Southern

I’ve never forgotten the icebox pies I used to eat as a child at Luby’s Cafeteria. Those pies, along with the jewel-colored servings of Jell-O, were too tantalizing to resist. I always selected an icebox pie and a bowl of Jell-O, agonizing over which color to choose. I always finished the pie, but never touched the Jell-O. The Jell-O was for looks, the pie for flavor. My version of icebox pie is a stunning party animal—dramatic and devilishly rich. For parties, I prepare this recipe in stages: the crust one day, the filling the next, and the whipped cream topping the day of my party. A word of warning: These are large and very rich pies. Only under extreme circumstances do I recommend eating a whole one in a single sitting. (For example, you’re starring in a new movie and have been asked by your big-time director to gain fifty pounds pronto.) So you may wish to serve a half or quarter pie per person.

This is the easiest, simplest recipe and it is guaranteed to draw raves from potato lovers everywhere. Okay, anything with a good dose of butter is bound to taste great. Point taken. But adding Cajun seasoning gives a plain-Jane dish a jolt of heat and energy. Finally, it all goes together in one pot, so even the post-party dishwasher (usually me) gets a break.

My spicy, tangy catfish tacos are a great way to feed a hungry beach crowd without the hassle of frying or grilling. Load up a rimmed baking sheet with fish fillets, pour on the marinade, refrigerate overnight, and just before serving, bake for less than 30 minutes. Heat flour or corn tortillas in a tortilla warmer along with the fish, and set it all out on the table with a bowl of chipotle mayo and a platter of thin-sliced cabbage. Now everybody chow down! The fish is just the way I like it—juicy and flavorful thanks to long marination (at least 6 hours) and oven baking. I’ve allowed two tacos per person to ensure you’ll have enough even for man-size, sun-fueled appetites. (What is it about playing on the beach that makes men so hungry?) If you have a smaller crowd or guests with smaller stomachs, halve the recipe.

Okay, gumbo takes time and patience, especially if you make the effort to prepare a nice, dark roux. On the plus side, you can make it a day ahead and heat it when your guests arrive, leaving you free to mingle, chat, and have a great time with your friends. In addition, it feeds a whole lot of hungry people, and if you are very, very lucky you’ll have leftovers for lunch the next day. (Sometimes I squirrel away a little in the refrigerator for insurance.) Serve with long-grain rice and some crusty bread.

My mother loved fresh peas and she’d routinely prowl local farmers’ markets to find them. Purple hull peas were her favorite, but she also had a thing for cream peas, black-eyed peas, or just about any fresh legume that showed up at the farmstand. She’d make us kids shell the peas, and I always suspected it was to keep us out of her hair. I didn’t mind, though. For some reason I enjoyed shelling peas. Naturally, I liked eating them better than shelling them and this recipe, which makes enough to feed a crowd, showcases peas and my mother’s other summer favorite, fresh corn. Just like my mother, I find fresh peas at Texas farmers’ markets and sometimes even at my regular grocery store. Any fresh southern pea (see Tip) will work, but I especially favor cream peas. Do not use green peas, which will not hold up. I use canned black-eyed peas if I can’t get my hands on fresh and the salad still shines.

After handing guests a drink, I often like to offer them a special morsel of food to perk up their taste buds and to make everyone feel at home. My friend and Austin farmer extraordinaire Carol Anne Sayle shared this recipe, and it warmed my southern gal’s heart. (For skeptics, these little pancakes do not suffer from the slime factor some associate with okra.) I served these at my annual garden party for chefs and friends, and people couldn’t get enough. The trick is to serve them hot off the griddle, so make sure you have someone to fry them in a skillet, and someone else to pass them around while they’re still hot. For this kind of job, I often enlist a shy guest or two. It keeps them busy, and frees them from the stress of having to make small talk. I’ve found that people will eat as many of these as they can get, but one or two per person is plenty and when they’re gone, they’re gone. (The recipe doubles easily if you’re serving a crowd, though.) I have added a little touch of my own to Carol Anne’s recipe. My garden was producing way more jalapeños than I could manage, so I decided to pickle them. I tossed a few chopped, pickled chiles into Carol Anne’s pancakes and loved the result. You can leave them out if you like.

I placed this dish in the dessert chapter, but it’s so filling it might be best thought of as a brunch dish, or perhaps dessert-for-dinner. Adding sweetened bread crumbs to the preparation makes a French toast with extra crunch and a dark exterior, a nice contrast to the light, moist interior. I’ve turned the French custard toward the tropics by using coconut milk, and taken the topping to New Orleans with the classic combination of bananas, butter, rum, and pecans. Any other seasonal fruit can work: sliced apples or peaches sautéed in butter, fresh berries, or, when the fruit bowl is empty, your favorite jam.

Besides the Cochinita Pibil Tacos (page 95), this is the purest, least messed-with application of leftover Yucatan-Style Slow-Roasted Pork (page 66). In a riff on the North Carolina tradition of pork with a tangy coleslaw, I’m using green mango, which sounds exotic until you realize that it’s just . . . green mango. Unripe, firm, not-yet-ready-for-prime-time mango. It’s super sour, which is one of the reasons I like it. The other is that, depending on your supermarket, it might be even easier to find unripe mango than ripe mango. Of course, one turns into the other if you wait long enough.

My grandmother Irene Paul taught me to make fried pies years ago. She made the pastry dough from scratch in the early days, but later in life she began to take advantage of modern conveniences. So here’s the recipe for Grandmother’s updated but old-fashioned fried pies.

A true Key lime pie should not be green!

This is an old family recipe. It really is a pie—as it bakes, it makes its own crust.