The Art of Oven Dishes –Maximum Comfort With Minimum Fuss

One-Pan Wisdom

When I was a little girl, my grandmother’s lasagna felt like an event before it even hit the table. You smelled it first – hours of slow heat building in the house, curling up the stairs, threading its way into every room. And then you saw it: a pan so heavy it seemed to require ceremony. But the real thrill – the part I still remember as vividly as anything – was the treasure hunt hidden inside each slice.

My grandmother tucked mini meatballs into the layers like little jewels. I would take my fork and quietly excavate, eyes flicking to my brothers’ plates to see if they’d been luckier than me. Did he get two? Did I only get one? It was pure childhood math, performed with total seriousness.

That memory is one reason I dedicated an entire chapter in my book Mother Sauce: Italian American Family Recipes and the Story of the Women Who Created Them (Artisan Books) to what I call 'Layered and Baked. To me, these dishes embody the unmistakable allure of home cooking.

Sure, sautéed onions smell wonderful, but they’re a quick flash of perfume. The oven is different. The oven is a slow build: the kind of scent that you can smell in an apartment building the moment you step off the elevator. It’s pervasive in the best way, like the house is quietly telling you, come in, stay a while.

That aroma became a sort of homing device for me when my boys turned into teenagers – the age when they start orbiting away from you, pulled by the promise of independence and pizza with friends. I noticed that even when they were halfway out the door, a long-cooking dish had a way of stopping them in their tracks. 'See you later,' they’d say – then pause. 'Wait… when is that going to be ready?'

The Delicious Precursor to Casseroles

It’s funny to me that we talk about casseroles as this very American mid-century idea –the bubbling dish, the apron, the oven door shut with a hip. But Italian American kitchens had their own version long before the 1960s put a name to it. Baked ziti and lasagna are, in many ways, the precursors to the American casserole: make-ahead meals that feed a crowd, travel well, reheat beautifully, and stretch ingredients into something greater than the sum of their parts.

And this way of cooking goes back even further. In Italy, when cucina povera was at the forefront because resources were limited and ingenuity was essential, not every home had an oven. Families would assemble dishes and take them to a communal oven, often at a bakery. I always say it was like a car wash: people coming in and out with their pans, queued up to get their baking done. That communal practice cemented something lasting: layered dishes as a practical, communal, deeply human way to cook.

Two images showing the process of layering a lasagne

Kitchen Shortcuts That Have Stood the Test of Time

After years of working on my brand Mad Hungry in Martha Stewart’s test kitchen, I became ruthless about steps and ingredients that don’t pull their weight. Home cooking isn’t restaurant cooking. In a restaurant, every cutlet has to be perfect, one at a time, on demand. At home, a meal needs to be delicious and fit into your life.

That’s why I’m always delighted to realize my Italian American ancestors were doing this kind of smart editing long before I gave it a name. Take the recipe for Chicken Parmesan, which I adapted from my grandmother’s. So many recipes insist on the full 'standard breading procedure' (dredge in flour, dip in egg, coat in breadcrumbs) – an assembly line that can make sense for a standalone cutlet, but becomes excessive when the cutlet is going to be baked under Sunday Sauce and cheese.

In my family, the women simply mixed the breadcrumbs with cheese and seasoning and pressed it directly into the cutlet. Straight to the point. Less mess and same satisfying result.

Modernising Traditional Methods

The Italian Oven Fries in this selection are also deceptively simple, and they come straight from the brilliance of another woman in my family: my mother.

My mother was not Italian; she was Scotch-English on one side of her life, and then married into a very Italian household where, in those days, you were expected to cook like your Italian mother-in-law did. She was also an artist, and she had the creativity to take traditional Italian flavors and translate them into a modern, practical form.

She took the seasoning spirit of baked artichokes – Romano, garlic, herbs – and applied it to potatoes. She used the oven instead of frying because she was feeding a crowd and trying to live her life. Those fries became iconic in our family, the kind of thing you forget until you make them again, and everyone loses their mind.

My mom and I went head-to-head for years about the 'dried Italian seasoning.' I’m not a fan of most pre-mixed herb blend – I’d rather list herbs individually in my recipes. But she loved that old-school grocery store mix – a very 1960s staple – and eventually, she won.

Lasagne With Mini Meatballs

And the famous Lasagna with Mini Meatballs from my childhood? Those little meatballs are labor-intensive – there’s no way around it – but they’re also the entire reason the dish lives so vividly in my mind. I like to cook them in sauce, so they stay tender and porous, almost 'naked,' so they can absorb and meld with everything else.

What all of the layered and baked dishes in my book have in common is the magic that happens in the oven. In a well-made lasagna, or chicken Parmesan, or a layered vegetable bake, liquids mingle and then evaporate. Sugars concentrate. Edges caramelize. The top becomes crisp, the middle stays soft and yielding, and the bottom turns crunchy in the most glorious way. Nothing is one-note. It’s bubbling, and melting, and rising, and crisping all at once. It’s the kind of food you never forget.

Ingredients (serves 12)

For the tomato sauce:
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
4 garlic cloves, minced
½ teaspoon red pepper flakes
Two 28-ounce (800 g) cans whole tomatoes, lightly pulsed in a blender
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 sprigs fresh basil (optional)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
For the meatballs (See recipe on Lucinda's Sunday Sauce column, and roll into about ½ inch in diameter)
1 pound (455 g) dried lasagna noodles
Extra virgin olive oil
1¼ cups (285 g) ricotta cheese, drained if not thick
1 pound (455 g) mozzarella, grated
1 cup (100 g) grated Parmesan cheese, plus extra for serving
2 tablespoons chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 large egg
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Method

For the tomato sauce:
Heat a medium saucepan over medium heat and swirl in the olive oil.
Add the garlic and pepper flakes and stir constantly for about 30 seconds, just long enough to release the garlic’s fragrance and transform it slightly from its raw state; don’t let it cook to golden.
Raise the heat to high and stir in the tomatoes and salt. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer, uncovered, for 30 minutes.
In the last 5 minutes of cooking, add the basil sprig, if using, then remove it before serving. Swirl in the butter
For the meatballs (See recipe on Lucinda's Sunday Sauce column, and roll into about ½ inch in diameter)
For the lasagne:
Bring the tomato sauce to a boil in a large pot. One by one, stir the raw meatballs into the sauce and cook for 20 minutes. Remove from the heat and cover to keep warm.
Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil and salt it generously (you will have to cook the noodles in batches unless you have an extra-large pot). Fill a large bowl with cold water and stir in a glug of olive oil.
If using dried noodles, cook according to the package instructions and transfer to the bowl of water. Remove the noodles from the cold water and pat dry. Lay them flat on a baking sheet, separated by parchment paper or plastic wrap.
Combine the ricotta, ½ cup (225 g) of the grated mozzarella, half of the Parmesan, the parsley, egg, salt, and pepper in a medium bowl and stir together.
Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C).
To assemble the lasagna, spread 1 cup (245 g) of the tomato sauce over the bottom of an oiled 9-by-13-inch (23 by 33 cm) baking dish. Overlap one quarter of the noodles over the sauce to cover the pan bottom.
Spread a third of the cooked meatballs over the noodles and spoon over another 1 cup (225 g) sauce. Overlap another quarter of the noodles on top. Dollop all the ricotta mixture on top of the noodles and flatten it with the back of a spoon to make an even layer. Overlap another quarter of noodles on top.
Spread over the second third of meatballs and 1 cup (225 g) sauce. Cover with the remaining noodles. Pour 2 cups (450 g) of the sauce to cover. Scatter the remaining meatballs on top. Scatter the remaining mozzarella over the top. Sprinkle with the remaining Parmesan cheese and drizzle with olive oil.
Bake uncovered for 40 to 45 minutes, until the lasagna is bubbling all over and lightly golden on top. Let rest for at least 20 to 30 minutes before slicing. Serve with plenty of grated cheese and the remaining tomato sauce at the table.

A Cook's Legacy is our six-part series with award-winning cookbook author, Lucinda Scala Quinn, exploring the family, food, and cultural memory that inspired her latest cookbook, Mother Sauce, through her beloved culinary voice.

Anna Last is the US Editorial Director of Homes & Gardens. She loves finding and telling stories about tastemakers who live beautifully. Anna also runs her own Branding & Creative company Dandelion Collective, and has worked with premium lifestyle retailers and media companies her whole career, including Martha Stewart, Vogue Living, Williams-Sonoma, and Restoration Hardware.