with lacinato kale pesto. The Caesar-esque Insalata Nostrana is a must, an icon, and wine drinkers would be wise to peruse the list from sommelier Austin Bridges. —BJG

The soccer (er, football) memorabilia and crimson tablecloths make this Pearl District mainstay feel plucked straight from Jersey, complete with its entire Italian-speaking staff. They brought their recipes with them: rigatoni bolognese, penne in pesto, or spaghetti pomodoro with fresh tomatoes and torn basil. Prices hover around the $20 mark, an increasing rarity in Portland, and a kids menu makes it clear that this is a family-friendly establishment. Piazza Italia may not be the ideal spot for romantic outings or trend-hopping social media posts, but its always reliable menu of Italian American comfort food—and its own understated charm—cements its position in the city’s dining scene. —AF

Normandie co-owner Amanda Cannon opened Sunday Sauce as a nostalgic homage to red sauce joints back east and to the recipes her mom learned growing up in Hoboken, New Jersey. The restaurant is more a personal interpretation than a direct recreation, playing the classics with its own tune. Marinara leans sweeter and comes with many of the dishes, including springy meatballs and fried “mutz” (mozzarella, for West Coasters). Platter-size eggplant and chicken parmesan are meant for sharing, especially with a side of spaghetti. The titular dish—slow-braised beef and pork in a rich tomato sauce served over rigatoni—is a crowd-pleaser. Just don’t call it “gravy” unless you’re eager for a heated debate on etymology. Red leather banquettes and checkered placemats help set the scene. If you’ve (somehow) got room for dessert, the tiramisu sneakily features banana pudding and the birthday cannoli cake always comes with a candle. —AF