In search of Italian-American cuisine worth celebrating, I have encountered miles of pallid pasta and oceans of weak tomato sauce. There have been bright spots, certainly, places with plenty of dishes to recommend. But of the 20-something red sauce purveyors whose Southern Italian dishes I've had the privilege to evaluate, none ran the table. Then I went to Sinatra's.

The restaurant has loomed large in the Buffalo Italian landscape for decades, but recently made its move to a much bigger place, where its kitchen would have to operate at a much higher volume. Yet from the opening Italian bread with butter and caponatina, a tangy eggplant relish, to the closing bananas Foster, every dish I tried was pitch-perfect. Sinatra's isn't named after the most famous crooner to ever emerge from Hoboken. But its smooth swagger, backed up by killer talent, will have you tapping your toes in no time.