Starter

Dede always preferred to plant his corn patch in the fruitful black soil at the river’s edge. He taught me that when corn is ripe and ready to be picked, the silk at the top of the ear should be dark brown, almost black. It is not unusual to see people peeling back the husks in search of ears with perfect rows of kernels. Just take a peek to make sure the ear is full and free of worms, but keep the husk on to keep the corn moist and sweet. Do not bother with this recipe unless it is summer and you can make it with fresh corn and the best tomatoes, preferably heirloom. You will only be disappointed. Heirloom tomatoes, varieties passed down through generations by farmers and gardeners the world over, come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and tastes. If you cannot find heirlooms, this garnish would also be delicious with any ripe tomato from your garden or market.

My grandfather used lots and lots of black pepper, especially to season Meme’s vegetable soup. It tasted wonderful, so it wasn’t like he was trying to hide the taste. He just loved pepper. We always had vegetable soup in the winter, using the vegetables we had canned or frozen that summer. This recipe easily doubles or triples. I like to make a large batch and enjoy it a few days in a row. You can prepare this with the traditional ham bone or opt for a vegetarian version. Serve with piping hot biscuits.

I made this soup for Mama when I was in junior high. She had been going through a tough time and one day when she came home for lunch I had prepared a chilled cantaloupe soup out of Southern Living magazine. Even though I had always enjoyed cooking, I think that this slightly unusual soup caught her off guard. I wanted to make her feel better, and as it often does, homemade food made with love can make a dark day seem brighter.

A fish fry would not be complete without hushpuppies, yet another dish Southerners prepare with corn. Meme always added grated onion to the meal leftover from frying the fish, and then added an egg and enough buttermilk until the consistency looked about right. My late father-in-law used to host fish fries, cooking up what they’d caught over the weekend at Lake Lanier. Now, I never actually had one of his hushpuppies, but I’ve spent fifteen years trying to replicate one, based on what his family describes. He used beer instead of buttermilk and, it seems, lots of onion. It doesn’t matter how much onion I add, there’s never enough onion. I have a sneaking suspicion that a special food memory created on a sunny summer afternoon has bypassed reality and it’s actually not about the onion. No worries, I’ll keep trying. There are impossible quests that produce far worse results.

Every week or so, it seems that the movie Fried Green Tomatoes airs on one of the myriad cable television stations. I watch it every time. It’s a sweet story, and unlike most “Southern movies,” the accents are not too bad. One of my favorite scenes is when the Kathy Bates character, Evelyn Couch, takes a plate of fried green tomatoes to Ninny Threadgoode, played by the incomparable Jessica Tandy, for her birthday. I like the way she thinks! Don’t make the mistake of coating too many tomatoes at a time. The coating won’t stick and the tomatoes will become soggy. Set up a workstation with the eggs and dry ingredients leading to the skillet of oil. Your tomatoes will taste better and it will help with cleanup.

In Atlanta, people ask you, “What’s your business?” In Augusta, they ask, “What’s your mother’s maiden name?” In Macon, they ask, “Where do you go to church?” In Savannah, they ask, “What would you like to drink?” That generous hospitality and sense of fun is typical of Savannah style; this dish is very likely to be served at one of Savannah’s legendary cocktail parties. As Georgia’s most valuable seafood crop, between 4 1/2 million and 9 1/2 million pounds of heads-on shrimp are harvested annually by a fleet of more than five hundred boats, the majority owner-operated and based within an hour or so of Savannah. It is common to find fishermen whose families have fished the same grounds for generations. Preserving and pickling seafood in citrus juice, vinegar, and brine is a technique used all over the world—in Spanish ceviche, for example. This combination of ingredients acts as a cooking agent, denaturing the proteins and rendering the raw seafood cooked. Many recipes state shrimp pickled by this technique may be stored for up to ten days, tightly covered in the refrigerator, but I disagree. Even if you weren’t concerned about food-borne illness, why bother? The acid would continue working and you’d wind up with bouncy balls of shrimp-flavored pink rubber. Up to two days in the refrigerator is fine. Serve on a bed of lettuce for a nice cold salad, or as a delightful nibble on a buffet.

When vacationing as a child on the Gulf of Mexico or along the Atlantic, we would often spend an afternoon crabbing along a shallow pier or rocky jetty, using crawfish nets whose white-cotton webbing was long-ago colored a muddy red-brown. We would tie a bony chicken neck in the center of the net, toss it out into the shallow waters, and wait. Being a child and waiting patiently to pull in the nets do not go hand in hand. Until one of our parents intervened, we would pull in the nets to check them so often that the crabs didn’t have a chance to find them, much less saddle in for a good gnaw on the chicken. When we did catch them, it was important to release the females to help maintain the crab population. I always had a hard time telling them apart until one crusty Maryland crabber explained to me years later, “The male looks like the Washington Monument and the female looks like the Capitol.” Indeed, the underbelly flap of the male is decidedly pointed and long and the female’s is round with a nubbin of a tip. I like crab cakes, not crab-and-bread cakes—there needs to be just enough binder to hold the crab together. Use jumbo lump or lump crabmeat, be sure to keep the crab very cold since it spoils easily, and carefully pick through the meat to remove any bits of shell.

Most oysters are farmed, but Apalachicola oysters are harvested from some of the only wild oyster beds left in American waters, near Apalachicola, Florida. This area of the Gulf of Mexico is known as Florida’s “Forgotten Coast.” For generations, residents of the Florida panhandle have made their livelihood working the Apalachicola Bay and surrounding waters. The area’s real claim to fame may be oysters, but every Southerner should raise a chilled glass of sweet tea to Dr. John Gorrie. The kind doctor thought Apalachicola summers were too hot for his patients and was a pioneer in the invention of the artificial manufacture of ice, refrigeration, and air-conditioning (he was granted a patent in 1851 for the first ice maker). This simple, peppery, vinegar sauce is a classic French accompaniment to freshly shucked oysters.

Hot, bubbly cheese, buttery toast, and fresh snipped herbs are a captivating combination for a first course. Serve this in individual dishes for a more elegant presentation. In the summer, it is incredible with chopped fresh tomato. In the winter it takes on a completely different taste and feel topped with your favorite tomato sauce. Compound butters (see page 281) are flavored with herbs or spices. This recipe features tarragon butter, which is a classic French combination that makes this simple recipe taste spectacular. The flavoring possibilities for compound butters are vast: I once worked with a cowboy chef who made a compound butter for steak with freshly chopped cilantro, fresh lime juice, and finely chopped jalapeño. Mix it up!

Southerners have a bad habit of calling any dish with whipped egg white in it a soufflé—hence all those recipes for cheese grits soufflé and sweet potato soufflé. Believe me, there is way too much butter in both of those concoctions for them to ever rise, especially the latter, which is typically topped with marshmallows. This classic French soufflé is the real thing, and uses the béchamel method (see page 67). It is very important to use low-moisture cheese when making soufflés. Gruyère and Parmigiano-Reggiano are perfect because they are very flavorful, but dry and not overly fatty. Rich, fatty cheeses like blue or Brie are too heavy and your soufflé won’t rise as tall.

The first time I cooked a soufflé for my teacher, culinary authority and soufflé master Anne Willan, I opened the oven door to discover a lopsided, exploding disaster. Determined to learn, I cooked a soufflé once a week for months with the leftover bits of cheese from the cheeseboard. It was brutal, but I finally mastered the soufflé. That said, cast your fears aside: adapted from one of Anne’s recipes, this soufflé is the absolute perfect recipe for beginners because it demonstrates how easy soufflés are to make and to manipulate. Even if everything does go wrong, no one will know, as the soufflés are hidden under a glorious blanket of rich creamy sauce and melted cheese.

I cannot serve this salad without thinking of my friend Stephanie Stuckey-Benfield. Her family is the Stuckey’s of the roadside stores and Pecan Log Rolls. Her grandfather opened his first pecan stand in 1937. This simple stand evolved into a veritable empire of Stuckey’s Pecan Shoppes, the highway heaven of souvenirs, cold drinks, and pecan candy. The pecan log roll, for the uninitiated, is a secret combination of sweet, fluffy goo in a coating of crushed pecans, created by Stephanie’s grandmother. In this recipe, once the goat cheese is rolled in pecans it looks undeniably like the candied confection, although the taste is savory.

Fresh and colorful, this salad is a far cry from the concoction made with canned green beans and pinto beans. Wax beans are a yellow version of the snap bean. They remain pale yellow once cooked and are a nice color contrast to the green beans and red tomatoes.

Honey is a fine example of the French concept of terroir—quite literally, a little bit of the earth of the surrounding area is imparted to every jar of honey. Dede loved honey and enjoyed it on his toast or biscuits. When I grew older and started to travel, I would always bring home a jar of the local honey as a gift for him. Although he has long since passed away, I have continued the tradition and always bring home a jar of local honey as a memento when I travel. The shelf in my cupboard resembles an amber rainbow. I once had a bit of pecan-crusted goat cheese left over from another recipe and served it the next day, nestled in a quartered fresh fig and drizzled with honey—that’s how this recipe was born.

Here is my version of a recipe taught by Anne Willan. Her version uses small cherry tomatoes, which are scored, blanched, and peeled. The combination is incredible, as the peeled tomatoes soak up the flavorful vinaigrette and explode in your mouth. However, the number of people I would peel cherry tomatoes for is fairly limited. The wine may seem a little surprising, but tomatoes contain alcohol-soluble flavors that can only be delivered to your taste receptors in the presence of alcohol. As the salad marinates, the tomatoes begin to exude their juices, so don’t make this more than 2 or 3 hours before serving. Serve this pretty combination in a butterhead lettuce cup with plenty of bread to soak up the juices.

No salad screams “summer” louder than this one. The combination of tomatoes with freshly chopped herbs is a testament to my philosophy of simple recipes executed with the best possible ingredients. Heirloom tomatoes are grown from non-hybrid, open-pollinated seeds, and are the varieties that have been passed down through the generations by farmers and gardeners around the world. They are far superior to the red-colored tennis balls available in most grocery stores. If you cannot find heirloom tomatoes, use a ripe tomato from your garden, a good produce market, or a farmer’s market. Be sure to look for a regional goat cheese and support your local farmer. Other cheeses to consider for this recipe include briny cubes of feta or mild, creamy fresh mozzarella.

These beets are roasted, and very delicious! But if you have a mandoline, a professional tool that will slice vegetables evenly and very thinly, skip the roasting process and slice the beets raw (this works only with beets at the peak of seasonal freshness—sweet, dry, and tender). When really fresh beets are sliced so thin as to be almost shaved, there is no need to cook them. Toasted walnut oil adds a classic French flavor to the salad, but you could also use almond or pecan oil, available online and at gourmet or specialty markets. Store nut oils in the refrigerator; they turn rancid fairly quickly.

Except for the mayonnaise, this Asian-inspired slaw is very un-Southern. The combination of flavors and colors makes a grand addition to any summer picnic. Mirin is a sweet, low-alcohol rice wine, essentially “cooking sake.” Believe it or not, soy sauce actually did make it into Meme’s kitchen. She was once featured in an article in the local newspaper, and, I suppose, thinking her simple country recipes were not appropriate for the “big time,” she included a recipe for her stir-fry. It was a combination of broccoli, carrots, and snow peas, with soy sauce as a seasoning. The recipe might have been “exotic” back then, but Meme’s stir-fry technique was pure South: the vegetables cooked for a very un-stir-fry length of time—20 minutes!

Not that long ago, for most of America, “cheese” meant pre-sliced singles wrapped in plastic, or insipidly flavored orange wheels produced in America’s heartland. Any cheeses considered “gourmet” were imported from Europe. Fortunately, artisanal cheesemaking is now thriving all over the country, including the South. I love the fresh goat cheese from the Wehner family’s Green Hill Dairy and Sweet Grass Dairy in Thomasville, Georgia. Their cows and goats roam freely in the woods and graze in lush, green pastures. This idyllic existence, the family maintains, makes them so content that they produce the most delicious milk, which, in turn, makes the best cheese. Sweet, roasted Bosc pears, tender baby arugula, and mild creamy goat cheese make this simple, elegant salad sing.

When we lived in small-town South Georgia, we used to travel to Atlanta to visit Aunt Lee, a stylish lady in the glamorous big city. Before we left Atlanta for home, we would stop by the Dekalb Farmer’s Market, which opened in the late 1970s as a small produce stand and has now grown into a 140,000-square-foot market, serving up to 100,000 people every week. There, Mama would buy the ingredients for this hearty salad to make after we got home.