I’ve been known, on many occasions in recent years, to tell people I hate Italian food. Of course, that’s a lie. I pretty much love most Mediterranean cuisine. No, it’s not Italian food in general I dislike; it’s pasta.

OK, I don’t actually dislike pasta per se. After all, what’s to dislike? It’s only flour and water. No, it’s just the inordinate amount of reverence afforded it by the rest of the world that puts my back up.

Take my better half for example; always ready to sneak pasta into my meal schedule if I’m not looking. If I walk into the kitchen, and find her looking sheepish yet defiant behind a vat of steaming water, I know what’s on the menu. She, she proudly says, could eat pasta every night. I think she’s trying to annoy me.

I mean seriously, pasta’s fine, but, you know, it’s just not that incredible. Especially when almost everyone prepares it in exactly the same fashion – a runny tomato sauce or the ubiquitous Bolognese. Save the alfredo for when you’re trying to impress, or not counting the calories. Bah!

Anyway. Sorry, got off topic there. (Get on with it! – Ed)

Ah yes, I remember. So, I was forced to fake a little enthusiasm when I was handed “The Valentino Cookbook” by Piero Selvaggio and Karen Stabiner. Rats! Italian food!

Then I remembered I don’t really hate Italian food and cheered up a bit.

Now, after having spent a little time with it, I may well be falling in love with Italy’s cuisine. Or, at least, Selvaggio’s take on it.

Of all the nations in the Western world, I would suggest that the French and the Italians are a good head in front of the rest of the field when it comes to taking their food seriously. But, I would further suggest, there is one major difference between the two nations’ approaches to food. The French often imbue their cuisine with an untouchable holiness. Sure the French love to eat, but they often seem to take even more pleasure in the production of extravagantly lavish dishes. Despite the strong country cooking tradition that underpins French cuisine, it is the complex, almost painstakingly produced masterpieces that have come to represent the franchise most strongly in many minds. The French truly are the gourmets of Europe.

The Italians, I would contend, may be the continent’s gourmands. Italians revel in their cooking. Cooking, for the Italians, is a joyous occasion. Ingredients are often played fast and loose, the chattering of the steaming pots a chuckling warm-up act for the vast play that follows; family and friends orbiting an overloaded table.

That cooking is such a central part of Italian life shines in “The Valentino Cookbook.” The book serves a dual purpose; that of cookbook, sure, but also that of extended autobiography. Where one ends, and the other begins, is the tricky thing to spot.

For Selvaggio, recipes become like diary entries. A half-forgotten piquancy here, a well remembered rush of comfort there.

Personal memories are served coated with a crisp crust of fond culinary memories in the first half of the book. In the second, the recipes themselves stand seasoned with Selvaggio’s bittersweet struggles to create a new kind of Italian restaurant in America, and, I sense, find a route to the past so as to follow that road more clearly in the opposite direction.

The story of Valentino, the restaurant, is enough to warm the heart of any believer in dreams coming true, American or otherwise. Boy from small-town Italy makes good on West Coast. Hole-in-the-wall Trattoria goes mega and wins international plaudits. How? The answer lies within the pages of this book.

It’s the food.

Almost every recipe in this book retains a boldly Italian character, but the genius of Selvaggio and his restaurants has been in adapting many of those recipes to take advantage of the fresh local produce, and to showcase a little of his own playful personality within his dishes.

“I do believe that you have to put your own fantasia – your own imagination, your sense of how a dish should taste – into your cooking,” Selvaggio says in his introduction.

Fantasia is probably an apt term, as some of the dishes in this book are indeed fantastic.

Personal favorites include Filetti di Tonno al Sesamo con Fave e Rafino (Sesame-seared Tuna with Horseradish and Fava Beans), where the heartiness of rare tuna and fava beans contrast beautifully with the complex zestiness of a balsamic vinaigrette and mustard and horseradish mayonnaise.

Equally delicious is Costolette d’Agnello al Trittico di Noci (Lamb with Almonds, Walnuts and Pine Nuts). Coated with the nuts, pan-fried in butter, and presented with a simple, minty green salad, the meat is a delight. The dish’s flavors blend gently in the mouth, lending subtle tones to one another, the earthiness of the nuts, a blanket wrapping the more shrill notes of the lamb. The result is a comforting harmony.

But enough. “What about the pasta?” I hear you cry.

Selvaggio is on the same page as my better half on this one. Pasta is his anchor to his past and he too would (and pretty much does) eat it every day. And naturally, there are several recipes for its preparation here. Did I try some? Did I enjoy them? Am I now converted to the sprawling ranks of those who adore, nay worship the stuff?

Yes, yes and, erm, not really.

Particularly fine, however, is his Fusilli del Collegio con Lenticchi e Salsicce (Fusilli from Boarding School with Lentils and Sausage) which will satisfy the most ardent appetite, and benefits greatly from mental comparisons to the school meals I remember being served.

Brimming with anecdotes, tips and smart wine recommendations, this book should be considered a must-have for those who are interested in exploring Italian cooking beyond the staid marinara and veal Parmesan axis.

As Valentino, the restaurant, helped point people toward a new way of interpreting Italian cooking, this cookbook should do much the same thing, but hopefully, for a much wider audience.

Sesame-seared Tuna with Horseradish and Fava Beans

1 pound ahi tuna

3/4 cup white sesame seeds

1 tablespoon butter

2 tablespoons olive oil

8 ounces shelled fava beans

2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar

1 tablespoon chopped shallot

Salt and pepper to taste

1/2 cup mayonnaise

1/4 cup horseradish, freshly grated

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

Mixed baby greens

1 red tomato, finely chopped for garnish

1 yellow tomato, finely chopped for garnish

Preheat oven to 200 degrees.

Coat the tuna on all sides with sesame seeds. In a large skillet, melt the butter with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil. Add the tuna and cook over medium heat on all sides until golden. Do not cook the fish all the way through. Remove the tuna from the pan and keep warm in the oven.

Remove the favas from their pods and steam the beans until tender, about 8 minutes. Season with the remaining olive oil, vinegar, shallot, and salt and pepper, and keep warm.

In a small bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, horseradish and mustard. Add 1-2 teaspoons of hot water to thin down the sauce. Arrange the greens on a serving dish, put the fava beans in the middle of the plate, slice the tuna and lay it over the beans. Spoon dressing over everything. Garnish with the chopped red and yellow tomatoes.

Serves 4.

Lamb with Almonds, Walnuts and Pine Nuts

1/2 cup butter

1/2 cup unblanched almonds, sliced

1/2 cup walnuts, coarsely chopped

1/2 cup pine nuts

1 cup bread crumbs, finely ground

12 single-rib lamb chops, trimmed and bones scraped (French style)

2-3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

4 large eggs, beaten

Salt and pepper to taste

For the salad:

12 ounces mixed baby greens

1/4 cup fresh mint, finely chopped

1/4 cup fresh basil, finely chopped

1 cup citrus vinaigrette (see below)

Preparation: To clarify the butter, melt it over low heat in a small, heavy-duty saucepan. Let cool, then skim the foam from the surface and pour the clarified butter into a cup, discarding the solids at the bottom of the pan.

In a food processor fitted with the metal blade, pulse to combine all the nuts and the bread crumbs. Transfer to a shallow bowl.

Pat the lamb chops dry and dredge the meat lightly in the flour. Dip them in the beaten egg, allowing the excess to drip back into the bowl. Coat them completely with the nut mixture and set aside.

The dish:

In a large, nonstick skillet, heat a few tablespoons of the clarified butter over medium heat. Cook the lamb chops (4-6 at a time) to the desired degree of doneness – 2-3 minutes per side for medium-rare. Remove from the skillet and drain on paper towels. Season with salt and pepper and arrange three chops on each plate.

In a large bowl, toss together the greens, mint, basil and citrus vinaigrette. Serve the salad on the side with the chops.

Serves 4.

Citrus Vinaigrette:

1/2 cup fresh-squeezed lemon, lime or orange juice

1 shallot, finely chopped

1 garlic clove, finely chopped

1 bay leaf

Salt and pepper to taste

2 cups olive oil

In a medium-size bowl combine the citrus juice and shallot and allow to sit for about 10-15 minutes. Whisk in the garlic, bay leaf, salt and pepper, and olive oil. Refrigerate until ready to use.