Southern

Pat O'Brien's famous French Quarter bar in New Orleans gave birth to this libation, which became so popular that a special glass was created to contain it.

Sour-milk cornbread is one of those quintessential foods of the South for which there are hundreds of recipes (and infinite variations). Although we'd never claim to have the "definitive version," Miss Lewis and I worked together on this recipe until we got just what we wanted: an all-cornmeal bread that's light, moist, and rich, full of corn flavor, with the tanginess of sour milk or buttermilk. Like all Southern cornbreads, it has no sugar—that's a Yankee thing. Traditionally, milk that had started to culture was used in cornbread and other baked goods, both for its pleasant sharp taste and for a leavening boost (its acids react with baking soda to generate carbon dioxide). Since modern pasteurized milk doesn't sour nicely—it just goes bad—we use commercial buttermilk here instead. This is a genuine all-purpose cornbread, delicious as a savory bread or even as a dessert, slathered with butter and honey. My mother and grandmother only made this kind of leavened cornbread (which they called "egg bread") for cornbread stuffing, and it does make superb stuffing. It's also delicious in a time-honored Southern snack: cornbread crumbled into a bowl with cold milk or buttermilk poured over. Many Southerners—especially of an older generation—would call that a perfect light supper on a hot summer day, after a big midday meal.

This colorful main course delivers authentic, long-cooked Southern flavors in a short amount of time.

The Original: Filling made from ground beef simmered in a spicy tomato sauce. Our Version: Tender pieces of pork simmered with roasted green chiles and salsa verde.

These are great for sandwiches. Just split them in half, slather with some Dijon, pile on thinly sliced ham, and add a lettuce leaf.

Like many delicious treats, this preparation takes a bit of time and planning. You can speed up the process of proofing the dough if you leave the dough covered at room temperature for an hour or so, instead of letting it rest in the refrigerator overnight.

These cheesy grits are the perfect base for Veal Grillades or almost anything else.

I believe the secret to my grandmother Grace's biscuits is that she would talk to them, saying, "Rise, Mr. Biscuit, rise!" And they would. Her buttermilk biscuits were quite similar to these, made with whole milk, but sometimes she'd substitute buttermilk and use baking soda instead of baking powder. I find that biscuits made with European-style high-fat butter have less water and therefore taste and look a lot better. After you have made the dough, carefully pat it down with your hands and fold it over two or three times; it's the layers that make biscuits so flaky. Let the dough rest for half an hour or so, roll it out to the thickness you like, then cut it into circles and bake it.

Up until I was about 12 years old, my parents took my sister, Tracy, and me to Easter service at St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square. The only way they could keep us in check during mass was by bribing us to be good and quiet with promises of post-church beignets at Café de Monde across the street. We'd get so excited about the prospect of massive quantities of sugar that we probably would have done pretty much anything to ensure we got beignets before going home. Mom was a bit of a stickler when it came to sweets; I mean, at our house, Raisin Bran® was considered toeing the line of junk food! So you can only imagine how amped up we were at the mere prospect of real, honest-to-goodness fried dough piled sky-high with a mountain of powdered sugar. Like good southern kids we were dressed to the nines—me in my blue blazer, khakis, and white oxfords, Tracy in her Easter dress—and Mom, like all the proper matriarchs, with an Easter hat perched on her head that has a wingspan of at least 18 inches. No sooner had the crispy-fried beignets arrived than our holiday best was coated in a dusting of white powder, as it was our tradition to see who could blow the snowy confectioners' sugar off of the mountain of beignets and onto the other the quickest. After we'd made a complete mess of ourselves, we'd get down to business and devour our crispy-fried beignets, still hot from the fryer and so amazingly tender.

This is a recipe lost to most New Orleanians, save for a few old bucks and grannys who can remember calas fried rice fritters being sold in the streets first thing in the morning in the French Quarter by women of African descent who carried them in baskets balanced on their heads, shouting out "Belle cala! Tout chaud!" Crisp around the edges with a plump, toothsome belly, these fritters beg to be served with obscene quantities of earthy, sorghum-like cane syrup, though traditionalists may opt for confectioners' sugar instead. A cup of strong coffee or a café au lait is the ideal accompaniment.
While old school recipes call for cooking rice until it's mushy and then letting it rise with yeast overnight, I like my fritters with distinct grains of rice suspended in a light batter that's leavened with baking powder rather than yeast. It's important to make the fritters with cold rice so the grains remain separate and don't clump together in the fritter batter.

As you knead the dough for this Mardi Gras cake, watch for it to begin to pull away from the sides of the mixing bowl. If that doesn't happen (because the moisture content in flour fluctuates with the humidity), add a spoonful or two more flour.

In South Louisiana, any sauce is called gravy. This dish would be our equivalent of biscuits and sausage gravy, except we've got all this seafood down here that finds its way into nearly everything. Serve this gravy over biscuits ) with Oeufs au Plat , and you've really got something. As a chef, I make this a bit more complicated than it needs to be: I start with the shrimp in the pan, then remove them so they don't overcook, and then I add them back once it's all come together.

My friend Timmy Reily makes the best version of this classic New Orleans drink. He likes to use the finest brandy, but once you've added all the other ingredients the brandy doesn't matter so much. You may need to add a bit more sugar, so taste a little and sweeten as you go.

I'd often sneak into my mom's car and ride stowaway-style in the back seat when she left home to "make groceries" at the A&P or Schwegmann's. No sooner had she turned off the ignition than I'd pop my head up and scare the bejesus out of her! In the market, we'd get coffee beans ground fresh from this giant red coffee grinder—I swear it was at least 3 feet tall. My mom gave the coffee man (usually the bagger at the checkout aisle) explicit instructions on the coarseness of the bean grind for her chicory-laced coffee. After he had bagged our beans, I'd stick my nose up the metal spout and inhale the heady aroma that always made me dizzy and happy. In a typical New Orleans home, a pitcher of coffee can almost always be found in the fridge, whether left over from the morning or brewed specifically to make iced coffee later in the day. This coffee and chicory cupped cake is made with a stiff, eggless cake batter that gets topped with a cocoa crumble and then covered with coffee. Baked in actual coffee cups, the cake soufflés up and makes its own built-in lava sauce on the bottom. It's fantastic eaten within an hour or two of baking while the cake is still warm, soft, and molten.

Editor's note: Serve this veal with Chef John Besh's Jalapeño Cheese Grits . Grillades is a Creole version of pot roast; the meat is sliced or pounded thin, then slow-cooked in a pungent sauce. If veal shoulder isn't available, substitute boneless, sliced Boston butts of pork. Sure, you can use a leaner cut of veal (and if you do, you'll want to cut the cooking time down by half). But I encourage you to find those cheaper cuts of meat that have much more flavor than either the loin or the leg.

Editor's note: Use this spice blend to make Chef John Besh's Slow-Cooked Veal Grillades and his Busters and Grits. Using this spice blend is truly the easiest way to consistently achieve the flavors I grew up with. Once made, the spices will last for six months in an airtight container.

My friend Marvin Woods taught me everything I know about Low-Country cooking, the regional cuisine commonly referred to as soul food. In many ways, soul food is an apt description because there is a lot of soul and spirit and passion that goes into Low-Country cooking—dishes like she-crab soup, catfish stew, shrimp and grits, red rice, hoppin' John, and baked macaroni and cheese. No Low-Country feast would be complete without corn bread. My version is steamed in a water bath to make the bread nice and moist; covering it with aluminum foil for the last thirty minutes of cooking gives you a nice crust that isn't overly browned. Paired with tomato chutney, it's a light snack or meal on its own.

Known as the "caviar of the South," this pimiento cheese recipe can be used as a dip for a party, or spread it on a sandwich for the ultimate grilled cheese.

Gina: Who would think that a hard green tomato would yield such tender, irresistible results? Coated with cornmeal and bread crumbs, fried to crispy perfection, and served warm with an awesome basil mayo, fried green tomatoes are delicious atop field greens or butter lettuce, or on toasted sandwiches with a few fried strips of bacon.