Buttermilk

This dressing is delicious with a ripe tomato salad, Bibb lettuce, and fried popcorn shrimp or crayfish tails.

For a dinner party, you can present these cakes on a cake stand garnished with fresh berries.

Large, with a firm, sweet flesh, Fujis are good for snacking, cooking, and mixing into salads like this one. Unlike many other apples, their taste actually improves with age.

Often reserved for breakfast, crumb is just as satisfying when served for dessert. Replace the blueberries with other berries or sliced apples or plums, if desired.

Served with Carrot-Cumin Slaw (recipe below) or potato salad, this chicken dinner is perfect picnic fare. Leftover chicken makes a great lunch the next day.

OK, in my wildest dreams I couldn’t come up with a more perfect dessert for myself. Bourbon, ice cream, buttermilk, pecans, and light, buttery-crispy profiteroles; it doesn’t get any better for me (except for maybe the Blueberry Lemon Crêpes, page 198 . . . oh, and the Blackberry Soufflé, page 196). For some reason my sweet tooth always leans toward anything southern, and anything with bourbon in it is all right by me.

Once the Deep South’s secret, red velvet cake definitely has the nation’s attention. The cake’s distinctive color, the result of a chemical reaction between acidic vinegar and buttermilk and Dutch-processed cocoa, was originally much more subdued than that of its present incarnation. A dose of food coloring is called for to pump that reddish brown into the true red that distinguishes this cake from all the rest. The sweet and lightly chocolaty cake is layered and frosted with an indulgently rich vanilla buttercream. Made with vanilla bean seeds instead of extract, the creamy frosting sports the telltale brown flecks that signal the pure vanilla flavor to come. Some red velvet cakes I’ve tried have been a bit on the dry side, but not this one. It’s incredibly moist thanks to the buttermilk and a measure of canola oil.

It used to be that flapjacks were made from a cornbased batter, this being the major distinction between them and their close cousin pancakes, which were made from a wheat flour–based batter. Today the two terms are roughly synonymous, though I love the heartiness that the term flapjacks implies, and the three that we stack up per serving are more than enough to satisfy even the hungriest Bar Americain bruncher. That said, the buttermilk in the batter makes the flapjacks light and fluffy, as does taking care not to overmix the batter and giving it ample resting time before you start cooking. Instead of folding the tasty extras into the flapjack batter, I load warm maple syrup with the good stuff—crunchy pecans and sweet apricots. Apricot season is short, and finding really flavorful ones is not always easy, so I use dried apricots in the syrup, rehydrating them in simple syrup and then roasting them. The sugars are slightly caramelized in the process, and the fruit’s sweet, slightly tart flavor is magnified.

Nutty cracked wheat (okay, it’s technically bulgur) adds a welcome touch of texture to these waffles. Made with whole wheat flour, the waffles are a bit healthier and heartier than standard ones without being the least bit leaden. Spicy cinnamon and complex allspice lend their flavors to the creamy butter. A sweet blueberry syrup drizzled—or ladled—over the waffles makes the whole dish special. I wouldn’t recommend making the syrup with frozen berries as they are too wet to burst as the fresh berries do. If you have extra berries left over, sprinkle them on top before serving.

Served as part of the bread basket at Bar Amercain, these hot-from-the-oven corn sticks are one of the recipes requested most by diners.

This corn bread has an unusual twist. In many ways, it is a very traditional recipe made with stone-ground yellow cornmeal, tangy buttermilk for moisture, and just a touch of sugar so that it is savory rather than sweet. Cooked in a cast-iron skillet, the inner crumb is tender and crumbly while the bottom crust is beautifully crisp. What elevates this corn bread beyond the norm is that mystery ingredient—tomato powder. I can’t imagine how many tomatoes it takes to make even a couple tablespoons of the powder, but the flavor and scent are unadulterated, concentrated tomato essence. The powder mixes evenly into the batter, and each bite is laced with its pure taste.

These are everything a good buttermilk biscuit should be: light, flaky, and exceedingly tender. They make appearances all over the menu at Bar Americain; they’re a fought-over item in our bread basket, the basis of Miss Stephanie’s Biscuits and Cream Gravy (page 223), and when I’m not feeling the waffles, the perfect accompaniment for fried chicken (page 131). A liberal dusting of black pepper gives the biscuits a subtle flush of heat that distinguishes them from the rest. The purists among you can leave out this last step if you prefer your biscuits free of adornment—they’re still melt-in-your-mouth good.

This dish is brought to you straight from Harlem. Fried chicken and waffles was invented by the singers and musicians who performed in Harlem’s storied jazz age. Those gigs would last until the early hours of the morning, when the musicians spilled out into the neighborhood’s restaurants. Hungry after a long night and still in their evening clothes and mind-sets, they found fried chicken fit the bill. At the same time, the sun would be rising, and a breakfast of waffles sounded pretty good, too. And so waffles became a bed for fried chicken, and a soul-food classic was born. I put my own riff on the dish by adding nutty wild rice to the waffles and serving the whole thing up with a sauce of honey and sweet, mildly peppery pink peppercorns.

These delicate, pale-green avocado pancakes come from my former big-city life as executive pastry chef at Anthony’s, owned by Tony Vallone, one of Houston’s top restaurateurs. The recipe for these savory pancakes was shared by a sous chef there, and I fell in love with them. We served them with crab and pico de gallo. In this version, I top them with homemade crème fraîche and trout caviar, a gorgeous, orange, medium-grained roe. (It is also more reasonably priced than many caviars and sustainably raised.) Incredibly simple, the pancakes must be made at the last minute and served warm.

I first ate syrup cake in the deep, piney woods of East Texas with a boy I once dated. We were visiting his grandma. She served squirrel stew with biscuits and syrup cake. I don’t eat squirrel now and I didn’t then, but I got that recipe for syrup cake. I later found out the simple cake is a Cajun country favorite, typically made with cane syrup. It seems that almost everyone in Louisiana swears by Steen’s brand. If you can’t find cane syrup, substitute molasses, maple syrup, or Lyle’s Golden Syrup.

I felt like a modern-day Pied Piper as I carried a tray of these cupcakes to the dessert table at a picnic last fall. A throng of kids sprang up behind me, each one clamoring for a cupcake decorated with the familiar white curlicue and enriched with a hidden cream filling. Soon, all that was left was an empty tray and the hilarious chocolate smears that decorated the faces and fingers of the youngest children. These are simpler to make than you’d imagine and, given the excitement they always inspire, they certainly are worth the effort. You’ll need a pastry bag with a number 10 tip to inject the cream filling into the center of the cupcakes.

Someone always complains if there’s no potato salad at our annual homecoming reunion in Long view. And while I never tire of getting together with my extended family, I do grow weary of eating the same old spud salad over and over. I decided a new version was in order and combined potatoes, buttermilk, sour cream, and blue cheese into a fresh-tasting, mayonnaise-free salad flavored with fresh tarragon.

Chicken-fried tenderloin steak was a top seller at Rebecca’s Table, but I have my bartender to thank for the idea that led to this variation. One night, a couple sat down to eat dinner at the bar, and the husband ordered chicken-fried steak. His wife liked the idea, just not the red meat part of it. So the bartender says, “Why don’t we do some shrimp for you?” She was thrilled. Served with chipotle ketchup, adapted from a recipe by Texas chef and author Terry Thompson-Anderson, chicken-fried shrimp became a best-selling appetizer. It’s also a natural for informal entertaining. Once guests arrive, fire up the skillet, and enlist a helper to dip the buttermilk-soaked shrimp in the seasoned flour mixture. Other guests would be well advised to stay nearby. Chicken-fried anything is best fresh from the frying pan. Set the shrimp on a communal platter accompanied with a big bowl of chipotle ketchup and let guests serve themselves. I guarantee the shrimp won’t last long.