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What does this look like, chopped liver? Actually it looks like a mosaic. Like great Southern folk art, this recipe takes something humble and puts it on a pedestal so it can be admired. Chicken livers are so inexpensive and can be transformed into a luxury with the addition of a poultry seasoning blend, onions, butter, and bacon. Lining the bowl with plastic wrap and taking some artistic license with bread and butter pickles and pimientos means that this spread, when inverted for serving, becomes something to behold.

A brace of ducks dangled from a nail hammered into the porch beam as Lila regaled me, on an icy night right after New Year’s, with tales of the Swamp Witches, six accomplished women dedicated to hunting and to each other. For more than a decade, these ladies have gathered a couple of times each year out at Ward Lake Hunting Club, a 6,500-acre preserve running right along the Mississippi River. They eschew newfangled duck boats, favoring canoes to haul their decoys and gear. Eyeing the sky from beneath the brims of their chic tartan-banded hats, these experienced hunters can call a mallard by its wing action. They aren’t pantywaists. Lila is what you might call a spitfire, an avid fox hunter and competitive show jumper all of about five feet tall, with a fiery mane, emerald eyes, and a wicked sense of humor. She has trained her seven-year-old retriever, Tuff, to do many things, from stopping dead in his tracks at her command to tossing a biscuit posed upon his nose into the air before gobbling it up. One dinner, in the course of telling a tale about a previous season’s hunt, Lila slapped the table for emphasis and said “kennel-up” as part of the story. With that, Tuff instantly bounded up on the table, sending wineglasses flying. We all about fell out of our chairs with laughter as Tuff stood baffled on the dinner table in a puddle of Burgundy. This recipe is dedicated to the Swamp Witches: Allison, Susan, Kate, Lind, Leigh, and Lila; I have fallen under their spell.

As is the case in many small towns, the most exotic fare found in my county is the Chinese-American buffet. My son, Joe, just loves the one at China Blossom in Greenwood. The family farm, Pluto, is forty-eight miles from town, so it’s quite a commitment to make the round trip. Every so often for movie night, I make a pile of these crisp-fried, creamy, seafood-filled pouches for him and his pal Lola and we just stay out at Pluto.

Alejandro O’Reilly was the Irish-born Spanish general sent to bring the Louisiana Territories to order after France ceded the region to Spain. Throughout New Orleans cooking you will see an easy blending of French and Spanish culinary styles, easier perhaps than the actual history of the Louisiana Territory. This escabèche is inspired by the history of that city I love to visit. From the Irish Channel to the funky music district of Frenchmen Street, the Spanish influence can still be tasted.

Oyster patties are much more sophisticated than their name and are to me one of the most elegant dishes to serve for a seated dinner, not that we have those often. They also make a wonderful offering for a more casual soiree, served from a chafing dish surrounded by the little pastry cases ready to be filled with the warm creamed oysters.

Eleven casinos dot the Mississippi beachfront from Biloxi to Bay St. Louis. I’m not too much on gambling—I’m poor and my luck isn’t so great—but I have a friend, Dale, who works for a large casino concern and he invited me there recently for a big music event. With some time to kill I decided to try my luck in the casino. Cards are not my thing and I like gawking at people, so roulette seemed the best game for me. When the croupier, Twayla, set the ball to spinning it hopped off the wheel, missing the thirty-eight pockets, and went right down the front of my blouse. The guy next to me asked me my bra size and it came up on the next spin. People think I make this kind of thing up but Dale saw the casino security tape to prove it! Seventeen natural oyster reefs are managed by the Mississippi Department of Marine Resources along the Mississippi Sound, which runs ninety miles east to west from Waveland to the Dauphin Island Bridge. On the south side, the Gulf Islands National Seashore separates the sound from the true Gulf of Mexico. As I write this the fate of the Mississippi Gulf Coast, its oysters, and its tourism industry is under siege from that catastrophic oil spill. I am betting on the resilience of these folks; they have come back from the brink of disaster before.

Most crawfish bread recipes are made with a hollowed-out loaf of French bread. Here the crawfish filling is enrobed in a tender ricotta dough, making these more like turnovers. Whether you make them small for pick-up party food or a more substantial calzone-like size, these are perfect for tailgating or game-day parties.

The Jasper County village of Bay Springs, twenty miles from Laurel, Mississippi, was named in 1901 for an artesian spring flowing from the trunk of a bay laurel; it flows still to this day. I always think of that town when I make this dish. Introducing freshwater crawfish to leaves from a bay laurel, traditional pickling spices, and tarragon vinegar prepares them to sit on top of salads and toasts.

In most bait shops throughout the South and beyond, big gallon jars of pink-tinted pickled eggs sit on counters next to smoked summer sausages. Here these two favorite fisherman’s snacks are brined up together and make a perfect take-along lunch for a day out on the lake for the angler gourmand.

This may barely qualify as a recipe. It’s not a time-saver, that’s for sure, because these take forever to assemble. That doesn’t stop my friend Neck-bone Red from dropping me a note to inquire if I am going to be bringing bacon crackers whenever she knows I’ll be at a party. I have found in my hours devoted to crafting these irresistible bowtie-shaped snacks that the way to make a bunch of them at a time is to place them on a wire rack set over a rimmed baking sheet. The rack keeps the crackers from getting soggy while they bake and are corseted by the bacon.

Agatha Christie said of her grandmother, “Although a completely cheerful person, she always expected the worst of anyone and everything. And with almost frightening accuracy [she was] usually proved right.” Her grandmother would say “I shouldn’t be surprised if so-and-so was going on,” Christie recalled. “And although with no grounds for these assertions, that was exactly what was going on.” Sounds just like my grandmother Elsie. Elsie fancied herself an adept armchair detective. She was thrilled when our neighbor was murdered. Wait—that might lend the wrong impression. She was saddened by the loss of life, certainly, but elated at the chance to do some sleuthing and speculating. She quickly deemed it a love triangle gone wrong, a day before the police figured it out. I can see her now, seated in her floral chintz wingback chair with feet propped on the hearth, reading a good mystery. I must say that on early dark winter evenings I find myself right there in her favorite wingback, set about my guilty pleasure of working my way through The New Annotated Sherlock Holmes, all 1,878 pages of it, with a plate of Elsie’s rarebit to sustain me.

Born out on Cabanocey Plantation in rural St. James Parish in 1946, a young John Folse could probably never have imagined that the foods of his Louisiana upbringing would propel him around the world as a culinary ambassador. From humble beginnings and a belief in and commitment to the preservation of classic Cajun and Creole cuisines, Chef Folse has grown his culinary enterprises into a world-class operation. Since 2006, he has grown Arbequina olives on White Oak Plantation in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Arbequina olives are the source of most California and Spanish olive oil. When the small, flavorful olives are ripe and cured, they are deep purple.

Rarely do I pull out any of the inexplicable number of fondue pots we got for wedding gifts. They just sit up on the ledge above my kitchen cabinets and collect dust. The fig preserves my girlfriend Jane Rule gifts to us also sit up on that shelf. I love her preserves. I love them so much that I always think I’m going to save them for a special occasion, and they end up collecting dust until the next jar arrives. It’s ridiculous. This sweet, nutty cheese fondue uses both of these thoughtful gifts. On a chilly night, sharing this communal dish with friends makes you feel warm all over.

Many a child home sick from school has been fed Rum Tum Tiddy—a soothing, warm concoction of tomato soup and melted cheese over toast. Where the dish got its funny name I don’t know. I do know that it can hardly be said without a smile or guffaw. Here those comforting flavors are set up as a pick-up snack great for parties of all ages.

When I go to New York, I often eat at Serafina Restaurant, which makes an amazing lemon spaghetti dish that is so good that I was again inspired to get the recipe. The chef kindly obliged. This version is a little simpler and creamier than the original. As with most other pasta dishes, you want the sauce to be ready before the fettuccine is so that the hot noodles absorb the creamy, lemony sauce (the longer it sits, the less saucy it will be). Note that the broth and cream will need to simmer for a good long time so that they are well reduced. Be sure to grate the lemons before you juice them. This is wonderful served with grilled chicken brushed with Steak Grill Sauce (page 164).

For as long as I can remember I’ve been awed by the almost jewel-like beauty of beets. When I was a kid I longed for a crayon that was the exact color of the beets we grew on the ranch so I could use it in all my drawings. I think this is why my mother never had any trouble getting me to eat them! I love beets in salads or on their own, simply drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil and a little fresh lemon juice.

A giant platter of flautas is a stunning sight on a table, and the contrasting flavors and textures make it a fabulous eating experience as well. Chicken is rolled in corn tortillas and fried until crispy. The flautas are arranged on a platter, topped with a beautiful, pale green sauce that is at once silky and tart, drizzled with luscious Mexican sour cream, and sprinkled with creamy queso fresco. The result is a crunchy, creamy, and chewy burst of divine flavor. Mexican sour cream or crema is the Mexican version of crème fraîche, and both are milder versions of American sour cream. You can find crema in the refrigerated section of grocery stories that carry Latin ingredients. Crème fraîche is thicker, so if you use it instead, stir it well to loosen the consistency before drizzling.

This festive pizza comes from my sister Esmeralda. I often make several and put them out at Super Bowl parties. It makes a family-friendly weeknight dinner with a salad.

My version of the classic Insalata Caprese—an Italian salad of mozzarella, tomatoes, and basil—uses green avocados in place of the basil for a Mexican twist. I like to say that the red, white, and green represent the Mexican flag! I arrange this on a big serving platter and place it right in the middle of the dinner table or a buffet—it’s visually arresting and really makes the table pop beautifully.

Usually when I make a salad, I start with a base of greens—most often tender butterhead lettuce, my favorite—dress it with a flavorful vinaigrette, and then top it with whatever I have on hand. The combination in this recipe was one I tried once and loved so much that it’s become a staple at my house.