Southern

A staple of barbecue and “meat-and-three” joints everywhere, hot pepper vinegar is one of the most ubiquitous of all the Southern condiments. It’s doused liberally over greens, pulled pig, field peas, gumbo, beans and rice—you name it.

Any recipe for barbecue sauce is bound to be contentious, no matter the formula. That’s because there are as many versions of this master sauce as there are Southerners willing to defend them as definitive. Whether thick or runny, tomato-based or vinegar, all Southern barbecue sauces get their complex flavor by playing on the contrasts between spicy and sweet, tangy and smoky. I’m nonpartisan enough to appreciate them all, but of course I’m partial to the western Tennessee strains—one sharp and vinegary, the other sweet and tomato-thick—I grew up on. With tomato, vinegar, and a dash of mustard, this all-purpose hybrid version offers the best of all worlds.

The Southern climate is inhospitable to all but the bravest sour cherry trees, whose exact locations are often as closely guarded as those of choice swimming holes and wild berry patches. These sour cherry preserves, which are wildly good on Favorite Buttermilk Biscuits (page 51), are what I often make when I’m lucky enough to get my hands on some sour cherries.

Whenever I’m at the market during tomato season, I keep my eyes peeled for what the farmers call “ugly tomatoes.” You can buy them for a song because they’re bruised, misshapen, or ripe to the point of bursting, but that makes them perfect for canning or cooking. This sweet and savory tomato jam, which is equally at home on toast for breakfast or on a baguette with fresh mozzarella and baby greens for lunch, is one of my standards.

This traditional mixed-vegetable relish, which usually features some combination of cabbage, tomatoes, peppers, and onion, is like a Southern version of sauerkraut or Korean kimchi. It has its origins in Appalachia, where big, crisp heads of cabbage thrive in the cooler mountain climate. It’s typically served on stewed beans and rice, but it is excellent, too, on hot dogs and barbecue sandwiches. This version, which features the bright, tart flavor of green tomatoes, comes from an old recipe in my grandmother’s collection—so old that it called for “5 cents’ worth of celery seeds.”

Crunchy, juicy, and vinegary, pickled okra is good enough to eat all by itself, but it also makes a handsome garnish for Wendy’s Bloody Marys (page 28), Herb Deviled Eggs (page 10), or antipasto platters.

This tangy relish, which packs enough flavor to play a starring role on any plate, showcases the sugary sweetness of fresh summer corn. For a light and easy supper, spoon it over Chicken Under a Skillet (page 139) or Grilled Grouper with Heirloom Tomato Salsa (page 102).

Once you start making them, you begin to see pickle potential in just about everything. That—and an overabundance of fast-growing yellow squash—is what inspired my sister, Judy, to make these unusually gratifying sweet squash pickles. I call for yellow squash here, but you can use any kind of summer squash, from Sundrops and pattypans to zucchini.

My dad used to make these crisp and vinegary dilly beans every summer, in those fleeting moments between the time the bean bushes bear fruit and the grazing deer eat their fill. My sister has since taken over this tradition, and the few precious jars she gives us each year are worth their weight in gold.

The perfect combination of sweet and tart, thinly sliced bread and butter pickles are the quintessential all-purpose sandwich toppers, delivering lots of big, punchy flavor in a small package. They make such a satisfyingly crunchy snack that—if you’re anything like me—you’ll soon graduate from layering them in sandwiches to munching them straight from the jar.

My dad’s crunchy, garlicky dills accompanied the majority of the sandwiches I ate as a child. They were perfectly crisp every time—that satisfying snapping sound accompanying each bite was one of the best things about them—a feat my dad achieved simply by using small, firm, freshly picked cucumbers. Try to pick cucumbers that are already short enough to fit easily in the jar, about 4 inches long for pint jars. Or, for unexpected shape, taste, and color, make them using round yellow lemon cucumbers cut into wedges.

Many Southerners keep a steady supply of no-fuss cucumber pickles like these in the fridge all through the summer. They’re great because you don’t even have to turn on the stove: just toss everything together, let it all marinate for a few hours, and you’re good to go. Mild and crunchy, they are sort of a cross between cucumber salad and dill pickles, meaning they’re perfect scattered over a simple green salad with Buttermilk Green Goddess Dressing (page 284), layered in Pimiento Cheese Burgers (page 187) or Pickled Jalapeño Meatloaf (page 191) sandwiches, or placed in a little dish and added to a relish tray.

On a recent visit to South Carolina, I was lucky enough to visit Clemson University to try some of its famous blue cheese. The university first started making its tangy, marbled cheese in the 1940s, when a dairy professor realized that the cool, dank tunnel of an unfinished local railway line would make the perfect curing environment. Although the operations have since moved indoors, Clemson continues to make its Roquefort-style cheese in small batches using the same artisanal methods (see Sources, page 377). At the campus cafes, you can try everything from blue cheese pizza to blue cheese milkshakes. This rich, creamy dressing was inspired by the flavor of Clemson blue cheese—but in a pinch, any Roquefort-style cheese will do.

A classic of the West Coast, this dressing was created in the 1920s by San Francisco’s Palace Hotel in honor of a play by the same name. With buttermilk standing in for sour cream, my “Southern” version is light, tangy, and chock-full of green herbs. It’s the quintessential spring and summer dressing, and because it’s all about using the freshest herbs—whether dill, chervil, sorrel, or cilantro—I almost never make it the same way twice.

This creamy, tangy descendant of Thousand Island and remoulade originated in the Greek restaurants of Jackson, Mississippi. From there it spread like wildfire to every salad, burger, fried fish, and French fry in the surrounding five counties and beyond. Most anything edible makes an acceptable receptacle for my friend Phyllis’s version.

Delicate and shimmering red, molded tomato aspics are the stuff of ladies’ luncheons and afternoon teas, circa 1950. But when fresh tomatoes, garlic, and herbs step in for canned tomato juice, this old-school dish is transformed into a modern summertime must. Serve topped with a creamy dollop of Homemade Mayonnaise (page 280) or Buttermilk Green Goddess Dressing (page 284).

Salted watermelon, cornbread, and molasses. You don’t have to look far to see how much Southerners like to mix their sweet with their salty. This summery salad, featuring Balsamic-glazed grilled peaches and shaved country ham tossed with fresh herbs and creamy goat cheese, is an elegant tribute to this unendingly popular flavor combination. For real Southern flavor, use sticky-sweet Georgia peaches.

This simple and refreshing salad is what I crave on especially hot summer days in North Carolina, when even the trees begin to droop and I can’t bear the thought of turning on the oven. That’s the only time to make it, since it’s also when the tomatoes and cucumbers are at their peak and growing like weeds. Have fun mixing and matching colors and shapes using the many varieties—both familiar and strange—that you’re apt to find at your local farmer’s market.

With their grassy flavor and creamy texture, pink-eyed peas subtly reinforce the sweet earthiness of roasted sweet potatoes. As always, fresh peas are best, but in the winter you can make this dish with frozen field peas or dried or canned navy beans.

Southerners just love beets—perhaps because beets are one of the rare vegetables that will grow in the South straight through spring and summer and all the way into the fall. But I like to make this jewel-toned salad best in the spring, when you can get multicolor carrots, like Yellowstones, Purple Dragons, Atomic Reds, and Yayas, and beets, like Boros, Bulls’ Bloods, and Candy Stripes.