Southern

My friend Roxy makes this zingy coleslaw, which I love for its sweet and tangy flavors. It’s as close as I come to making that classic, creamy Southern slaw that goes with everything from pulled pork or fried fish to burgers and fries. It also makes a great topping for grilled hot dogs or chicken sausages served in grilled pita bread.

I created this delicate slaw to showcase the vegetables—curlicue pea shoots, tender carrots, spicy arugula, and fresh herbs—that mark the arrival of spring.

I defy you to find a covered dish supper in the South that doesn’t include at least one of these golden-brown, gratinlike squash casseroles. Unassuming as it may appear, this cheesy, egg-puffed dish is possessed of a mild, sweet squash flavor and wonderfully creamy texture that wins the hearts of even the pickiest eaters.

This is a refined version of those marshmallow-topped sweet potato casseroles that are popular around the holidays. The crunchy, buttery streusel topping and unexpected addition of orange zest and black and cayenne peppers make for a wonderfully fragrant and complexly flavored twist on a comfort-food classic.

Anytime I go to Galotoire’s, in New Orleans, I start by ordering a round of their legendary fried eggplant. The thing that makes it special—and so distinctly New Orleansian—is the strange but delicious mix of confectioners’ sugar and Tabasco sauce that is served on the side, for dipping.

We had fried okra almost nightly at my grandmother’s house during the summer. It’s my mom’s idea of a green vegetable, how can you fault her? It is green, underneath the golden, deep-fried crust.

I’ve shared recipes for fried green tomatoes before, but each time I’ve tried to gussy them up by adding herbs or layering them with other ingredients. I like those dishes, of course, but the fact is there is something wonderful about making fried green tomatoes the way my mother and grandmother made them—that is, simply. Stripped of nonessentials, the warm tartness of green tomatoes, tempered by a hint of sugar, and the toasted crunch of cornmeal crust shine through in perfect balance.

My mom used to cook greens in such big batches that she would wash them on the rinse cycle in the washing machine. For her, a “mess” was a discrete unit of measurement equal to approximately one large grocery bag full. I think most Southerners operate under this assumption, at least as far as greens are concerned. It may seem like you’re starting out with far more greens than you’ll ever need, but keep in mind that they’ll cook down quite a bit. If they don’t all fit in the pan at first, start with as many as will fit and add to the pot as the greens cook down.

This recipe is a Foster family standard, a permanent fixture at holidays and other large family gatherings. Along with most other Southerners, I’ve been a huge fan of sweet potatoes for as long as I can remember, but in my case I think this sticky-sweet preparation may be the root of my obsession. When I make it today, I add fresh orange juice and zest to brighten the flavors and cut the sweetness just a hair, yielding what I think of as a grown-up version of this childhood favorite.

The secret to making perfect mashed potatoes–the sort of classically creamy, fluffy mashers that are the stuff of comfort food fantasies—is starting with the right spuds. Waxy potatoes, which are high in moisture and low in starch, have full-bodied flavor that adds depth of character, and they hold up well when boiled, but they tend to get gluey when mashed. Starchy potatoes, on the other hand, are more one-dimensional in flavor but are better at absorbing moisture, which means that they whip up beautifully. I use midrange potatoes, such as Yukon Golds, russets, or round purple-skinned Caribes, which allow me to take advantage of the best of both worlds.

My mom always made these sticky-sweet baked beans for picnics and cookouts. I make them year-round with most any type of cooked dried beans, including navy, pinto, or great Northern. In the summer, though, fresh and tender butter beans are my favorite. When entertaining, I often give this homey dish an air of sophistication by baking and serving it in individual-size ramekins or custard dishes topped with slices of pork belly in place of the bacon.

Succotash is a traditional stew of fresh butter beans and corn made velvety by the last-minute addition of butter. The basics—beans and corn—are a must, but beyond that it seems most every Southern family has its own particular version. I typically let the farmer’s market determine the mix of vegetables, but this rendition, with sweet bell peppers, basil, and summer squash, is one of my all-time favorites.

Unlike my mom and many Southern cooks of her generation, for whom fatback was the preferred flavoring agent, I most often make peas in a savory broth flavored by bacon, country ham, or olive oil. Either way, the cooked peas yield a rich, saucy pot likker that just begs to be soaked up with cornbread.

Granny Foster used to make this buttery treat with the sweetest summer corn. I make mine with corn and squash. She would scrape or “milk” the cobs with the back of a knife to get out all the starchy liquid, thus thickening the cooking liquid without diluting the bright corn flavor.

Yet another in the seemingly endless parade of hearty one-pot dishes from the Creole and Cajun traditions, jambalaya is a close cousin of Spanish paella (which comes as no surprise, given Louisiana’s earlier ownership by Spain). I love jambalaya, whether it’s made in the “red” Creole style, with tomatoes, or in the “brown” Cajun style, without, because even though it requires a little slicing and dicing, it’s actually a fairly fast and weeknight-friendly one-dish dinner—and it really sticks to your ribs. I often make mine with shrimp (as in this recipe), but jambalaya is sort of like gumbo in that it is made with everything from chicken, sausage, pork, and oysters to alligator, boar, venison, and turtle—basically, anything that swims, crawls, grazes, or flies in the vicinity of Southerners.

When it comes to good luck, Southerners don’t take any chances. Each year on New Year’s Day, we hedge our bets by eating hoppin’ John, a rustic mix of rice, black-eyed peas, bacon, and onion that is thought to bring good fortune in the year to come. (Literally—the peas in the dish represent coins, and the stewed collards that are usually served on the side are the rich green of dollar bills.) For extra good luck, serve with Mess o’ Greens (page 245).

Long-simmering red beans practically cook themselves, a fact that didn’t escape the many generations of hardworking Louisiana Creole women who supposedly made this dish every Monday, on laundry day. Even now, many Creole restaurants serve red beans and rice as a lunch special on Mondays.

A Charleston classic, pirlou (aka purloo or pilau) is an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink rice pilaf that is the lowcountry contribution to the family of rice dishes, including jambalaya and gumbo, hailing from the rice-growing regions of the Southeast. Pirlous usually feature seafood of some kind—as you might expect, given their watery origins—but I like the way this simplified version showcases the grassy flavor of fresh field peas.