Buttermilk

This pretty cake was inspired by a jar of brown sugar–strawberry jam from Blackberry Farm (see Sources, page 377), a wonderful inn in the Tennessee mountains, and my grandmother’s old jam cake recipe. The combination of sweet fruit preserves, soft cream, and tender yellow cake makes me think of it as one part strawberry shortcake and two parts English trifle, in sliceable form. When we make it at Foster’s, we leave the sides unfrosted because it looks so homey when the frosting oozes from between the layers and down the sides of the cake. Note that the Buttermilk Crème Fraîche must be made at least two days ahead; if necessary, you can always substitute sour cream or store-bought crème fraîche.

Buttermilk is used all the time in Southern baking to create a soft, fluffy texture and add a little tang, but it’s not often placed front and center. That’s a shame, because this creamy beverage, which tastes sort of like a cross between cow’s milk and plain, unsweetened yogurt, has a lovely tart quality that deserves to be tasted on its own. This delicate-crumbed cake is just sweet enough to balance the buttermilk’s zippiness without overwhelming it.

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.

For an easy weeknight indulgence that is as crispy, crunchy, and succulent as fried chicken, make these skillet-sautéed pork chops. The key here is to pound the pork chops until they are very thin—sort of like German schnitzel—or buy them thinly sliced. (They can usually be found in the prepackaged section of your grocery’s meat department; in the South, they are labeled “breakfast chops.”)

This crispy fried quail is for anyone whose favorite part of fried chicken is the crust. Because quail are so small, you get a satisfyingly high crust-to-meat ratio—but the meat itself is flavorful enough to stand up to all that crust. I drape my version in a veil of creamy, herb-flecked pan gravy.

I grew up on this velvety stew of shredded chicken and puffy dumplings. Not only is it comforting and delicious, but, because it stretches a little meat a long way using just a few ingredients, it is yet another example of Southern culinary resourcefulness.

This dish contains all the flavor and crunch you expect from fried chicken, but with all the health benefits of using boneless, skinless chicken breast. Plus, you get bonus points for scattering the cutlets over a tender arugula salad bursting with fresh herbs and drizzled with tarragon-infused Buttermilk Green Goddess Dressing.

Granny Foster made the best fried chicken in the world—salty and golden brown with a crackly crust that gave way to meat as moist and tender as could be. The secret is the overnight brine of water, salt, and spices that drives extra moisture and flavor into the meat, where they are locked in during the cooking process.

When I was in college I had a job waiting tables at the Half Shell, a little wood-paneled restaurant in Memphis that makes the best fried oysters I have ever eaten. They serve their perfectly crisp-on-the-outside, juicy-on-the-inside oysters by the half-dozen, with lemon wedges and tartar sauce, but you can also get them layered with slaw in a creamy po’ boy sandwich or sprinkled atop eggs Benedict. A few years ago the Half Shell moved across the street to a larger location, and while it’s never felt quite the same since they moved, I still drop by for their fried oysters every time I visit Memphis. My Half Shell–inspired version of basic fried oysters makes a perfectly good meal on its own, but check out the four easy serving suggestions if you want to take things one step further.

Soft-shell crab season, which generally lasts from May through June, is short and highly anticipated. That’s because soft-shell crabmeat is unbelievably tender and buttery-sweet, and the shell, which you eat along with the meat, is perfectly crunchy without being the least bit tough or chewy. True fanatics don’t let a moment of soft-shell crab season go to waste, eating them for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, in sandwiches or served solo. Ask your fishmonger to clean them for you.

It may not be deep-fried, but with a satisfyingly crunchy cornmeal crust, this skillet-fried catfish has all the flavors and textures that you would expect from fried fish. Most important, served with a healthy dollop of Herb Tartar Sauce or a heap of Roxy’s Grated Coleslaw (page 260), lemon wedges, and cold beer, it is just as sure to draw a crowd. This recipe can also be made with snapper, flounder, or any other flaky white fish.

When I was young, we ate pancakes or waffles for breakfast almost every Saturday morning, and my dad was the self-appointed commander of the waffle iron. Dad’s waffles were crispy, light, and puffy, perfect with a drizzle of honey or—his pick—molasses. My version of our old weekend favorite does my dad’s waffles justice. They are wonderfully crispy with a slightly tangy bite imparted by the buttermilk. Serve warm with butter and honey or sweetened cream and fresh fruit.

These splendidly soft dinner rolls, which my aunt June used to make for special occasions, are the Southern equivalent of brioche, minus the egg. I’ve added fresh sage for an aromatic boost.

Cornbread sticks are a Southern specialty and an example of function following form. I imagine that whoever dreamed them up was probably just trying to be cute by fashioning a corn-shaped mold for cornbread, but the end product, with its high ratio of crispy crust to soft innards and perfect shape for dipping in chili or pot likker, is a whole different animal. In this version, I kick things up a notch by adding sharp Cheddar cheese and spicy jalapeño pepper. If you don’t have (or care to purchase) a corn stick pan—cast-iron only—you can, of course, use a skillet.

Some Southerners will happily argue till they are blue in the face defending the honor of unsweetened cornbread, a preference that tends to divide the South from the North. But I find that a touch of sugar adds a layer of complexity that is well worth breaking the rules. More important to me is the baking vessel: specifically, a cast-iron skillet, preferably one that is slicked with bacon grease.

With the airiness of dinner rolls and the flaky, buttery layers of traditional biscuits, angel biscuits—which get their extra lift from a little yeast—truly deserve their celestial name. I add chopped watercress for its mild peppery flavor and a pop of color.

As anyone who has actually made biscuits from scratch will tell you, they are fast and oh-so-easy—no culinary wizardry required. Of course, you needn’t go out of your way to divulge that fact when serving these rich, flaky biscuits to a chorus of oohs and ahhs. Sometimes, certain things are better left unsaid. Serve warm with lots of sweet butter, honey, molasses, or jam.

A nice splash of brandy adds depth of flavor to this creamy pâté, which is just right served on crostini, toast points (see Know-how, page 19), or Cornbread Toasts (page 18) topped with Sweet Pickle Relish (page 299). For the best results, start with fresh livers from the butcher or farmer’s market that haven’t been frozen. Note that the chicken livers must soak in buttermilk for several hours prior to cooking.