Starter

Frog legs aren’t so much an acquired taste (the taste is great—I’ve never met anyone who did not like them once they tried them) as they just require some getting used to the idea of eating frogs. Cold beer is the thing to drink with frog legs, but it is also a great marinade to flavor and tenderize the meat.

Toasted pecans and browned butter give these delicate crepes a deep nuttiness. Delicata are small squash and I usually plan on one per person plus one extra when I serve them. This is a nice dish for dinner parties because the components can be made ahead of time and assembled right before dinner.

Honeybees get most of the attention, but squash bees do the most work. These busy bees crawl out of their underground nests and get going a good half an hour before the honey team when the squash flowers are in full bloom. Both the male and female squash bees set to the field work gathering nectar from blossoms, but only the females do double duty collecting pollen. Bees transfer pollen from the male flowers to the female flowers. The first several flowers of a plant are male and will not produce any fruit. By midday the squash blossoms begin to close and the bees return home. Get to work early like these busy squash bees and pick your squash blossoms early in the day. Squash blossoms filled with herbed goat cheese and fried with a crisp batter are an annual summer event thanks to the hardworking squash bees.

Peeking out from dried leaves, last-of-the-season tomatoes can be some of the most flavorful. Here they are wrapped in leaves of phyllo pastry and baked with just a bit of Dijon mustard.

My friend Cindy Nix Sturdivant lives on the Countiss Place near Swan Lake, Mississippi. She has a nice plot of tomatoes, herbs, and peppers out the back door of her kitchen. This hot and spicy dish is inspired by her. She is so much fun because she can always get folks fired up for a party, like her epic dove hunt party, which grows every year, on Labor Day weekend. She needs to plant a bigger plot.

Fry these up and stuff them in a big roll with shaved cabbage and mayo for your vegetarian friends. They deserve big po’boys of fried things too! Or serve them as a side or even a party-food popper.

Every year in early June Biloxi, Mississippi, holds the Blessing of the Fleet. Shrimp boats festooned with pennants, flags, as well as images of Jesus and animated shrimp form a procession out in the Mississippi Sound and file past the anchored “blessing boat.” There stands the officiating priest, who sprinkles holy water on the boats and gives the blessing for each one. St. Michael’s Catholic Church, with its stained-glass windows of Christ’s twelve apostles depicted as fishermen and its scalloped roof, has been the central sponsor of the ceremony for more than eighty years. An evergreen wreath is dropped into the gulf in remembrance of those lost at sea, and prayers are offered up for a safe and prosperous fishing season. This year, with the oil spill, more than ever the fishermen could use a blessing. This traditional coastal dish is perfect to serve for a Sunday brunch.

Holt Collier led the hunting expedition when Theodore Roosevelt visited Mississippi in 1902. The story goes that the president was desirous of a black bear to add to his trophy collection and was in a hurry to do so. Roosevelt was stationed in a blind, and Holt led chase to the elusive black bear with a pack of forty dogs. The impatient president left the stand to have lunch. With the success of the hunt resting on his shoulders, Holt took the initiative, captured the bear with a lariat, and tied it to a willow tree by the Little Sunflower River in an effort to save his dogs from the bear and fulfill the president’s wishes. Moments later Roosevelt arrived on horseback and surveyed the scene. He declined to shoot a bear tied to a tree but was impressed by the bravery and abilities of Mr. Collier. The Washington Post editorial cartoonist Clifford Kennedy Berryman ran two drawings on the front page of the paper of a cute little cub that in no way resembled the ferocious bear captured single-handedly by Collier. The story became a national sensation and an enterprising Morris Michtom sewed up a small stuffed bear cub and nicknamed it the Teddy Bear, selling them for a buck and a half each. By the next year Mr. Michtom had founded the Ideal Toy Company and was selling thousands of Teddies a year. Today you can visit the first national refuge named for an African American, the 2,033-acre Holt Collier National Wildlife Refuge near Onward, Mississippi. Each fall when the pears are ripe, the honey is in, and the Great Delta Bear Affair festival rolls around I think of that November hunt and that amazing American, Holt Collier.

A tangerine, sometimes called “kid glove orange” because of the way its loose skin will slip off, has such a sweet, bright flavor when at its peak around November. This salad is fine-looking with light variegated shades of green set with vivid sections of citrus and golden challah croutons dusted with tarragon.

When something is really impressive, it is declared “plum good.” As summer wears on and I grow tired of plum pies and tarts, I crave this simple, colorful salad. It is such a pretty mix of green and purple flecked with creamy white. The flavors offer sweet and sour, and the combination of textures—smooth, crunchy, and juicy—is really plum good.

What a nickname, Good Donny. It’s a nickname most people couldn’t live up to. His grandkids gave him that one and nobody has found grounds to disagree. Like the name implies, he’s a good guy. Good Donny’s son, Benji, came by wielding some of the best pork cracklings we’d ever had. They were the perfect salty blend of tender, crisp, and crunch. Benji went on and on about how he had to beg Good Donny to give him just half a bag. Turns out that a friend of Good Donny’s makes them and this friend is getting on up in age, meaning every batch might be the last. You would have thought Benji was passing out gold doubloons. Next time we saw Good Donny we made a point to tell him how crazy we were for those cracklings. The following day, Donny showed up with five pint bags full of those golden crispy treasures. When Benji came by a few days later, my husband, Donald, retrieved a bag that he had hidden away. Benji was beside himself with envy.

My favorite firework is the Friendship Pagoda. A little bright yellow house spins ’round like a top, emits sparks, and then up pops a pagoda and a little light glows within. My son Joe’s best first-grade friend is named Edison Seto. They make quite a pair. I love to see them out at recess walking with arms slung over each other’s shoulder. Joe has had friends, of course, before first grade, but they were all friends of the family. Edison is the first friend he has made on his own. It looks as if Joe is a good judge of character, for Edison is as sweet as can be. Edison lives in the family’s New Sunlight Market with his parents, grandparents, and tiny sister, Grace. Joe loves to play over at Edison’s. I would too; they get to ride their scooters up and down the aisles, snagging Little Debbie snack cakes for each lap. Edison’s family is from China and this has turned Joe into quite a fan of anything the slightest bit Chinese. This soup was inspired by their friendship and by the fine collard greens from the New Sunlight Market.

Chicory flowers are Aequinotales, meaning the flowers open and close at the same time just like clockwork. Here, that is from around six in the morning until the sun is high at noon. About the same time these blossoms are awakening, chicory roots blended with coffee are percolating across Louisiana. They make a fine combination. This dressing has the faintest sweetness of Louisiana molasses that works with the coffee to balance the bitter bite of the salad greens.

Once bound by the southeastern borders, pimiento cheese has slowly swept the nation. This soup was just a matter of time. A big batch of this is perfect for Super Bowl parties and such.

The peas, left whole, pop in your mouth with sweetness in each bite. The whipped salted cream browns underneath the broiler and blankets each spoonful with a froth.

Salsify is the root of a member of the sunflower family, although the plants—also called “goat’s beard”—have a flower that looks more like a giant dandelion. The roots range from inky black to golden orange to turnip white. Salsify carries the nickname “oyster plant” due to its unique flavor, which has often been described as “oystery.” I can’t say I agree, but I do like it. The most popular variety grown for cooking is Mammoth Sandwich Island, which looks like a parsnip. “Scorzanera” is the Godfather-sounding name for black salsify. Both types can be used interchangeably in this recipe. When working with salsify remember to treat it as you would an apple by placing it in water with a little lemon juice in it to keep the salsify from turning brown. Peel it just as you would a carrot, working near the sink, as it produces a milky sap that you will want to rinse off.

When I see the river rise and hear the birds sing, I think of my late dear friend Charlie Jacobs and his tune “Rhythm of Spring.” His association between native produce and more innocent days elevates the memory of spring smells to a sort of romance. He beguiles us. And he tells us that from our soil comes the ingredient we need to find meaning. When I make this soup in the first cool days of spring, I’ll serve it warm, and when the days begin to lengthen and turn warm, I like to serve it cool.

Harry Van Heerden, my son’s godmother’s father, comes to visit each year from Durban, South Africa. Even at eighty-two, the silver-haired gent is quite a handful. When the sun starts to get low in the late afternoon he’ll holler out “Vaapgae!” the Afrikaans word for “barrel.” That’s the cue to bring him a brandy. Harry shared this mustard recipe with me and it does wonderful things for game, whether gemsbok or whitetail.

I don’t think people think of making their own crackers much, but homemade crackers can make store-bought dips and spreads set out for parties a little more personalized. A batch will last for a month stored in a tin and, when paired up with a hunk of good cheese, makes a very nice hostess gift.

Rufus Hussy was perhaps the greatest slingshot shooter who ever lived. Known far and wide as the Beanshooter Man, Mr. Hussy was brought up using his slingshot skills to put dinner on the table for his eleven brothers and sisters. He could spot the perfect fork in a dogwood tree for making a beanshooter and numbered the ones he made; the last one was number 15,864. As Rufus could attest, rabbits are easy game for a practiced shooter. This year my father made a beanshooter for my son, Joe, out of a forked piece of dogwood and a tourniquet from the hospital where he works. It was wrapped up under the Christmas tree with a one-pound bag of dried beans. If Joe practices enough with those beans, he might bag a rabbit with a marble by next Christmas. I know what I’ll make.